CHAPTER 417: CHAPTER 417: WHAT—WHAT THE HELL—

The fan sliced through the air like a scream dressed in silk. A streak of pink light arced forward, sharp enough to hum, and when it connected with the creature, it was as if the mountain itself recoiled. The air split open, the mist tearing apart under the sheer pressure of the strike. For one breathless instant, Isabella saw it—the false Glimora’s body cut perfectly in half, its insides not red, not flesh, but shadow spilling like smoke.

It didn’t die normally. It folded. Its head twisted backward, mouth splitting wider than before, laughter spilling out until it gurgled into silence. Then it collapsed into dust—ash and black mist—disappearing before her eyes. The sound of it vanishing was sickeningly soft, like a sigh escaping a corpse.

Then—silence.

No wind. No footsteps. Nothing.

Even the mountain seemed to stop breathing.

Isabella stood there, frozen, the fan trembling slightly in her grip. The glow along its edges dimmed, then pulsed again faintly, feeding off the charged air that clung to her skin.

Her heartbeat pounded so loud it was the only thing she could hear. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

She turned in a slow circle, scanning the mist. It was too quiet. Too still. Her chest tightened, the silence pressing against her ears until it almost hurt. "Bubu?" she whispered softly. No response.

The mist swirled once, curling low to the ground like it was waiting for her to move.

And then—static. A faint buzz.

"—bella..."

Her head snapped up. "Bubu?"

The voice came again, faint, broken, glitching like a cracked crystal.

"...they’re... bending... sound... what you see... don’t... trust..."

"Bubu, what are you—?" Isabella’s voice cracked.

"...come... back..."

The system’s voice glitched mid-sentence, then cut out completely. A single, eerie ping echoed, then nothing.

Her breath hitched. She felt it—something cold crawling up her spine.

"What do you mean come back?" she whispered, voice trembling. "Come back to where? To who?!"

No answer.

She blinked rapidly, her lips trembling now, eyes darting around the mist that had swallowed her whole. "Oh my god, no, no, no," she muttered, gripping her fan tighter. "Not now. Bubu, I swear if this is some stupid system prank I’m deleting you the second I get down from this cursed mountain—"

She stopped. Even her voice sounded wrong—like it was echoing from somewhere else. Too far.

Her stomach dropped.

The silence that followed pressed down harder. Even Glimora’s small chirps weren’t there. Nothing. Just her and the endless gray.

For a second, she wanted to scream. But she didn’t. Her survival instincts were screaming at her not to make a sound.

She clenched her teeth, shut her mouth tight, and started moving—slowly. Quietly. The fan was open in her hand, her bare feet brushing the cold ground with deliberate care.

Don’t talk. Don’t breathe loud. Listen.

She focused on her hearing instead. The faint trickle of water far away. The hiss of wind between the rocks. Her own heartbeat still hammering in her chest.

Everything else was too quiet.

Each step she took felt heavier, like the air itself didn’t want her moving. She kept walking, her body tense, her eyes darting through the fog. It was too thick. Too white. The mountain looked endless here—twisting, unfamiliar, unnatural.

She didn’t even notice at first when the ground beneath her feet changed—soft earth turning to cold stone, the slope curving downward.

She’d stepped off the path.

And the air... shifted.

A faint sound rose, soft at first. Like breathing. But not hers. Not one. Many.

Her hand twitched. She froze.

The mist in front of her stirred.

Slowly, as if responding to her realization, the white fog began to thin, parting like a curtain. Shapes appeared—small at first, then growing clearer. Two legs. Bent knees. Long arms. Heads slightly tilted.

One. Two. Three.

Five.

Eight.

Twelve.

She stopped counting.

They were all around her.

Standing. Watching. Smiling.

Each creature looked nearly identical to the last—goat-like faces stretched into human expressions, eyes too wide, too bright, too aware.

Their mouths were fixed in those same sweet, innocent smiles. Their pale fur glistened under the ghostly light, their long fingers twitching slightly as if eager to touch.

None of them moved.

They just stared.

Isabella’s throat went dry. Her knees felt weak. The fan in her hand hummed faintly, picking up the mountain’s unnatural energy—but even that sound felt too loud.

They were smiling at her.

Not like predators. Not like monsters.

Like something that had already won.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard a voice that wasn’t hers—soft and sing-song, echoing like a lullaby from nowhere.

"Found you."

Isabella spun around so fast her hair snapped across her shoulder like a whip—

and froze.

One of them was right there.

Not a few feet away. Not a few steps back. It was standing barely a breath from her face. So close she could see the cracks in its white skin—too smooth, like porcelain that had been broken and badly glued together. Its grin stretched wide, trembling, its eyes wet and shining like glass marbles. The smile didn’t move naturally; it twitched, like someone had stitched it into place.

Her breath hitched in her throat. Her lungs forgot how to work.

Then it opened its mouth.

Its jaw unhinged. Skin tore at the corners as the mouth stretched wider—wider—until it shouldn’t have been possible, until she saw nothing inside but a black void, swirling and sucking the air around her. It inhaled, and the sound wasn’t just a breath. It was like the mountain itself was gasping—dragging her toward it.

"Shit!"

She dodged, barely—its breath yanked at her hair, pulling it toward that gaping void as she stumbled to the side, panting, her knees shaking. She hit the ground on her palms, dirt and stones scraping her skin, and scrambled back up instantly. Her heart was a drum. She could not die here.

No way. Not here. Not like this.

They started laughing.

That sound. Gods—it didn’t even sound human. It was shrill, broken, overlapping. Like children giggling underwater, mixed with choking sobs. Their laughter echoed through the mist and twisted around her, bouncing from every direction.

Her hands trembled, but she raised the fan again, snapping it open with a sharp thwap! The golden edges gleamed under the eerie light.

"Stay away from me!"

She swung it. Hard.

A rush of wind exploded from the fan, sharp and fast—cutting through the mist in a pink arc. For a second, she thought she’d hit them. The gust ripped across their faces—

—but then they moved.

They mimicked her.

Each one twisted its body the same way she had swung. They tilted their heads, their smiles stretching wider as if mocking her movements. It was like watching reflections come to life—wrong, delayed, distorted.

"What—what the hell—"

She swung again, faster, another burst of wind slashing out—

but again, they copied her. Every flick, every step. They swayed with her like marionettes, mocking her rhythm, laughter bubbling louder each time her attack missed.

The air grew colder. Her chest felt tight. The fan’s glow dimmed, reacting to her panic.

"Why isn’t it working?" she whispered. Her voice cracked.

No answer. Only the sound of their feet moving—soft, synchronized, slow.

Then something cold wrapped around her ankle.

She froze. Looked down.

A hand—thin, gray, clawed—was gripping her leg. The fingers were too long. Its nails bit into her skin.

Her blood ran cold.

She barely had time to react before it yanked.

"Ah—!"

She hit the ground hard, the air knocking out of her lungs. The world spun, dirt scraping against her arms. Her fan slipped from her grip, skidding across the ground just out of reach.

Pain flared through her body, but she didn’t stop moving. She kicked wildly, trying to pull free, her heel connecting with something soft and wet. The creature hissed—a noise like a cat being strangled—and she used that moment to crawl forward, her fingers digging into the earth, reaching for her fan.

But the others were moving now.

Slow. Deliberate.

Their laughter had stopped.

They were surrounding her again—twelve, maybe more—circling like wolves that had grown tired of playing. Their shadows stretched across the rocks, long and crooked, reaching toward her fingers.

She stretched her hand out—closer, closer—her fingertips brushing the fan’s handle.

It was right there. Just a little more. Just an inch.

But her arm trembled violently, her muscles burning as she clawed through the dirt. The ground beneath her palms was slick with cold dew and something darker—something that smelled faintly like iron. The fan’s golden handle gleamed faintly in the dim light, almost mocking her desperation.