Hu Tao's voice sliced through the crypt's dank air—"Hey, you shady lump! What're you skulking around for?"—her shout a spark that lit Barry's startled face, his silhouette hunched over the sarcophagus like a thief caught mid-heist in Liyue's shadowed alleys.
He'd ditched her in the mines—a betrayal still smoldering in her gut—and now here he was, fiddling with stone secrets; if Barry wasn't crooked, Xiangling would trade her wok for slime stew, a notion as absurd as Hu Tao surrendering her Staff of Homa.
Barry spun, his grizzled features twisting into a mask of feigned calm—"Just checking the setup, Jill; relax," he stammered, but his hand crept behind his back, fingers brushing his pistol, a move Hu Tao clocked with a hall-master's eye for the deceitful dead.
Jill reacted—lightning-fast, she lunged, wrenching the gun from Barry's grip before he could aim, her stance a coiled spring as Hu Tao crowed, "Not today, uncle!"—her triumph short-lived as a guttural moan echoed, Lisa's hulking form shambling into the torchlit fray.
Barry seized the chaos—"Give it back, Jill; we'll handle her together!" he barked, his plea a lifeline in the monster's shadow, and Hu Tao hesitated, the screen flashing a choice: trust him with the gun or face Lisa solo, a crossroads that prickled her spine.
She relented—"Fine, take it; Lisa's a beast," she muttered, handing it over—better an armed ally than none, and with a save file banked, a wrong call wouldn't bury her, a calculated gamble from a girl who'd danced with Teyvat's ghosts.
Lisa charged—invincible, her prisoner's garb flapping as bullets pinged off her, a juggernaut unmoved by lead—and Hu Tao's gaze darted to four steles ringing the platform, their glyphs glowing faintly, a riddle screaming this fight wasn't won with force.
Barry fired, drawing Lisa's wrath—her roars a storm as she swiped at him—and Hu Tao seized the moment, shoving Jill to topple each stele, their crashes a drumbeat that shook the crypt, dust swirling as the central coffin yawned open, a door beyond unlocking.
Lisa froze—her aggression melted as she shuffled to the coffin, clawing up a skull, her voice a ragged wail, "Mom!"—before cradling it and leaping off the cliff's edge, a plunge that left Hu Tao's chest tight, her breath hitching at the monster's mournful end.
"She wasn't just a beast—there's a story there, buried deep," she whispered, her hall-master's heart aching—Lisa's cry echoed the lost souls she'd guided, a tragedy etched in bone that softened her fire, if only for a moment, in this grim digital tomb.
Barry shrugged—"Let's move," he grunted, brushing off the gun incident like dust, and Jill complied, their split resuming as if trust hadn't teetered; Hu Tao gaped, "You're kidding—letting him walk after that? Jill, where's your spine?"
Her outrage flared—she'd have cracked Jill's head like a lantern if she could, peering for brains; Barry's pistol play demanded reckoning, not this nonchalant stroll, but the game rolled on, dragging her to the backyard, a poolside sprawl under a moonless sky.
The mechanism clicked—water drained, revealing an elevator shaft, its rusted cage descending into the underground lab, a sterile abyss of white tiles and humming machinery, where experimental logs littered tables, their codes yielding secrets of the horrors she'd faced.
Monsters birthed by cruelty—zombies, hounds, Lisa—all Umbrella's spawn, a revelation that curled Hu Tao's lip, "Like that Doctor from the Fatui, slicing up Mondsters 'til the Knights ran him off," her disdain a bridge between Teyvat's shadows and this world's rot.
Supplies stacked high—ammo, herbs, fuel—a harbinger of battle, and Hu Tao fueled the generator, its growl waking the lab's pulse; as the elevator whirred to life, Barry loomed again, his broad frame a recurring specter she couldn't shake.
"Back for more, huh?" she sighed, exasperation numbing her—Barry's yo-yo act wore thin, his every step a question mark, but the plot shoved Jill aboard with him, ascending to a confrontation she'd face with a groan, "Do what you want, you naive fool."
The elevator creaked upward—into a chamber of steel and glass, where Wesker awaited, his shades glinting under harsh lights—and Barry whirled, pistol trained on Jill, his gravelly voice taut, "Don't move," a betrayal that snapped the air like a breaking bone.
Truth spilled—Wesker smirked, "I'm Umbrella's plant in STARS; Barry's just my leash," his confession cold as Snezhnayan frost, revealing Barry's coercion, his family held hostage, a puppet strung by fear rather than greed.
He waved Barry off—"Ground level, now," he ordered, then turned his gun on Jill, his voice a purr, "I'm no lackey; Umbrella's my tool for power," his pride unveiling a pod where the Tyrant slept, a grotesque titan of festering flesh and claws.
Hu Tao recoiled—its skin peeled like old parchment, a heart pulsed exposed, talons gleamed like scythes—"Disgusting! What's this virus cooking up, a parade of wrecks?" she spat, Wesker's smug glee a mystery as vile as the beast he'd roused.
Barry burst back—shots rang, twin blooms of red staining Wesker's chest, a twist that jolted Hu Tao, "Uncle, you're bold—but your family!"—his return a shock, redemption teetering on the edge as the Tyrant's pod shattered, glass raining like hail.
The beast awoke—its claw smashed free, a roar shaking the lab as it swiped Wesker aside, his body crumpling; another swing felled Barry, leaving Jill alone, Hu Tao's grin feral, "Alright, big guy—let's see your weight in catties!"
Action ignited—the Tyrant lumbered, its strides quaking the steel floor, and Hu Tao unleashed shotgun hell, shells tearing into its rot, her backpack brimming with ammo, fear a distant echo as she danced with death in this sterile killing ground.
It swung—claws raked air, missing by inches as Jill rolled, Hu Tao's pulse a war drum; she fired again, buckshot gouging its chest, the exposed heart a bullseye she'd shred, her hall-master's bravado a flame no tyrant could quench.
The lab trembled—consoles sparked, pipes hissed steam, the Tyrant's roars a cacophony as it charged, and Hu Tao weaved, "You're slow for a king!"—her taunt a spark as she ducked a swipe, planting a round in its skull, its stagger her victory's first note.
Wesker groaned—alive, clutching his side, his shades askew—and Barry stirred, a grunt of pain; Hu Tao's glare flicked between them, "Stay down, both of you—traitors don't get a vote," her focus locked on the beast, a duel she'd finish alone.
A subplot twisted—Wesker's double game, Umbrella's pawn and master; Barry's forced hand, a father's desperation—layers peeled back, and Hu Tao pondered, "Who's the real monster here?" her mind weaving Teyvat's intrigues into this lab's bloody play.
Emotion surged—Barry's shot at redemption mirrored her Wangsheng burdens, lives she'd guarded solo; Wesker's fall pricked a thrill, a foe unmasked, yet Lisa's wail lingered, a ghost of grief that tied her to this world's lost souls.
The crowd buzzed—Chongyun's boa kill echoed, Tartaglia's zombie dance drew roars, and Hu Tao's stand sparked gasps: "She's taking it solo!"—their tales a mosaic of guts and glory, Liam's cafe a crucible where Teyvat's fire met Raccoon's rot.
Hu Tao pressed the assault—shotgun steady, eyes alight—the Tyrant's bulk loomed, a mountain she'd topple, her laughter ringing, "Come on, ugly—I bury worse daily!"—her spirit a blaze, unyielding, as she waltzed with this king of decay.
***
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