Smoke swirled through Dust2's A-door room—a gray shroud from Ningguang's grenade that swallowed Hu Tao's vision behind her crate—and she hissed, "Zhongli, they're here—someone's coming!" her voice a spark in the haze, her MP5 trembling as footsteps echoed closer.
Uncertainty gnawed—she couldn't peg one foe or two, the fog a blindfold—and she popped from cover, spraying a wild burst toward the doorway, bullets chewing wood, a kill flashing, "Hu Tao (MP5 kill) Bandit No. 4," her grin flaring, "Sneaky rat—thought you'd get me?!"
Her triumph faltered—footsteps thudded again, her MP5 clicking empty mid-reload—and Ningguang surged through the smoke, P90 blazing, a headshot dropping Hu Tao cold, the feed taunting, "Ningguang (P90 headshot) Hu Tao," her screen graying as she shrieked, "Zhongli—avenge me!"
Rage boiled—her vendetta against Ningguang, sparked by that first-round flashbang, had crumbled again, the Tianquan's guile a wall she couldn't breach—and she slammed her desk, "That jade-hearted schemer—I'll bury her yet!" her hall-master's pride a ember stoked by defeat.
Zhongli's voice cut through—"I'll do my utmost, Master," his tone a measured hum, a geo sage stepping into chaos with only his second Counter-Strike match, his novice hands gripping a UMP45 against Ningguang's honed edge, a duel he faced with quiet doubt.
He crept forward—Dust2's A-room loomed, its sandy walls scuffed and tight, the smoke thinning—and he scanned, finding no Ningguang, the bomb gone from the floor, her retreat a calculated fade into the map's sprawling veins, a shadow he'd hunt with a sage's patience.
Options split—B's long haul or A's quick turn, a gamble on C4's resting place—and Zhongli weighed, "Guess wrong, and time's lost; fight breaks, bomb's safe," his mind a ledger of centuries, choosing A's right-side path, a long trek back to the bomb site.
Luck held—halfway there, Ningguang emerged from the police spawn, C4 in tow, striding toward A—and she paused, "He guessed? Sharp," her geo mind ticking, no time to plant as Zhongli closed, her P90 rising, a showdown brewing in Dust2's sunlit sprawl.
She held high ground—a crate her shield, Zhongli exposed below—and Ningguang smirked, "Advantage mine," her aim steady, but the clash flared instant and brutal, a single UMP45 shot cracking her skull, "Zhongli (UMP45 headshot) Ningguang," her screen graying in disbelief.
Precision ruled—Ningguang's P90 sprayed, grazing Zhongli's arm, but his bullet flew true, a headshot snapped with eerie calm—and she stared, "A rookie? That's no fluke," her loss a jolt, the Tianquan's pride pricked by a marksmanship too sharp for chance.
Hu Tao whooped—"That's my Zhongli—knew you'd bury her!" her glee a blaze across the cafe, her faith in her geo general a spark that flared, Ningguang's fall a balm to her wounded ego, a vengeance she'd claim through his steady hands.
Zhongli demurred—"Luck played its part," his modesty a veil over a truth deeper than Dust2's sands—and beneath it lay six millennia of mastery, his body a honed relic, recoil tamed by micro-twitches, a god's finesse turned to pixelated lead.
Guns bucked wild—horizontal sway a chaos most couldn't tame—but Zhongli corrected, his shots a line carved through instinct, no pro yet, but Ningguang's hour of practice paled beside his eons, a sage's quiet power unveiled in this digital dustbowl.
Score tied—one to one, the cafe's air electric as rigs hummed—and round three dawned, Hu Tao's bandits reborn, Zhongli's AK47 a scepter in his grip, her voice a rallying cry, "Four protect one—keep him alive, and we win!" her tactic a mob's shield for her ace.
Flashbangs flew—Hu Tao lobbed one, "Blind 'em!" as bandits stormed B, Dust2's tunnels a gauntlet of sand and shadow—and Zhongli wove, his AK barking, two shots per cop, "Zhongli (AK47 headshot) Police No. 1," "Zhongli (AK47 headshot) Police No. 2," their falls a rhythm to her grin.
Ningguang countered—her police rallied at B, a grenade arcing to blast Bandit No. 3—and Hu Tao ducked, "Keep moving—cover him!" her MP5 chattering as Zhongli danced, a third cop crumpling, "Zhongli (AK47 headshot) Police No. 4," his aim a storm none could weather.
Three cops stood—Ningguang's P90 cracked, felling Bandit No. 1—and Hu Tao flanked, "Plant it, Zhongli—now!" her flashbang whitening the site, Zhongli dropping C4 as she fell, "Ningguang (P90 kill) Hu Tao," her sacrifice a spark to his triumph.
Zhongli held—two cops charged, their M4s blazing, and he sidestepped, AK snapping, "Zhongli (AK47 headshot) Police No. 5," "Zhongli (AK47 headshot) Police No. 3"—the bomb ticked, Ningguang's defuse cut short, her team's rout a 3-2 win for Hu Tao's crew.
The cafe roared—200 screens pulsed, melon-eaters shouting, "Zhongli's a monster!"—and Tartaglia paused his Resident Evil grind, smirking, "Old man's a sniper—Hu Tao's got a ringer," his tease a jab she'd bask in, her general a titan in this LAN clash.
A subplot twisted—Zhongli's skill, a god's echo, outstripped Ningguang's mortal guile, a hint of his Morax soul bared—and Hu Tao grinned, "He's my ace—championship's ours!" her ambition a flame, CS's lack of rewards a spur to Liam's future tournaments.
Ningguang slumped—her screen dark, her geo pride dented—and she mused, "Luck or legend? I'll test him again," her rivalry with Hu Tao a thread from Teyvat's chambers to Dust2's dust, a rematch she'd chase with sharper aim and deeper wiles.
Action flared—round's end replayed: Zhongli weaving through flashes, AK a scythe, cops falling like Liyue's foes—and Hu Tao crowed, "That's my Zhongli—buries 'em clean!" her glee a fire, his marksmanship a geo hymn sung in bullet trails.
Emotion surged—Hu Tao's trust in Zhongli mirrored Wangsheng's bond, a rock she leaned on; his calm hid a warrior's pulse, centuries of battles honed in this game, their victory a balm to her losses, a hall-master's faith rewarded in Dust2's glow.
Liam watched—breakfast crumbs on his shirt, the cafe a crucible of clashing titans—and Tier Harribel murmured, "He fights like a Vasto Lorde—precise, unyielding," her hollow gaze a lens on Zhongli's might, a tale of gods and mortals woven in his den.
Hu Tao stretched—victory hers, Ningguang downed—and she vowed, "Next time, I plant it—Zhongli's my spear, but I'm the fire!" her spirit a pyro blaze, unbowed by earlier falls, a hall-master's saga in Counter-Strike now crowned by her geo king's reign.
***
Support me on Patreon to read 50+ advanced chapters: patreon.com/Nocturnal_Breeze