Chongyun's pure yang spirit pulsed beneath his cool exterior—a gift from birth, a furnace of vigor that made him a natural scourge of demons, its heat a blade he'd tempered with popsicles and icy resolve across Liyue's haunted wilds.
Yet it was a fragile balance—spicy morsels could ignite that inner blaze, sending him into a frenzy of flushed chaos—and Kaeya, ever the Mondstadt trickster, delighted in tipping those scales, sneaking peppers into his meals for a laugh at his expense.
Tonight's skewer gleamed crimson—chili outweighed meat, a flagrant taunt Kaeya didn't even cloak—and Chongyun's stare darted from the fiery stick to his friend's sly grin, black question marks swirling in his mind, "You're not even pretending anymore, are you?"
"Eat it yourself—or swap it out," he snapped, shoving the skewer back—visions of bursting into a yang-fueled spectacle in Liam's cafe, clothes shredding as he roared, flashed a mortifying red across his cheeks, a humiliation he'd rather die than endure.
Kaeya's eye twinkled—"The cafe binds our elements; your yang's leashed too, I bet," his voice a velvet prod, and before Chongyun could protest, he flicked the skewer past his guard, its blazing tip lodging in his mouth with a cavalier's deft grace.
Fire erupted—his tongue seared as if kissed by a pyro slime, a molten agony that scorched his throat—and Chongyun flailed, "Hot! Too hot!" his cry a wail as he tumbled across the sofa, the yang dormant but the spice a brutal foe unleashed.
"Water—now!" he gasped, clawing the air—Kaeya tossed him a soda, its fizz a cruel twist as he gulped, bubbles clashing with heat in a storm that frothed his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he crashed, a ten-minute shutdown sparing him further shame.
His frame held—Bubu Pharmacy stayed uncalled, Liam spared the fuss—and when clarity returned, 8:10 blinked on the clock; Chongyun glared at Kaeya, "You'll pay for that," his growl a vow as he dove back into Resident Evil, racing the 9 p.m. close.
Chris pressed on—data led him to the Arklay Research Institute, a sprawl of cold steel and shadowed cells beneath the mansion, its air thick with antiseptic and dread, where Jill languished in a prison block, her voice a weary thread as he pried the bars apart.
"Wesker locked me here—traitor through and through," she rasped, her tale syncing with Chris's own: their captain a puppetmaster, this mansion a crucible for Umbrella's horrors, a truth that stoked Chongyun's righteous fury, his grip tightening on the controls.
The cell resisted—its lock a taunt—and Chongyun scoured the prison's dank corridors, their stone walls slick with mildew, until Rebecca dashed in, her medic's kit clanking, "I'm with you—let's move," her urgency a spark that lit their path to the lab's heart.
They breached the institute—its core a cathedral of science gone mad, consoles humming under stark lights—and Wesker stood at a terminal, his fingers dancing over keys, his shades glinting as Chris stormed forward, "When did you sell us out, you coin-chasing cur?"
Wesker whirled—pistol snapping to Chris's brow, his voice ice, "I'm no servant; I'm Umbrella's cadre, born a spy—STARS and Umbrella alike are my tools," his arrogance a blade that cut deeper than any demon's claw Chongyun had faced.
Chris spat back—"You're a disgrace to every oath!"—his ancestral curses a barrage that rattled Wesker's cool, and the captain's shot rang out, not at Chris but Rebecca, her gasp a shock that froze Chongyun, "He cursed you—why her?"
Kaeya coughed on a skewer—"That's… odd; Wesker's got a soft spot?" his quip a jolt as Chongyun gaped, the captain's aim a riddle—Rebecca's yelp echoed their confusion, her fall a question mark in this traitor's twisted game.
Wesker pressed the gun harder—"Behold my triumph," he sneered, gesturing to the Tyrant's pod, its festering form a mockery of life—and Chris scoffed, "Shoddy work; I'd drop it with a pistol," his bravado a spark that lit Wesker's scowl, a craftsman scorned.
Chaos broke—the Tyrant stirred, its claw smashing free in a glass-shard rain, and Wesker's smirk vanished as it lunged, a backhand sending him sprawling, a chill Chongyun savored, "Take that, you snake—your pet bites back!"
Chris fought—pistol cracking, the Tyrant's roars shaking the lab as he dodged its swipes, and Rebecca, patched with a vest, triggered the self-destruct, "No leaks—we end this here," her grit a mirror to Chongyun's resolve as alarms blared their doom.
They freed Jill—her cell clanging open—and raced to the tarmac, the lab quaking as the Tyrant loomed anew, its claw felling Jill in a cutscene, a tit-for-tat that drew Chongyun's groan, "Fair's fair, I suppose—she got you last time."
Action surged—Chris and Rebecca circled, bullets pinging off the beast's hide, its heart a pulsing target they chipped at, Chongyun's focus a blade as he ducked claw swipes, "Keep moving—wear it down!" his voice a steady chant amid the chaos.
The chopper roared in—Brad's bazooka thudded down, its green heft a promise—and Chongyun seized it, "Time to end this!" as Rebecca baited the Tyrant, a rocket screaming into its spine, the blast a firestorm that left it a smoldering heap on the cracked pad.
They lifted off—Jill slumped on Chris, Rebecca at his side, the mansion's flames a receding inferno—and Chongyun exhaled, 8:52 glowing, "Just in time," his Chris line sealed, a victory snatched from the clock's jaws as the cafe hummed around him.
The air shifted—Kaeya smirked, "Winner in life, huh? Two at his side," his tease a barb that pricked Chongyun's calm, the skewer's sting a fresh memory as he shot back, "Next time, you're eating it—yang or no yang."
Hu Tao stretched nearby—her Tyrant kill a tale she'd spun, her back aching from the day's grind—and she grinned, "Chongyun's a hero too—Rebecca took a bullet for his mouth," her quip a spark that lit the room, their triumphs a shared blaze.
A subplot twisted—Wesker's shot at Rebecca, not Chris; a favoritism or a feint? Chongyun pondered, his exorcist's eye peeling layers, a traitor's odd mercy that gnawed at him, a thread he'd chase if the game stretched further into this web of deceit.
Emotion flared—the skewer's burn mirrored his yang's curse, a vulnerability Kaeya wielded like a blade; Rebecca's fall echoed Liyue's losses, comrades he'd shielded, and Chongyun's icy shell hid a pang, a vow to guard his own in pixels or stone.
Liam watched—points ticked from their grit, Chongyun's rush a vein of resolve, Hu Tao's fire a torrent—and the cafe pulsed, Tartaglia's hard-mode snarls a counterpoint, their tales a crucible where Teyvat's bold clashed with Raccoon's rot, unyielding to the end.
Chongyun leaned back—game done, skewer dodged—and Kaeya's laugh rang, "Next time, I'll sneak it better," a promise that steeled Chongyun's glare, his victory a quiet fire, burning steady as he faced the night beyond Liam's glowing den.
***
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