Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 156: Selfless

Back to Liam.

He stood frozen in that echoing chamber, surrounded by all the illusions of splendor and legacy his heart might’ve once craved—but now, they weighed on him like chains. His mind churned with the truth of it all. The child, the palace, the peace... the life he’d never imagined but now somehow wanted. It was all a dream dangling in front of him—so close he could taste it.

But not without a cost.

He looked toward his older self, who still stood tall, regal, and expectant. A mirror image of what he could become. And yet, Liam didn’t feel inspired by him anymore. He felt... trapped. As if this future, however golden it appeared, was a prison built on someone else’s bones.

He took a breath.

His chest rose and fell slowly as the weight settled over him. The decision.

He knew the answer. He had known it all along. Deep in his gut.

He could not, and would not, sacrifice anyone to save himself.

"I’m not going to sacrifice a soul for my happiness," he finally muttered, eyes fixed on the floor, voice low but steady.

He raised his eyes slowly to meet the older Liam’s glare.

"I wouldn’t be at peace. I know I wouldn’t," he added.

The words hung there like smoke, lingering between them.

The older Liam’s face twisted in disappointment—then fury. His brow furrowed, lips curling in disgust, his voice breaking into a vicious growl.

"You fool," he spat. "You damned fool! Do you think Sophia and the others would want this? That they’d find peace in your death? You think martyrdom is noble—but it’s nothing but cowardice dressed as virtue!"

Liam’s jaw tightened.

"Do you really think she’d be happy? Do you think they’d move on? They’d be shattered. Lost. You’d throw it all away just to play the selfless hero?"

That was it.

Something snapped in Liam.

His hands clenched into fists. His body trembled—not from fear, but from sheer, building rage. His chest heaved, and his breath came sharper.

He stepped forward, glaring straight into the eyes of his future self.

"No," Liam barked. "I’m not going to sacrifice anyone. Not her. Not anyone. No one fucking dies for me."

His voice rose, thunderous now, shaking in the chamber.

"My destiny—my fate—it’s in my fucking hands! You hear me?!"

His voice cracked from the strain, from the emotion bursting through every word.

"I’m not going to fucking die!" he screamed, his face red with fury, veins pulsing in his neck. "And I’m not going to fucking kill anyone either! I’ll find a way. If the tomb wants blood, it won’t get it. If fate wants a sacrifice, it can go to hell!"

He was shaking now, teeth clenched, fury radiating off him like fire.

"I’m going to write my fate. And my fucking destiny... will be mine."

His words echoed off the walls, violent and raw.

Silence followed.

His breath was ragged.

His heart pounded like a war drum.

And still, he stood there—defiant, alive, unbroken.

Not choosing death.

After those words tore out of Liam’s mouth—raw, furious, and defiant—the illusion around him shattered like fragile glass. The vibrant palace, the soft torchlight, the hauntingly perfect vision of Sophia and the child—all of it cracked and dissolved into mist, retreating into the corners of his mind like a bad dream chased away by dawn.

A rush of cold air hit his face.

He blinked, the tomb.

He was back.

The ground beneath him was cold again, the light dim and flickering. That heavy silence returned, the kind only ancient, haunted places carried. He looked around, expecting to be alone—expecting maybe even to collapse, drained from the weight of the test.

But he wasn’t.

She was there.

The queen.

She stood across from him, breathing slowly, arms hanging limply at her sides as if she too had just been yanked from another world. Her eyes met his.

There was no hostility in them. No hatred. No sharpness like before. Just a heavy, distant exhaustion. And something else... something that mirrored what Liam felt.

Relief.

She looked at him—not as a queen, not as a threat—but as someone who had just walked through a fire and found another survivor on the other side.

Liam didn’t say anything.

Neither did she.

They just stood there, caught in the strange stillness of the moment.

There was no celebration. No voice from the heavens announcing their success. No glow. No cheers. Just the heavy silence of the tomb. Not long ago, they might’ve tried to kill each other without hesitation.

Because they had.

They had hunted each other through shadows of the palace both fighting for different goals, both wounded and driven by pain and duty. She had been a ghost queen obsessed with vengeance, and he had been a stranger desperate to survive. They had no reason to trust each other. No bond. No alliance.

And yet here they were.

Standing side by side, two souls who had just passed a test not of strength or power—but of character.

Not because they owed it to each other.

Not because they were friends.

But because they chose to be better, even when they didn’t have to be.

They had both been selfless.

And somehow, that was enough.

Liam took a slow breath, his heart still beating like a war drum inside his chest. He looked at the queen again—not as a spirit, not as a ruler, not as an enemy—but simply as a person. A person who had just chosen, like he had, to do the right thing when it would’ve been easier not to.

"Thanks," he said, voice hoarse, the single word carrying the weight of everything they’d just endured. "Thanks for being selfless."

The queen blinked slowly, as though the words caught her off guard. Her expression didn’t change at first, but something softened behind her eyes—some long-held stiffness in her posture finally melting away. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. She looked down for a moment, then back at him.

"No," she said, her voice quiet but clear, echoing faintly through the ancient chamber. "You don’t thank me, Liam. I should be thanking you."

He frowned slightly, confused.

She stepped forward slowly, her long hair catching the faint light, her once-cold presence now calm... almost warm. "I’ve lived through centuries of regret," she said, her eyes distant, as though peering through layers of time. "I’ve held onto pain, anger, revenge... because I was wronged. But that doesn’t excuse what I became."

Liam watched her, listening, still catching his breath.

"I have no real purpose anymore. My time already passed. I was given this chance, yes, but it was never meant to be mine alone. I should’ve died a long time ago..." she trailed off for a moment, then looked at him with a strange kind of pride. "But you... you have a future. You have a purpose. People waiting for you. A life still to live."

Liam shifted slightly, almost uncomfortable under the weight of her words.

"You had every reason to be selfish," she said. "And yet, you weren’t. That... that means something. That’s rare."

She gave a faint smile, almost sad but full of something deeper—respect, maybe. Or understanding.

"I appreciate you, Liam," she said gently. "More than you know."

And for a moment, there was silence again. But this time it wasn’t heavy or suffocating. It was peace. Something they both had been searching for in different ways... and had somehow found, not in treasure or power, but in a choice neither of them had expected to make.

They stood there in the tomb, two very different souls... united by one selfless act.