The silent clearing was a stark canvas of shattered rock and broken wood. Liriel, bruised and battered, finally pulled away from Lyra. His sobs had ceased, but his eyes were still red and swollen. He looked at the empty space where Brutus had stood, and for a fleeting moment, a fresh wave of pain washed over his face.
Then, he blinked. The hero's mask, a familiar shield of arrogance and bravado, slid back into place.
He wiped the last of his tears away with the back of his hand and scoffed, a hollow, bitter sound. "Damn. I cried like a bitch." He looked at Lyra with a new resolve in his eyes, and then at Rohan, who was still on his knees, stunned. "Let's keep moving. There's nothing for us here."
He then looked at the shattered remains of the Behemoth, his player instincts kicking in. "But first," he said, his voice a low growl, "let's take the ascended equipment from that f*cker. We'll need it."
He walked over to the Behemoth's body, his boots crunching on the rocky remains, and began to search through the rubble. Ascended equipment wasn't like regular loot; it was found only when someone defeated an ascended boss, a feat that very few had accomplished in this game, Liriel being one of the rare exceptions. Each piece carried a fragment of the boss's power.
His hand closed around something smooth and cold. He pulled it from the wreckage – a sleek, metallic beam rifle, its barrel still faintly humming with residual energy. He examined it, a flicker of professional awe in his eyes despite his inner turmoil. This was the source of the Behemoth's most devastating attack, the searing beam that had incinerated Brutus's armor.
"Damn," he muttered, weighing the gun in his hand. "Its damage... it's too high. No wonder Brutus couldn't stand it." He knew this weapon was a game-changer, capable of firing a single, devastating light beam once per day. It was raw, untamed power.
Lyra, seeing his grief and his return to his old self, looked at Rohan with a mix of sadness and resolve. They couldn't stay here. Tension was in her eyes, as if something more dangerous could appear at any moment, and they would be in even greater danger.
She helped Rohan to his feet, her hands trembling. "We have to go."
Rohan looked at Liriel, who was now holding the ascended beam rifle. Liriel was a hero who had lost his companion, but he was still the hero. And Rohan, a programmer who had died trying to fix a bug, was now a living, breathing one, a glitch in the system that had caused nothing but destruction.
He looked at Liriel, then at Lyra, and he was confused. Should he follow them? He had just slapped Liriel in the face; wouldn't leaving them alone be the right choice?
Just then, Liriel, who was now holding the beam rifle, turned to look at Rohan, his eyes still burning with a cruel, unyielding fire. He didn't speak. Instead, with a sudden, forceful motion, he threw the beam rifle directly at Rohan.
Rohan fumbled, barely catching the heavy weapon. Its metallic surface was warm in his hands, buzzing faintly with latent power. He stared at it, then back at Liriel, bewildered.
"You coming," Liriel finally growled, his voice a low challenge, "or have you pissed your pants and can't move, NPC?"
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Rohan's lips.
Rohan looked at the beam rifle in his hands, then at Liriel, and he knew what he had to do. With a newfound resolve, Rohan ran towards Lyra and Liriel, ready to face the world with them. They were a broken team: a hero, a compassionate lore hunter, and a silent programmer. And together they would journey to the end of this accursed world.