CHAPTER 461: CHAPTER 461: YOU SAID ‘MATERNAL SCENT DECOY,’ RIGHT? GREAT. GUESS THAT MEANS I’M THE BAIT

Isabella appeared outside the cave, it wasn’t dark—because on this cursed mountain, there was no day or night. Just a constant silver-gray hue that clung to everything like old smoke. The air shimmered faintly, windless yet alive. Then, slowly, the creatures turned toward her.

They turned like puppets on a single string.

Long limbs unfolded, joints clicking in a sound like dry branches snapping. The taller one with her rag tilted its eyeless face and hummed—the same low, teeth-grating sound that had crawled beneath Isabella’s skin before—and the world narrowed into the space between her ribs and the cold ground. Her palms went slick with sweat. The mountain’s air tasted like iron and old leaves.

"Hey, cuties," she called, because what else do you say to towering nightmare-children? "I heard you were looking for mommy. She’s not around. Surprise! I am."

It was the sort of stupid thing she said when all other options were grief or screaming. It came out sharp and absurd, a way to wedge humor into fear. The creatures did not laugh. They lunged.

They didn’t run so much as unspool—long limbs whipping, bodies contorting in jerks that were almost human, then obscene. One of them hit the earth where she’d been standing; the impact rattled sand into the air. Isabella stumbled back, fan snapping open with a nervous flourish. The reinforced silk rasped like a blade through wind; the marking along its edge glowed faintly with that mountain-energy it loved to hoard.

Bubu’s voice glitched through her mind, crisp and urgent. Wind-sourced attack. Maternal scent decoy active?

Isabella exhaled through her teeth, rolling her shoulders like she was about to fight an ex she still had feelings for.

"Alright, Bubu," she muttered. "You said ’maternal scent decoy,’ right? Great. Guess that means I’m the bait."

Affirmative, Bubu replied in its ever-too-calm tone.

"Perfect. Love that for me."

She yanked her cloak tighter around her shoulders, muttering, "Congratulations, Isabella, you’re dinner perfume now."

The first moments were chaos. She’d fought on this cursed mountain before; she knew the rhythm—bait, strike, move—but these things didn’t follow any rhythm. They weren’t beasts; they were hunger wearing bones.

The Hollow Stalkers didn’t charge like predators or react like men—they glided in crooked stutters, every step disjointed, like their bodies hadn’t gotten the memo on how legs were supposed to work. When she swung, they didn’t dodge—they tilted, their hollow skulls humming in answer, as if memorizing the shape of her attack through sound.

It was like fighting living echoes. Every movement she made, they tried to replay—wrong, delayed, distorted. The mountain air thrummed with their eerie resonance, a chorus of half-formed voices trapped inside their ribcages.

Isabella ducked under a sweeping arm that sliced air where her neck had been a heartbeat ago, her breath sharp. "Okay," she muttered through her teeth, "not goats, not cute—definitely nightmare on stilts."

Bubu’s voice clicked in her head, too calm for the chaos around her. Efficiency likelihood: moderate if you engage properly. Danger level: high. Remember—they feed on movement, not sound. Stop moving, they hesitate.

"Yeah, sure," Isabella hissed, rolling out of reach as one’s spindly fingers clawed at the dirt beside her. "Easy for you to say, you don’t have lungs."

Isabella misjudged her first Wind Slash.

The fan snapped open with a sharp crack, silk gleaming as she swung—fast, clean, desperate. The wind blade carved across the closest Hollow Stalker’s chest, tearing through its bone-stitched hide. For a single, glorious second, she thought that did it.

Then it tilted its head. The cut whistled back at her. Literally whistled. The hollow cavity inside its ribs echoed her own attack, the sound bouncing like trapped wind inside a bottle. The thing straightened again—still moving, still humming, still hungry.

"Oh, that’s cute," Isabella muttered, backing up. "It comes with sound effects."

The second one skittered to the side, limbs bent wrong, scraping its bone claws over the stone with a shrill screech that made her jaw ache. She winced, muttering, "Okay, seriously, stop with the ASMR."

They circled her in slow, deliberate jerks, heads tilting left, right, like dancers listening to music only they could hear. The humming grew louder, a droning vibration that crawled into her bones. Isabella’s skin prickled.

"Bubu," she hissed under her breath, "do they have to sing?"

They’re not singing, the system replied too calmly. Their skulls are hollow. You’re hearing what’s left of the last thing they killed.

"Oh, good," Isabella snapped. "That makes me feel so much better."

The taller one lunged again. She twisted aside, barely missing the slash of a blade-thin arm. Her boots scraped the rock, sending dust flying. She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat.

"Precision," Bubu said in her mind. Don’t waste wind energy. Use Gale for distance, Wind Slash for finish.

"You love giving advice from the peanut gallery, don’t you?" she muttered.

Still, she obeyed. She fanned twice—wide, hard strokes. Air thickened, the gust rolling out like a living wall. It slammed into the first creature, pushing it back several feet. Its body convulsed, limbs folding and unfolding with grotesque elasticity.

Isabella grinned. "Yeah, that’s right. Bad wind day for you, creepy."

She pivoted and snapped the fan in a short arc. A thinner Wind Slash sliced through its midsection. This time, she saw dark ichor spray from the wound, glowing faintly blue under the mountain light. The Hollow Stalker staggered, humming faltering.

For one wild heartbeat, she thought she might actually win this.

Then the second one moved.

It didn’t charge—it slid. Bones scraping the ground, ribs opening and closing like bellows. It came low, so low she nearly didn’t see it until the hum rattled through her knees. The air vibrated, and when she glanced down, the shadow beneath her wasn’t hers anymore.

"Oh, hell no—"

She jumped back, twisting midair. The creature’s claw sliced past her face, nicking a lock of hair. She landed in a crouch, panting, heart thundering. "You almost gave me bangs, you freak!"