Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 176: Plan in motion

Back at the tomb, the queen stood nearest to the tomb’s edge, her once radiant form flickering ever so faintly now, her translucent silhouette dimmer than it had been just minutes ago.

Her hands trembled slightly. Not from fear—but from urgency. A quiet kind of desperation that had started to bloom in her chest the moment she felt Liam’s energy shift. Something was changing. She could feel it in the pull of the realm, in the weight of the air. A final step. A commitment being made.

He was almost done.

"Please..." she whispered under her breath, eyes closed, head bowed slightly. "Marcus, hurry..."

The others stood a little behind her. They hadn’t spoken for a while. The silence between them wasn’t one of peace—it was thick with tension, with thoughts none of them knew how to voice just yet. But it was Jason who broke it, his voice hoarse.

"He had a sister?" he asked, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

Sophia blinked, pulled out of her own thoughts. "What?"

"Liam," Jason said again. "A sister. The queen said... she died. He never told us."

Eleanor turned, arms folded, her silver eyes narrowed. "No. He didn’t."

Borik, seated on a half-crushed pillar nearby, rubbed his beard slowly. "You lot have been with him since the beginning. I find it strange none of you ever heard a single word of her."

Sophia’s brows drew together. "That doesn’t make sense. I... I mean, he never showed anything that deep. Nothing like the grief of losing family."

Jason nodded slowly. "He carried it alone. Buried it."

Sera remained still, back against the wall, eyes distant. "Maybe it was too painful to share. Maybe he thought talking about her would bring her memory down into this place. Into all this filth and blood."

Eleanor glanced toward the entrance of the tomb, where shadows still danced in the ancient cracks of stone. "And now he’s trading his life for hers. After all we’ve come through."

"It doesn’t matter how far we’ve come," Von muttered quietly. "When you lose someone you love... truly love... time doesn’t erase the wound. It just teaches you to limp."

The wind howle loudly. A low rumble came from within the tomb, as if something ancient stirred deep below.

Sophia’s jaw clenched, and a flicker of moisture gathered in her eyes. "He shouldn’t have to carry it all alone..."

Eleanor said firmly, stepping up beside them. "This isn’t just desperation. This is grief talking. And if Marcus doesn’t get there in time..." She didn’t finish.

They didn’t need her to.

They all knew what Liam was capable of when he believed it was the right thing. And worse—when he believed it was his burden to bear alone.

The queen finally opened her eyes, and for a moment, the pupils glowed faintly like twin moons through mist. "I’m holding the portal open," she said quietly. "But it’s burning through me. I can’t hold both ends forever."

Sophia stepped forward. "What if Marcus fails?"

The queen didn’t answer immediately.

Then: "He won’t."

The breeze stilled—as if even the air dared not challenge her faith.

Deep below, the tomb hummed. A ritual was nearing its end.

And a choice was about to be made.

_________

The alley was quiet.

A thin fog had settled over the narrow street, coiling like pale smoke around old dumpsters and fire escapes, muffling the distant sounds of traffic and life beyond. Marcus stood with his hands clenched at his sides, his breathing still uneven from the sprint and the nausea that had followed his arrival. His hoody stuck to his damp skin, the stench of city air and sweat thick in his nostrils.

But his older self didn’t seem bothered by any of it.

The man stood just ahead of him, leaning against a rusted metal pipe that jutted out from the alley wall. His coat was longer than Marcus had expected. Greying beard now hugging the sides of his mouth. A hollowed, distant look in his eyes—like someone who had been awake far too long in a world that didn’t make sense anymore.

Marcus took a breath and finally stepped forward.

"I don’t have much time," he said urgently. "The queen—"

"Save it," the older man interrupted, voice gravelly and low. "I know."

Marcus blinked. "You—what?"

"I know, Marcus," the older man repeated, eyes narrowing. "You think you’re the first version of yourself to try this?"

He laughed, but there was no humor in it—just bitterness and exhaustion. "You’re not. Hell, I’ve been doing this. Again and again. Coming back. Trying different days, different ways to get Liam to take it. To see it. But every time..."

He trailed off, rubbing a hand across his face. His fingers trembled.

"Wait—" Marcus shook his head, trying to process. "You’ve been coming back through time? You mean—?"

"Yes," the older man growled. "I’ve lived it. Watched him fall. Again and again. Each time he chooses her over himself. Each time he throws it all away, even knowing what’s at stake."

Marcus stared at him, dumbfounded.

The older Marcus pushed off the pipe and stepped closer. His boots crunched on the gravel as he approached, eyes burning with a kind of frantic clarity. "The pendant is the key. Always has been. But he can’t be forced to wear it. He has to want it. Has to accept it. Freely. Willingly. That’s the rule. If we push it on him, everything breaks."

"And the queen?" Marcus asked. "The orb?"

"She figured it out," the older Marcus said, a flicker of surprise in his voice. "Smart woman. Smarter than us. The orb is her life essence. A seed of awareness. She’s embedding it into the pendant now, isn’t she?"

Marcus hesitated, then slowly reached into his chest pocket. But he didn’t need to. The orb moved on its own—like it had a will, a consciousness. It shimmered faintly through his shirt, phased upward through the fabric and hovered in the air between them.

Pale. Glowing. A whisper of golden light.

The older Marcus reached out with steady hands and plucked it from the air. He cradled it gently, like one might handle an ember, or a tear.

"I’ve waited for this," he murmured.

From his coat, he pulled a small, old wooden box. The latch clicked open with a sharp metallic snap, and inside sat a pendant. A plain thing at first glance—no ornament, no shine—just a single smooth stone suspended in a twisted bronze loop.

But Marcus felt it. The hum. The pull.

The same frequency as the queen’s magic.

The older man held the orb above it, then slowly pressed it to the pendant’s center.

There was no flash. No burst of magic or thunder. Only a pulse—like a heartbeat. The stone flickered once, then held its glow, warm and steady, like it had finally been completed.

He looped it onto a chain, then fastened it around his neck.

"We’re running out of time," he muttered.

"You said the timeline’s already been altered," Marcus said. "What does that mean?"

The older version met his eyes. "It means we’re in uncharted territory. And whatever happens next... we’ll face the consequences back in our timeline."

Marcus swallowed. "What if we fail again?"

"We won’t," the older Marcus said, tightening the chain around his neck. "Because this time, I’m not alone."

For a moment, the two versions of the same soul looked at one another—one weathered by pain, the other still burning with youth. The city rumbled faintly in the distance, a siren howling somewhere far off.

And then, without another word, the older Marcus turned and began walking.

Liam’s path would cross that alley in just under half an hour.

The plan was in motion.