In Liam's Internet cafe, the air thrummed with digital tension—Tartaglia wrestled hard-mode zombies on Chris's path, his snakeskin dance a slow grind, while Chongyun, perched at a rig nearby, blazed through easy mode, his exorcist calm unfazed by Raccoon City's rot.
He'd already felled the crimson-headed zombie in the cemetery's crypt—a wiry fiend, fast as a gale, its skull popping under a clean pistol shot, Chongyun's steady hand proving Liyue's ice-veined heir could tame even virtual undead with ease.
The woods beckoned next, a shadowed sprawl beyond the mansion's groaning walls—Wesker's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie, sharp and clipped, "Stay out, Chris; something unbeatable lurks there," a warning that stirred Chongyun's blood rather than chilled it.
"Unbeatable? I've banished worse," he scoffed, his Teyvat-honed defiance flaring—pistols outclassed his talismans, dozens of bullets weighed his pack, and no monster, real or coded, would cow an exorcist born to purge evil's stain.
Into the cabin he charged—Chris's boots thudded on warped planks—when a hulking shadow loomed, chains rattling, a prisoner-garbed beast with a skewed jaw that smashed him flat, the screen dimming as consciousness fled in a single, brutal blow.
Chongyun blinked, startled—it hadn't killed Chris; he woke to its stare, a grotesque sentinel pacing, then lunging again, its fists a blur that shrugged off pistol rounds like rain, each hit draining health he couldn't spare even on easy mode.
"This isn't for now—too tough," he muttered, abandoning gunfire—bullets were gold, and this thing mocked them—so he bolted, Chris weaving past its swipes, escaping the woods with a lesson etched in bruised pride: some foes demanded patience, not force.
Wesker's radio buzzed again—static, no words, a broken lifeline—and Chongyun's jaw tightened, "Find him, then; he's hiding something," his resolve hardening as Chris trekked back, the captain's silence a thread he'd tug 'til it unraveled.
Xingqiu lounged behind, chin in hand, his scholar's gaze keen—"Wesker's off, mark my words; he's too eager to ditch Chris, too cold when Jill vanished," his voice a playful lilt, though suspicion darkened its edge, a riddle he'd already half-cracked.
Chongyun nodded, ice-blue eyes narrowing—"From the start, he's shoved Chris solo, shrugged at Jill's loss—either he's a fool or a snake, and I'd bet mora on the latter," his agreement a pact, their duo's instincts syncing as Wesker's shadow grew murkier.
The melon-eaters whispered—Wesker's aloof act pinged every player's gut; his orders reeked of intent, a puppeteer's pull too blatant for Liyue's sharp minds to miss, a subplot brewing they'd chase through this pixelated hell.
Chongyun steered Chris deeper—down dank stairs to an underground lab, its air heavy with mildew and menace, steel walls glinting wet under flickering lights, a flooded chamber where Richard slumped against a pillar, his face a mask of dread.
"Stay still—something's here," Richard rasped, his voice a tremor, but Chris, bullheaded as ever, strode forward—Chongyun cursing, "Listen, you dolt!"—and the water rippled, a mutant shark's fin slicing through, jaws snapping as it surged.
Action erupted—Richard lunged, shoving Chris clear, and the shark's maw claimed him instead, a crimson spray painting the flood as he vanished, a second death on Chris's tab that hit Chongyun like a cryo blast to the chest.
"Again? He's cursed!" the crowd gasped—Richard's boa demise on Jill's route, now this watery grave; a hero twice felled, his valor a fleeting flare snuffed by fate, a tragedy they mourned yet couldn't unsee as Chris's grim halo at work.
Chongyun's fists clenched—Richard's sacrifice burned, a noble soul lost to a teammate's folly, and though the cafe's power dampened his elemental fury, his glare could've frosted the screen, a vow forming: "That shark dies for him."
He scoured the lab—pipes hissed, water sloshed, the shark's shadow a taunt beneath the surface—until he hit the control room, its panels humming as he drained half the flood, the beast's bulk breaching at last, a target he'd pin with vengeance's cold aim.
It thrashed, scales glinting like oil slicks—Chongyun lured it near an electric box, its buzz a promise; with a shove, Chris toppled it into the murk, sparks arcing as the shark convulsed, fried in a sizzling dance of death, its jaws stilled forever.
"Electro beats hydro—take that, you oversized eel," he smirked, snagging Richard's shotgun from his corpse—a relic of loss turned weapon of wrath—his heart easing as justice landed, though the sting of a friend's fall lingered like frostbite.
Back to the mansion, danger bloomed anew—a ceiling shuddered, and down dropped a nightmare: petals fused with tentacles, an octopus-flower hybrid swaying in the rafters, its vines whipping as Chongyun raised the shotgun, its roar a new hymn in his hands.
Eight blasts tore it apart—easy mode softened its hide, a paper tiger shredded by buckshot—and Chongyun exhaled, "All bark, no bite," his calm restored, the mansion's terrors bowing to a boy who'd faced yokai fiercer than this.
He found Rebecca—her medic's poise cracked, tears welling as he relayed Richard's end—and Chris's gruff comfort steadied her, a moment Chongyun mirrored with a quiet, "He was brave; we'll finish this for him," his resolve a steel thread through their grief.
Gunshots drew him on—Wesker stood alone, Jill's absence a void, and his curt, "She's fine, keep looking," rang hollow, a dodge that fueled Chongyun's distrust, his voice low, "You're slipping, captain; I'm watching you now."
Xingqiu chuckled—"He's a villain, bet my Guhua scrolls on it; too smooth, too detached"—his tease laced with certainty, while Chongyun grunted, "If he turns, this shotgun's his judge," their banter a spark in the cafe's hum, a duo poised to unmask the snake.
A twist simmered—Wesker's radio cuts, his lone stands, Jill's vanishings; was he baiting Chris into a trap, a pawn in some unseen game? Chongyun's gut churned, a subplot of betrayal he'd chase, his exorcist's honor itching to purge this filth.
Emotion swelled—Richard's death wasn't just code; it echoed Teyvat's losses, comrades fallen to demons he couldn't save, and Chongyun's icy facade hid a pang, a vow to shield Rebecca, to defy Chris's cursed star with every shot he'd fire.
The cafe pulsed—Hu Tao glanced over, "Chongyun's avenging ghosts now?" her quip light but awed, while Tartaglia's hard-mode grind drew cheers, their tales weaving a tapestry of grit and guts, Liam's rigs a crucible for Teyvat's boldest souls.
Chongyun pressed deeper—shotgun primed, suspicion sharp—the mansion's halls a proving ground, Richard's sacrifice a torch he'd carry, his hunt for Wesker's truth a fire no zombie, shark, or traitor could douse in this haunted sprawl.
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