CHAPTER 420: CHAPTER 420: ISABELLA, YOU CAN’T RUN FROM YOURSELF

The wind shifted.

The mist coiled tighter around Isabella, whispering across her skin like invisible fingers. Her fan glowed, its pink silk snapping open in a crisp motion that cut through the eerie silence.

The goat-creatures moved with her. Dozens of them, pale and hunched, half-hidden in the fog—copying her stance perfectly. Their heads tilted in the same angle, their fingers flexed in the same rhythm. When she raised her arm, they raised theirs. When she breathed in, they breathed out. The sound of their synchronized breath filled the clearing like a swarm of insects.

"Stay calm," she told herself under her breath. "They’re just reflections. Just reflections."

But the moment she took one slow step to the right, every one of them stepped too—perfectly in sync. A shiver ran down her spine.

Her fan shimmered with energy, a faint hum vibrating up her wrist. She lifted it slowly, letting the silk flutter in the air. The goats mimicked the motion, each raising a phantom fan made of shadow and smoke.

"Let’s see who can dance better," she whispered.

She spun.

The first swirl was graceful, deliberate—a movement more instinct than technique. Her fan sliced through the air, the razor-thin edges catching the wind. A shimmering arc of light erupted from it, slicing across the clearing.

Every creature mirrored her spin perfectly—

but they didn’t create wind.

Her attack landed. One of the illusions flickered and vanished with a shriek, dissolving into mist.

"Good," she panted, gripping the fan tighter. "That means it’s working."

The spirit zipped beside her, its tiny face scrunched with worry. "Don’t stop moving!" it hissed. "If they copy you, you control the rhythm—don’t let them control it!"

"Easy for you to say," Isabella muttered, turning sharply to dodge as another creature lunged.

She kicked off the ground, the movement fluid and sharp. The air responded to her heartbeat, swirling around her legs. Each spin became faster, the silk of her fan leaving glowing trails in the darkness.

She was dancing now—really dancing. Not because it was graceful, but because it was survival.

Every step was a dodge. Every turn a strike.

The creatures mirrored her—spinning and twisting in perfect reflection—but each time they copied her too late, the wind she summoned cut through their forms. The ones she hit screamed in hollow, echoing voices before melting away.

"Four down!" the spirit shouted, its tiny hands clenched in excitement.

But Isabella barely heard it. Her focus sharpened. Sweat glistened on her temples, her breath coming quick and shallow. Her movements grew bolder, sharper, the fan flashing like lightning.

The wind obeyed her now. It coiled around her arms, snapping against her hair, wrapping her in a halo of motion.

She turned again, slicing through another creature.

Five. Six. Seven.

But they kept coming.

The mist thickened, their forms multiplying faster than she could destroy them. Each one mirrored her—some slower, some faster, all wrong. Their faces warped, mouths stretching wider, their laughter growing more distorted.

The wind spirit hovered near her shoulder, voice trembling. "They’re learning your rhythm!"

"I noticed!" Isabella hissed, ducking under a claw that sliced through the air above her head. She rolled across the ground, dirt smearing her knees, and fanned a gust behind her to push them back. The wind howled—but so did they, mimicking the sound until the clearing rang with overlapping shrieks.

Her arms ached. The fan grew heavy. The glowing silk flickered, dimming with every swing.

"Don’t let them touch your shadow," the spirit reminded.

"I’m trying not to fucking die, thanks!"

She spun again, but too late. One of the creatures caught her wrist mid-turn. Its hand was ice cold, claws digging into her flesh. Her breath caught—then it lunged closer, its face inches from hers.

It looked like her.

Same eyes. Same lips. Same trembling breath.

Except its smile was wrong—too wide, too empty.

"Isabella," it whispered in her own voice. "You can’t run from yourself."

She screamed, wrenching her arm free, and slashed the fan upward. The wind blade erupted point-blank, tearing through its chest. The creature dissolved into black mist—but the echo of her own voice lingered in the air like a ghost.

Her knees almost gave out.

"Don’t stop!" the spirit yelled again. "If you stop, they’ll swallow you whole!"

"I know!" she snapped, spinning again, but slower this time. Her limbs were heavy, her lungs burning. The cold air seared her throat with each breath.

She swung the fan again and again, missing more than hitting. The goats’ laughter grew louder.

Her vision blurred. Her muscles trembled.

She stumbled, knees hitting the ground. Her fan slipped from her fingers—just for a heartbeat—but that was enough.

They lunged.

Ten, maybe twelve of them, rushing from all sides. Their jaws unhinged, mouths splitting open into endless voids. Their hands clawed the dirt, leaving trails of black ash.

The spirit screamed her name, but its voice was small—like the whisper of a dying candle.

Isabella reached for the fan, but she was too slow. One creature’s hand grazed her shadow—

and she felt it.

A tearing pain ripped through her chest, sharp and cold. Her vision dimmed for a second, and she choked on a sob. Her knees hit the ground hard.

Her shadow wavered—thinning.

"No," she gasped. "No, no, no—"

The goats circled her again, their laughter turning into a chorus of whispers. Cyrus’s voice. Her mother’s. Her own. All of them overlapping.

"You’ll always be owned."

"You’ll always belong to someone."

"You’ll die alone."

"Just like her."

The voices hammered inside her skull.

She covered her ears, shaking her head, eyes wide with terror. "Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop!"

The wind spirit floated in front of her, desperate. "They feed on fear! You’re feeding them, Isabella!"

"I’m trying—!"

Her hands shook violently. Her mark pulsed again, the faint red glow beneath her skin brightening.

The goats lunged again. She screamed—raw, broken.

Then something deep within her snapped.

The air stilled.

Everything—the mist, the laughter, even her heartbeat—froze for a single second.

And then the wind roared.

It didn’t come from her fan this time. It came from her.

The ground trembled beneath her knees, the mountain’s power surging up through her body like a living thing. Her hair whipped violently around her face, her tears evaporating in the current.

Her fan snapped back into her hand, drawn by instinct, glowing brighter than ever before. The silk burned gold now, alive with streaks of lightning-pink light.

Her eyes widened as the air around her shimmered.

The mountain is responding to me.

Her fear burned away, replaced by something fierce—something wild.

She rose to her feet, slowly, gracefully, her movements fluid once again. Her fan unfolded in a sharp motion, slicing the air.

The creatures hesitated.

Their mirrored movements faltered. For the first time, they didn’t know which of her to follow.

Her body flowed into the first step of her dance—one she had used before. A turn, a twist, a slice through air. Her muscles remembered even if her mind barely kept up. Each movement drew the wind tighter, faster, harder.

The air crackled. The mountain’s energy poured into her veins like liquid fire.

She moved faster.

Every spin created a shockwave. Every flick of her wrist left behind a blade of air sharp enough to cut stone. The creatures lunged again—but now, their reflections couldn’t keep up. Her rhythm was too erratic, too alive.

She was no longer mirroring them.

They were struggling to mirror her.

Her dance became a storm.

She twisted, pivoted, the fan flashing in arcs of light.

One creature tried to grab her wrist—its hand met nothing but wind and was ripped clean off.

Another lunged for her back—her spin unleashed a circular gust that sliced it in half midair.

The others screamed, high-pitched wails mixing with the roar of wind.

The spirit hovered nearby, glowing bright with awe. "She’s—she’s syncing with the mountain!"

"Then they’re screwed," Isabella whispered through clenched teeth, her voice low but steady.

She leapt backward, her feet barely touching the ground. Her body moved like it was guided by the storm itself. Every time her fan cut through the air, another illusion fell.

The goats were panicking now. Their forms flickered, fading in and out of the mist. The more they disappeared, the stronger she felt.

"Stop hiding!" she yelled, voice breaking the air like thunder. "Face me!"

And they did.

The remaining few lunged all at once, mouths open wide, shadows stretching toward her feet.

But Isabella was ready.

She pressed her thumb against the second button—Gale Mode.

The fan exploded with light.

The wind roared to life, bursting outward from her center like a tidal wave. The force lifted her hair, her shawl, her tears. It hurled the creatures backward—screaming, dissolving, their smoky bodies torn apart and scattered into the storm she’d created.

For a moment, she stood alone.

The world was still again. Only the faint hum of the wind remained.

Her fan dimmed slowly, returning to its soft pink glow. Her arms fell to her sides, trembling. Her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, each inhale burning.

The wind spirit floated down beside her, quiet now.

"You did it," it said softly.

Isabella let out a shaky laugh—half disbelieving, half relieved. "Barely."

She looked around—the clearing was empty now. Only fragments of mist drifted by. The ground was littered with faint black stains where the illusions had vanished.

Her hands were still trembling. Her heart felt like it might burst out of her chest.

She turned her face upward, breathing in the sharp, cold air. The wind brushed against her cheeks, soft, almost affectionate.

"I did it..." she whispered.

The spirit smiled faintly. "Told you—you were stronger when you stopped fearing them."

Isabella chuckled weakly, lowering her fan. "Remind me to start charging rent for all the trauma I collect."

But her laugh broke halfway through, the sound catching in her throat. She clenched her jaw, swallowing hard.

The spirit tilted its head. "You’re crying again."

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "No, I’m just... tired."

The spirit didn’t call her out. It just hovered quietly beside her, glowing softly in the dark.

The mist around them thinned. The mountain exhaled. And for the first time since she arrived, the silence didn’t feel threatening.

It felt... peaceful.

For now.

The illusion wavered—then shattered like glass, and in its place, the true forest returned, glowing with its eerie, dreamlike beauty as Bubu’s faint, glitching voice echoed in her ear.