Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 171: Escape

The queen’s eyes never left Liam. Her gaze was quiet and full of torment, like the hush before a storm breaks. She knew it now—there would be no warning, no time to plead, no second chances. Liam was one breath away from sealing a fate he would never recover from. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

And she had no power to stop him.

But... perhaps she didn’t need power.

Think. Her mind raced, memories colliding like waves in her head. Ancient spells... forbidden arts... the deep soul-rites passed down only to the ones who had ruled and wandered long after flesh had failed. She had consumed the wisdom of ages in her long, cursed life—fragments of forgotten magic, whispered by the dead.

There was one rite she could use. Dangerous. Reckless. Something that required a steep cost. It wasn’t strength. It wasn’t battle.

It was escape.

Her heart thudded as her fingers clenched by her sides. She could already feel the toll it would take. Her spirit was worn thin after centuries of wandering. What she was about to attempt could tear what remained of her soul. But if she didn’t...

Liam will die. Or worse.

She turned her head slightly, not enough for the king to notice, but just enough to glance at Liam one last time. His back was still to her, his hand already rising toward the king’s, ready to swear the vow that would change everything. His posture was full of hope, and that made it worse.

He didn’t understand.

I’m sorry, she whispered silently.

Then she lowered her head, and without moving her lips, she began the chant.

It was an old tongue—dead now, its syllables long forbidden in the halls of the living. Each word twisted through the air like shadowy breath. No light flashed. No storm answered. But the queen’s body began to tremble.

The final word left her in a soundless breath.

And then, everything shifted.

Her eyes turned glassy. Her limbs gave out. She crumpled, a heap of silk and skin, folding to the cold floor with a soft thud.

Liam turned too late. "Queen—!"

The king’s head snapped toward her collapsed form. His brow creased in faint surprise. But it was not confusion. It was recognition.

"She dares..." he muttered.

A moment later, her soul—a faint, shimmering outline of her true self—rose from her body like mist. She floated up and away, heading not toward the ceiling, not toward the skies, but toward the edges of the test itself. She was trying to pass through it—tear through the veil of the illusion and escape the king’s domain.

She had no power here.

But she wasn’t fighting the king.

She was leaving him.

The king extended a single hand. "You will not run from me."

From his palm, a thin, blinding beam of energy lashed out. It tore across the air like lightning, impossibly fast.

The queen spun—her soul flickered in panic—and tried to dodge.

But the beam clipped her shoulder, or rather, her soul’s essence. The pain was immediate and otherworldly. She screamed, not in voice, but through spirit. A cry that echoed without sound. The beam carved through her presence like a knife through smoke.

She faltered. Her form dimmed. She began to fall.

But somehow—whether through luck, sheer will, or the old magic still left in her—she kept moving.

The queen surged forward, ignoring the searing pain burning through her essence. She pushed through the invisible barrier of the test.

And then she vanished.

Gone from the tomb.

Gone from Liam’s side.

The king’s arm dropped slowly back to his side.

His gaze lingered for a moment at the spot where she had been. A subtle twitch touched his brow. Not fury. Not surprise. Something colder.

Annoyance.

Then he turned back to Liam.

And said nothing.

________

The air outside the tomb was dead still. No wind. No sound. Just the occasional scuff of boots, and the growl of empty stomachs as Liam’s companions waited through the fifth grueling day.

Sera sat with her knees tucked under her chin, leaning against the cold stone wall. Eleanor stood further back, arms crossed, her sharp eyes fixed on the sealed door, as though staring long enough might break it open. Marcus paced like a caged animal, his brows furrowed, muttering now and then under his breath. Jason fiddled with a tiny object he’d assembled from scraps, pretending to be distracted. But everyone felt it. The tension. The fear. The wear of waiting.

They were all thinking the same thing.

What if Liam never comes out?

Then, without warning, the air shimmered. It was like heat rising off pavement, warping the light in the shape of a woman. It started as a ripple, and then it became form.

A figure emerged—glowing faintly, but unmistakable.

The Queen.

Only... not her body.

Her soul.

Sera gasped and stumbled to her feet. Jason dropped the object. Borik rose slowly, hand already on his axe. Von grabbed his club. Eleanor’s hands went to her daggers. And Sophia—Sophia stood slowly, her expression unreadable but sharp with tension.

"What the hell is that?" Marcus snarled, already stepping in front of Sophia.

"I knew it," Jason muttered, his tone sharp with suspicion. "She betrayed him. She’s here to kill us too."

"No," Eleanor said lowly, but she hadn’t lowered her weapon.

The queen looked weary, even in spirit. Her glow flickered, unstable, like a candle in a strong breeze. She hovered just inches above the ground, both hands raised in a peaceful gesture.

"Please," she said, her voice distant and echoing, layered in a way that didn’t quite belong in this world. "Stand down."

"Why should we?" Von barked, his grip tightening on his sword. "Where’s Liam?"

The queen’s eyes—ethereal, almost translucent—met each of theirs in turn.

"He’s in trouble," she said. "Grave trouble."

Borik didn’t lower his weapon. "And we’re just supposed to believe that? You show up like a damned ghost out of nowhere—while he’s locked away in there—and expect us to trust you?"

"I didn’t come to fight," the queen said. "I came to warn you."

Sophia stepped forward then, slow, cautious. "Warn us of what?"

The queen looked at her, and her next words came gently, but heavily.

"Liam is about to fail the final trial."

A stunned silence rippled through the group.

"Fail?" Marcus repeated.

"He’s about to give up everything," the queen continued, her voice cracking slightly. "The mission. The treasure. His own future. All of it."

"For what?" Jason snapped. "Why would he—"

"His sister," she said.

Another silence, heavier this time. The name wasn’t spoken, but everyone heard it in their minds.

Anna.

The queen’s voice dimmed to almost a whisper. "The king offered to bring her back. He’s dangling the impossible in front of him. And Liam... he’s ready to take it. He’s blinded by love. Grief. Guilt."

Marcus shook his head, hard. "No. No, that’s not him. He wouldn’t just throw all this away for something like that. Not after everything we’ve been through."

Sophia’s voice was softer, but firmer. "But he knows what’s at stake."

"He doesn’t care," the queen said quietly. "Not right now. I saw it in his eyes. He’s ready to give it all for her. Even if it means leaving this world in ruin."

Eleanor took a step forward. "Then why tell us? If you’re so sure he’ll go through with it... why come here at all?"

"Because there may still be time," the queen said. "A sliver of it. I escaped the test, barely. But I’m weakened. My soul is fractured. I need you, any of you—to stop him. Before he gives up what cannot be undone."

Jason looked down at his boots. "And what if it’s already too late?"

The queen’s glow flickered again, almost sputtering out. "Then the consequences will echo far beyond any of us."

Sophia’s hands curled into fists. Her voice came tight, almost pained. "He... wouldn’t. He couldn’t."

But in her heart, even she wasn’t sure.