Liriel's rage-fueled Void Strike slammed into the Behemoth. The energy, a furious yellow, erupted from his sword and tore into the monster's chest. But unlike his previous attempt, this wasn't a contained explosion. This was pure, unadulterated power, a torrent of vengeance.
The Behemoth roared in pain, a sound that was less of a challenge and more of a horrified shriek. Its rocky body, which had been impervious to Liriel's attacks before, began to crack under the pressure. The fissures spread across its form, and the light from its core began to flicker and dim.
Liriel wasn't just fighting for survival. He was fighting with the ferocity of a man who had nothing left to lose. He was fighting with a raw, terrifying sadness that fueled his every move. He was a force of nature, a player who had lost a friend.
The Behemoth, sensing its end, raised its massive fists in a final, desperate attempt to crush Liriel. But Liriel was faster. He dodged the blows, weaving in and out, his blade a blur of yellow light. He was no longer just a player. He was a god of war, a vengeful spirit in a corrupted world.
With a final, desperate roar, Liriel's sword plunged into the Behemoth's core. The light from his sword was so bright that it was blinding. The Behemoth's body, its rocky form and pulsating crystal, began to crumble, the pieces falling away like dust. The creature let out a final, guttural scream of pure, unadulterated pain.
Then, nothing. The clearing was silent. The Behemoth was gone. Lyra was safe. And Rohan, still bound by the binding spell, watched in utter disbelief as Liriel, his body bruised and broken, fell to his knees.
But Liriel's rage wasn't sated.
He stood up, his sword still glowing with furious energy. He looked at the shattered remains of the Behemoth's core, and a low, menacing growl escaped his lips. The pieces of the core, the pulsating light within them, were still there. They were healing, reforming, a slow, agonizing process.
Liriel brought his sword down on a piece of the core, and it shattered again. But then, it began to reform. Liriel saw it and laughed, a hollow, bitter sound.
"You can't die this easily," he said, his voice filled with a chilling, vengeful glee. "I will show you hell."
He started to attack the remnants of the Behemoth, again and again, with his sword. He was no longer trying to kill it. He was torturing it. He would beat it until it was on the verge of death, and then he would stop, waiting for its fast healing factor to kick in. He would watch it reform, its pulsating core glowing with a faint, pitiful light, and then he would start all over again.
This went on for an hour. Rohan watched, horrified, as Liriel beat the Behemoth, a brutal, unending cycle of pain and healing. He was a monster, a man who had lost his humanity in a world that had taken everything from him.
Finally, Liriel stopped. He crushed the last piece of the Behemoth's core, and a final, agonizing shriek echoed through the clearing. He then sat on the broken remains of the Behemoth's body, his body bruised and battered, his face a mask of cold, unyielding rage.
The Behemoth was gone. The clearing was silent, save for the low crackle of dying embers and the ragged gasps of Lyra and Rohan. Liriel, his rage finally spent, sat atop the shattered remains of the monster. The victory was hollow. The taste of triumph was bitter with the blood of a friend and the ashes of a monster. He looked at Lyra, who was still bound to the slab, then at Rohan, a cold, unyielding resentment in his eyes.
He descended from his throne of stone and walked over to Rohan, his boots crunching on the rocky remains of the Behemoth. He didn't speak. He just stared at him, his face a mask of bitter accusation. He then cut the binding spell on Lyra, and she fell to the ground, sobbing. She was a witness to all of this.
Liriel knelt beside her, his body bruised and battered, and pulled her into a tight hug. He held her close, a rare moment of vulnerability for a man who had only shown ruthlessness. Then, his gaze fell on Rohan, his eyes burning with a cold, unyielding fire.
"This is all your fault," he said, his voice a low, guttural growl. "If you wouldn't have come, this all would have been avoided. Brutus would have been alive."
Rohan, still on his knees, could only stare. He was a programmer who had died trying to fix a bug, and now he was a living, breathing one, a glitch in the system that had caused nothing but destruction.
Just then, Lyra pushed herself away from Liriel. She stood up, her face streaked with tears, and she looked at Liriel with a raw, defiant rage.
"Stop it, Liriel!" she screamed, her voice a cracked whisper. "It's not his fault! I took him to town. I should have known better."
Liriel's anger snapped. "Not his fault?" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "All of this is because of him! You're siding with him because he has all the good artifacts, aren't you? That's what this is about, isn't it? Greed!"
He took a step towards her, his body trembling with a rage that was more terrifying than any he had shown before. "You're the one at fault, Lyra! If you hadn't stopped me from killing him back in the forest, I would have had his gear! We would have had all the power we needed! Brutus would still be here!"
Lyra stared at him, her face a mask of utter betrayal. He wasn't just angry; he was trying to break her, to blame her for a tragedy he couldn't face. She looked at Rohan, who had just managed to get his bindings off. The rage in Liriel's eyes was not a performance. It was real. Lyra was in genuine danger.
Rohan, now free of the binding spell, was no longer a spectator. He ran and stood in front of Lyra. He was no longer a useless NPC. He was a shield.
He raised his hand and slapped Liriel across the face, a sharp, resounding sound that echoed in the silent clearing.The slap echoed through the silent clearing, a sound as sharp and jarring as a snapped bone. Liriel froze, his head snapping to the side, a crimson mark blooming on his cheek. He stood there for a moment, not with a player's rage, but with a look of pure, unadulterated shock. His eyes, which had been burning with a cold, broken light, now held a flicker of something new—a sudden, terrible clarity.
He looked at Rohan, a simple boy with a simple brown tunic, standing as a shield for a friend. He saw not a useless NPC, but a person. A person who had just struck him, the unkillable hero, to protect a friend. He saw a man who had more courage and honor in a single slap than Liriel had in a hundred battles.
A single, heart-shattering thought broke through the fog of his rage. Who was the hero here again?
Liriel's sword fell from his hand, clattering to the rocky ground. The rage that had been his constant companion, his only shield against the pain, shattered like glass. The grief, the sadness, the guilt—it all came rushing in, a tidal wave of emotion that he had been fighting for a year. He looked at the shattered remains of the Behemoth, at the empty space where Brutus had stood, and at the terrified, tear-streaked face of Lyra.
He fell to his knees, his body trembling, and let out a raw, guttural sob that was a cry of pure, unadulterated pain. He wasn't crying for himself. He was crying for Brutus. He was crying for the man he had become.
Rohan stood over him, silent, a stoic and unwavering shield. He had no words. There was nothing to say. The slap, a simple human act, had said everything that needed to be said.
Lyra, seeing Liriel's breakdown, rushed to his side and pulled him into a tight hug. She held him close, a rare moment of vulnerability for a man who had only shown ruthlessness. She had seen the player, the hero, the monster, but now, she saw just a human.
Liriel, now just a man, was a prisoner in a world that had taken everything from him. And he was finally ready to face the truth.