The two creatures adjusted, their movents syncing—eerie, deliberate, like two marionettes sharing a single mind. The air between them buzzed with that humming resonance, vibrating through Isabella’s teeth until she could taste the sound.
They stopped mimicking her now. No more copycatting her swings or timing. No, they’d learned her rhythm—learned her. Every feint, every recoil, every heartbeat she gave away in her breathing.
"Alright," she muttered, chest rising and falling fast. "Two ugly bastards. One tired, pregnant woman with a fan. Fantastic odds."
They respond to movent, Bubu reminded her flatly. If you stand still—
"Standing still gets killed, Bubu!" she snapped, dodging hard as a claw skimd past her arm. It hit the stone beside her, sparks bursting. She rolled across the dirt, dust sticking to her sweat. "And while we’re at it, stop giving advice like a yoga instructor!"
Her boots hit solid ground again, and she forced herself up, fan ready. The pink silk shimred faintly under the mountain’s light—still delicate, still deadly. She swiped it open in a single motion.
The air shifted. The fan humd in her hand, hungry for command.
"Okay, boys," she said through her teeth, "Mommy’s had a long day."
She fanned sideways—once, twice—and unleashed a heavy Gale. The gust burst from her fan like a whip, slamming into both creatures. For a mont, it worked. Their long limbs flailed, scraping the ground as they lost balance. Pebbles and debris scattered everywhere.
Dust choked the air.
Her heart thudded. She could do this. She could actually—
The taller one rebalanced.
It moved through the wind like water, its bones folding in impossible angles. Isabella blinked once, twice. "Oh, co on! You’re not supposed to be aerodynamic!"
She slashed again—Wind Slash, thin and sharp. The cut landed, slicing across its side, spraying that dark, glowing ichor. The creature scread—high, shrill, and wrong, the sound scratching her skull from the inside out.
"Yeah," she panted, "how do you like that?"
But the second one was faster. It darted forward on all fours, scraping bone across stone like blades on glass. She jumped back, swinging her fan in defense, but her footing slipped on the loose gravel. She barely caught herself, one hand bracing on her knee.
The shorter Hollow Stalker halted mid-lunge, cocked its head, and then did sothing that made her stomach twist—it listened. Its empty skull tilted, humming quietly, as if testing her breathing.
It lunged again.
She reacted too slow.
The creature’s arm slashed down, grazing her leg.
The pain was white-hot—sharp, instant, searing through her thigh like soone had jamd fire under her skin. She scread, falling to one knee. The world went blurred for a heartbeat. Her fan trembled in her hand.
"Shit, shit, shit—" She bit back another scream, pressing her palm against the bleeding wound. Warm blood seeped between her fingers.
Host, focus. Bubu’s tone was steady, but lower now. You must move.
"Oh, you don’t say?!" she snarled.
Her fan snapped open again. She fanned forward—short, controlled, the kind of swing that ca from fury, not form. Wind Slash hit the creature dead in the chest. It staggered back, bones cracking under invisible pressure. The gust tore through the grass and rattled the rocks behind them.
But the pain didn’t fade. Her leg throbbed with each heartbeat. The blood soaked through her torn skirt, dripping down to her boot.
The taller one was circling again, that hollow hum vibrating louder now—like it was feeding off her pain. Its empty skull tilted toward the sound of her pulse.
Isabella grit her teeth, half-growl, half-whimper. "You want ? Fine. Co and choke on it."
She spun, swinging her fan again. The edges glowed, wind pressure shimring around her. She fanned hard, using Gale Mode to push both monsters back. The air burst outward, cracking like thunder.
Her leg scread in protest, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Every breath burned her lungs, every move made her wound throb harder, but she fought like she was furious at the world—and maybe she was.
"Can’t even die peacefully here," she hissed. "I hate this mountain. I hate your faces. I hate—" She gasped as the shorter one swiped again, grazing her sleeve. "—I really hate you!"
The creatures didn’t understand words, but they understood sound—and rage. Their hum sharpened, vibrating in sync, their bodies jerking closer.
She adjusted her stance, blood soaking her boot. Her hand trembled around the fan’s handle, but she tightened her grip. The fan’s engravings pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
One step.
Two steps.
She spun the fan, snapping it open again.
The wind obeyed her.
It burst outward in a spiral—stronger than before, wilder. The blast sent both Hollow Stalkers sliding backward, their long limbs scrabbling to find grip. The air cut through their humming, silencing one for a single, beautiful second.
Then it returned.
A new hum joined the air—deeper, louder. The taller one was already standing again.
She could feel the vibration under her skin, through her ribs, inside her bones. The sound wasn’t just around her anymore. It was inside her.
"Oh, this is fine," she muttered, panting. "Everything’s fine. Totally normal night."
Her leg buckled. She caught herself on one knee again. The taller Hollow Stalker leaned forward, lifting its long, curved arms. It towered above her like a blackened statue, its hollow skull tilted in eerie fascination.
For one stupid second, Isabella laughed—soft, breathless, hysterical. "You know, I’m starting to think you two just don’t like personally."
Then she saw it—one of them lowering its limb, blade-first. The point glinted dull white. It was going for her again.
Her stomach.
The part of her that wasn’t just her anymore.
Everything slowed. The hum deepened, thrumming through her chest. Her grip on the fan tightened until her knuckles ached.
Her breath hitched. She could taste blood in her mouth now, sharp and tallic.
The wind faltered.
Her vision swam.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears.
The blade ca down—
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