Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 119: She is Mine

Jason groaned as he stirred on the cold, unwelcoming floor. His head was pounding and his ribs ached from the impact. He blinked into nothingness—complete, suffocating black. It felt like a void, like space itself had swallowed him whole.

He coughed, pushing himself up slowly. "Sophia?" he rasped. "Liam? Anyone...?"

Silence.

Then—"Jason...?" 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

The voice came from a few feet to his left. Deep. Gruff. Familiar.

"Gorr?" Jason scrambled across the floor, crawling toward the sound, his hands brushing against rough stone and dirt. His palms scraped over cracks, some jagged edges cutting into him slightly, but he didn’t care. "Keep talking!"

"Here," Gorr grunted. "My leg... damn thing hurts. I think I hit it hard."

Jason finally reached him and helped hoist the bigger man up. Gorr winced but stood, his breathing heavy and uneven.

"What the hell is this place?" Gorr muttered, brushing dust from his arms. "Where are the others?"

"I don’t know," Jason said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just... woke up here. Alone. Then I heard you." He looked around—though there was nothing to see. The darkness felt alive, like it pulsed around them, watching, breathing.

Jason called again—"Marcus? Eleanor? Liam? Borik?"—but only the echo of his voice answered back.

Gorr called too, louder, his voice almost shaking the walls. "Sophia! Von! Anyone out there!?"

Nothing.

They both stood quietly for a moment, letting the silence sink in.

Gorr huffed. "They could be in the same mess. Like us. Scattered."

Jason nodded, though Gorr couldn’t see it. "Yeah. Probably. This place... it split us all."

For a while, they said nothing more. The weight of it all pressing on them. The uncertainty. The fear.

Then, without a word, they both moved toward the nearest wall, stretching their arms wide, feeling along the rough surfaces, trying to make sense of it. Jason’s fingers traced over what felt like old carvings, maybe cracks. He couldn’t tell. Gorr did the same on the other side, dragging his palm across stone and breathing hard.

"We’ll find a way," Jason said quietly, half to himself. "We have to."

Their only light was hope, and even that felt like it was starting to flicker.

_______

Von was already awake.

He had stirred minutes ago, confused, aching, and surrounded by utter blackness. His heart had been thudding in his chest the moment he realized he was alone. He’d shouted. "Borik!" he’d called first, his voice echoing off the narrow walls. "Liam! Marcus!" Then louder—"Jason! Sera!" Nothing. Not even the possessed one’s screech answered back this time.

Now he stood still, fists clenched, listening—waiting. No sound. Only the low, throbbing silence of a place that felt ancient and buried.

He reached a hand out and felt stone. Cold, cracked, dry. He turned slowly, reaching both arms out now, brushing the walls around him. It wasn’t a chamber, not like some of the others had fallen into. No—this was long. A tunnel. Narrow. A passageway. Stone-lined and damp with age.

Von exhaled heavily and began walking, one cautious step at a time. His boots scuffed against rough stone. The tunnel curved slightly, then straightened again. Finally, his palms pressed against something different. Wood. A door. Thick and solid under his hands.

He explored the edge of it—no hinges visible, no lock, no keyhole, no handle.

He growled under his breath. "What kind of door doesn’t open?"

Backing up a few paces, Von squared his broad shoulders, planting his feet firmly. He braced himself, then lunged forward and slammed against it with his full weight.

WHUD!

The impact echoed down the stone corridor like thunder. Pain shot through his shoulder but he ignored it. He backed up again, snarled, and threw himself against the door once more.

WHUD!

It didn’t budge. Not even a creak.

But he wasn’t stopping. Gritting his teeth, fury mounting with every failed attempt, Von rammed the door again. And again. He wasn’t about to sit and rot in this cursed dark tunnel. Whatever was on the other side—trap or no trap—he’d rather face it head-on than be buried alive like some forgotten relic.

He stepped back once more, rolling his sore shoulder, breathing hard, then charged again with the force of a storm.

WHUD!

The tunnel trembled faintly, dust falling from the crevices above, but the door held.

Von spat on the floor. "You’ll open," he muttered through clenched teeth, eyes staring into the dark as if daring the silence to answer. "Even if I have to break every damn bone in my shoulder doing it."

Then he prepared for another strike.

_________

Borik was still out cold, sprawled on the cold stone floor like a crumpled heap. His chest barely moved, breath shallow, a trickle of blood trailing from his temple where it had struck the edge of a jagged rock. The fall had knocked the senses from him—and perhaps nearly his life too.

But then came the sound.

A shrill, piercing wail that didn’t belong in the world of the living. A cry not of pain but of pure, unfiltered malice. The walls trembled faintly with its echo. The air grew dense.

Borik jolted upright.

His heart seized in his chest, his hand instinctively scrambling across the floor. Fingers grazed stone—dust—then wrapped around familiar wood and steel. His short axe.

He clutched it tight and rolled to his feet, panting. His eyes darted in the dark, but it was her voice that pierced him first. Or... no, not her voice. Not entirely.

Sera.

She was there. Floating above the stone like a phantom draped in something human. But she was wrong. Twisted. Her body levitated unnaturally, shoulders hunched, her once-soft face pale and cruel. Her eyes were black pits. Her lips were parted in a grin that belonged to no living soul. And her hands—her hands had become claws. Long. Hooked. Ready to kill.

Borik didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

His hand squeezed the axe, but he didn’t raise it.

Instead, he spoke. Quiet at first. "Sera," he said, voice hoarse.

The thing tilted its head at him.

"I know you’re still in there. I know this... thing inside you isn’t all that’s left."

A low growl rolled from her throat. But she didn’t attack. Not yet.

Borik stepped forward. "You’re stronger than it. You’ve always been. You fought beside us. Bled beside us."

The face twitched. Her brow furrowed. Then her mouth curled back, not in a grin, but a snarl—then a sob. The features distorted—twisting between grief, rage, and agony. One eye welled with black tears, while the other stared blankly ahead.

"You can fight it," Borik said. "You have to."

A choked scream burst from her lips, a sound like glass breaking from inside her throat. Her hands trembled. She dropped to the floor, knees hitting the stone hard. Her head jerked to the side, violently twitching like she was at war with herself. Her mouth opened to cry—but what came out was the possessed voice, guttural, twisted, layered with otherworldly echoes.

"SHE... IS... MINE."

Then the sadness vanished. Her face snapped back into a mask of pure hate.

A shriek tore through the air as she lunged forward, claws raised like hooked blades, eyes wild with fury.

Borik barely had time to brace as the spirit charged.