Chapter 52: Gremlins Resting briefly, the duo stood up and resumed their journey. They had planned on descending further, hoping the narrow ledge would eventually connect to the lower ridge they’d glimpsed earlier. Unfortunately, the terrain had other ideas.
The path narrowed to a sliver, forcing them to move sideways with their backs pressed against the cliff wall. Loose fragments crumbled beneath their boots and disappeared into the fog below without a sound.
They advanced in silence. The only noise was the scrape of stone against their gear and the soft hiss of Rose’s flames whenever she conjured a brief flicker of light to probe the way forward. The brilliant fire revealed more of the mountain’s fractured anatomy such as splintered ridges, knife-edged cracks, and hollow gaps that breathed faint streams of mist.
At one point, the ledge simply ended. The rock dropped away into nothing, leaving only a sheer vertical descent. They paused and narrowed their eyes at the dark slope ahead, where faint outlines hinted at another ledge far below. There was no stable route between the two, just a fractured face of broken shale.
Without hesitation, Rose summoned her flames again. Azure light bloomed, shaping itself into a rope of fire that burned without heat. It coiled down the cliffside, fusing to the rock as if clinging to it. Nightingale tested the surface with his boot before descending. The footholds hissed faintly under his weight but held firm.
Step by step, the duo moved in perfect rhythm. Rose’s flames created the path; Nightingale followed, breaking each anchor behind him so nothing could climb their trail. The descent was steep, almost vertical now, and the risk of falling to their demise became increasingly apparent.
The further they went, the thicker the fog became. It pressed against them, muffling the world until even their own breathing sounded distant.
Still, they continued through the mist-drenched stone slick with unseen moisture, through air that carried neither wind nor scent.
Then, finally, their boots struck solid ground.
The descent ended upon a broad terrace of fractured rock. The platform spread outward like a open wound in the mountain’s flesh, ringed by broken pillars and toppled arches. The remnants of carved stone suggested a structure long abandoned that had once stood proud before being consumed by the mountain’s collapse.
Or perhaps, it hadn’t been built within the mountain at all. Perhaps the mountain had grown around it.
The exact wording did not matter. After all, this was merely an illustration conjured by the Black Mire. Most researchers and specialists would call this the fragment of a forgotten story, long stripped of its meaning. Therefore, dwelling on what they couldn’t possibly understand would serve no purpose.
Nightingale surveyed the strange surroundings.
Through the veil of mist ahead, faint outlines began to take form: twisted roots jutting through the cracks in the stone. Some reached down from the ceiling like vines frozen in time, others split the ground, spreading through the shattered terrace like a spider web.
The further his gaze travelled, the clearer it became that this place was a boundary, where the mountain’s foundations met the remnants of an underground woodland. The air grew denser with a subtle green hue from spores that drifted like faint embers in the mist, glimmering briefly before fading into nothing.
Pools of still water reflected the faint blue light of Rose’s flames, revealing submerged trunks and tangled roots beneath the surface. It was less a forest and more of a graveyard.
It wasn’t beautiful, nor was it haunting. It simply existed.
To his surprise, he wasn’t particularly bothered by the grim scenery.
Human curiosity had always been bound by the edges of the unknown. The moment something strayed too far beyond comprehension, it ceased to intrigue and began to repel. Places that evoked discomfort were instinctively avoided. Even those who called themselves explorers would hesitate before a place that stirred that primal unease, that wordless irk in the back of their minds.
It was known as the "Fear of the Unknown." But stripped of its academic tone and laid bare for what it truly was, there was only one name that fit:
Dread. ’Ha. It’s too early for me to be afraid.’
Well, aside from heights, there wasn’t much Nightingale feared. Or at least, that’s what he liked to believe. If he excluded things like spiders, centipedes, cockroaches, deep water, dolls, and old children’s songs...
Come to think of it, he had quite a few fears, didn’t he?
Nightingale shook his head and turned toward Rose. Before he could speak, something caught his eye.
"...?!"
Instinct overrode thought. In one swift motion, he drew his pistol from its holster, attached the silencer with a quick twist, and aimed into the mist. A muffled crack echoed through the air as he pulled the trigger and fired forward.
A split second later came the wet crack of impact, accompanied by a strangled, delayed cry that quickly faded into silence.
Following that, the voice of the Mire whispered:
[You have killed a Lesser Fiend: Gremlin.]
Rose flinched and snapped her gaze toward him.
"W-What happened? Don’t just start shooting without warning!"
Nightingale didn’t turn. His gaze stayed fixed on the fog ahead with the pistol still raised. Then he said quietly:
"Sorry. But something’s there."
Rose turned to look but saw nothing through the thick fog. Confused, she asked:
"There’s nothing there. Are you sure you saw it correctly?"
He tilted his head.
"Huh? So you can’t see them?"
"See what?"
Her confusion was genuine. Rose couldn’t see "them," and she had no reason to lie. But it didn’t matter whether she could see those things or not.
𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮 Suddenly, without warning, several shapes emerged from the mist and stood before them.
In an instant, Flaming Rose leaped back, slipping into a combat stance, while Nightingale remained rooted in place with his pistol trained forward. Even so, his face twisted uncomfortably.
The sudden appearance of these intruders was... too strange.
There were five of them.
Five, because one had been caught off guard by his shot, the bullet piercing its skull and ending its pitiful life instantly.
The remaining creatures were small and from the looks of it, their bodies barely reached his waistline. Their skin was rough and covered in bumps, their eyes long and slanted. Most striking were the glistening fangs that protruded through thick lips, cutting across their mouths in a grotesque manner.
The mere sight of them filled him with disgust.
Fiends. Or more accurately, the monsters humans called goblins.
However, Nightingale thought the creatures in front of him were quite different from what goblins were supposed to look like.
The most obvious observation was that their skin was not green. Instead, it bore a sickly gray pallor, mottled with patches of black and deep crimson. Within their eyes glimmered a hint of mischief and uncanny intelligence.
Were these the so-called Gremlins?
They certainly did not look like dumb creatures. In fact, the goblin-like beings had been watching them for some time.
If he hadn’t fired that shot, killing one of their companions, they would likely have launched a sneak attack.
’How did they know we were here? Could they have seen us while passing by?’
Before Nightingale could finish the thought, the terrace flared as if struck by sunlight.
Rose had unleashed her azure flames on instinct, arcs of light stabbing into the mist and blooming into scorching bursts that climbed in intensity by the second. Her presence radiated a thick, almost tangible killing intent.
Chaos creatures were filthy things that deserved eradication, sure. But the ferocity she displayed toward these lesser fiends felt excessive. Where was all this venom coming from?
Gritting her teeth like a rabid animal, Rose barked, her eyes burning behind the pristine mask like brilliant stars as if possessed by a demon.
"You filthy gremlins! I’ll fucking scorch you until there’s nothing left!"