Wonderful Insane World
Chapter 134: Where the Silence Bites

Chapter 134: Where the Silence Bites

The sun raced across the sky as if trying to flee the mountains. When the afternoon arrived—pale and devoid of warmth—the trio quickened their pace. The hours slipped by, grating and rough, and they knew that before nightfall, they would have to find shelter. Somewhere discreet, defensible. Somewhere to sleep—or at least, not die.

Trees became scarcer as they climbed. The ground was treacherous, littered with dry roots and deceptive stones, ready to roll beneath their boots. The wind sang between the rocks, sharp as a blade and carrying scents no human could name. Ancient smells. Hungry ones.

"If we don’t find something within the hour, we go back down," said Élisa, scanning the surroundings, her golden eyes narrowed under the harsh light. "I’d rather sleep in mud than wake up with a jaw in my gut."

"Interesting option," Maggie growled, stepping over a fallen trunk. "As long as the mud doesn’t bite."

Dylan walked behind them, the jian strapped across his back, bouncing against his shoulder blades. He said little, focused on staying upright, his legs sore, his eyelids heavy. The morning’s dampness still clung to their skin, and the ascent had quieted them, as if every wasted word cost one drop too many of energy.

But this silence, for once, wasn’t hostile. Just fatigue, and the necessity of moving forward.

Eventually, they came upon a rocky overhang, partially sheltered by a split wall. Withered shrubs masked the opening, and the hollow inside seemed naturally carved, protected on three sides.

Élisa crouched down to inspect the ground, searching for tracks, signs, smells. She gave a small nod. "Not perfect. But not the worst."

Maggie circled around, checking the angles. "I’ve seen worse. Slept in a hollow tree once. There was a snake inside."

"Let me guess... your ex?" Dylan quipped without thinking.

The silence that followed was brief and then broken by a laugh—first a chuckle from Maggie, then Élisa’s amused exhale.

Dylan shrugged. "I’m tired. No filters left."

"Save them for when we run into bandits," Élisa replied, settling against the rock. "Maybe you’ll defeat them with your humor."

They unpacked without another word. No fire this time—too exposed. They ate dry food, drank little, and settled as best they could. The cold began to bite at their ankles. Maggie tightened her pack, then pulled Dylan close without a word. Not out of tenderness—she didn’t have any—but for warmth. He let her, too exhausted to protest.

Élisa, back against the stone, stayed awake a little longer, eyes fixed on the darkening sky. She felt the atmosphere shift. The altitude. The void. And that persistent sensation that something, up there, was waiting.

They would sleep, yes. But with one certainty: the worst was yet to come.

—

Night fell without drama. No attack. Not even distant howls. Just that strange, vast silence the mountains imposed—a silence heavy like a quiet threat. It wasn’t peaceful, that calm. It felt like a held breath, like a beast watching, unmoving, waiting for its moment.

Sleep took them each in turn. Dylan, the first, slid into a trembling half-consciousness, his face resting on Maggie’s shoulder, his breathing still marked by the deep fatigue of a body reaching its limit. Maggie said nothing but didn’t move. She sat upright, eyes open in the dark, her thoughts spinning in a windowless space. It was strange to have Dylan so close, to feel his weight against her without anger, fear, or hate. Just... shared warmth.

She thought back to the pain she’d felt when he had absorbed her wounds. Pure, burning pain—pain he shouldn’t have taken on. And yet, he had. Without speaking. Without hesitation. And now he slept against her as if none of it... had ever happened.

"You don’t have to go back to being an asshole, you know," she murmured into the dark, just for herself.

Élisa, meanwhile, wasn’t asleep. Not yet. She watched the sky, the constellations warped by altitude, the way the stars here seemed closer and colder, as if they too were watching the paths. Her mind wandered, but not too far. Not tonight.

Beside her, she could hear the irregular breaths of the other two, the small twitches of restless dreams, the rustle of fabric against stone. It wasn’t a peaceful night—but it was a living one.

A gust, colder than the others, rushed through the rocks. Élisa sat up slightly, listened. Nothing. No crackle. No movement. Just the wind.

She relaxed slowly, pulled her hood down, and whispered softly—more to the mountain than to her companions:

"We won’t die here. Not tonight."

Or at least, that’s what she hoped. She allowed herself to slide a little closer to the rock wall, sheltered from the wind, and finally closed her eyes.

And in that forgotten crevice of stone, where the world seemed to hold its breath, three battered souls finally slept—not in safety, but deep enough to dream. Just enough to hope.

—

By morning, the cold already bit at their fingers before the sun had crested the ridge. No gentle wake-up, no tender words or lingering smiles—just the harshness of morning, the sting of altitude, and the near-electric tension in the air that warned something was wrong.

Élisa was the first to rise. She scanned the area, tested the ground’s firmness, sniffed the air like a forest beast. Found nothing unusual—and yet... she frowned.

Dylan stretched slowly, body stiff, eyelids heavy. Maggie rose in silence, grabbing her bag and weapon without comment, as if she hadn’t slept at all.

They set off in muted tones, senses alert, progressing along a narrow ledge carved into the rock, where each step demanded balance and vigilance. The sky was clear, but there was something crawling in the air—a vibration that scratched at the back of their necks without reason.

Élisa was the one who stopped them, suddenly.

"Listen."

The silence remained tense. Then... dry sounds. Scraping. Like clawed paws on stone. And then, cries. High-pitched. Twisted. Simian.

Dylan squinted. "Monkeys?"

No. These weren’t just monkeys.

A shriek tore through the air, and the first figure leapt from the top of the cliff, black as ash. A macaque, yes—but deformed, jittery, its fur standing in bristled spikes. Eyes bloodshot red, a twisted jaw with yellowed fangs. And behind it, a dozen more. Climbing. Leaping. Screeching.

"Shit. Black macaques. Mutated," spat Élisa. She’d heard of them. Monkeys that lived too high, too long, too wild. Beasts corrupted by altitude, hunger, and pack instinct.

They fell upon them as one, shrieking, clawing, biting. A furious, erratic wave—but devilishly fast.

Maggie didn’t wait. She slashed one cleanly with her blade. Dylan, still stiff, managed to draw the jian. He blocked a strike, took another on the shoulder. Élisa skewered two in one motion, her spear humming with raw focus.

But there were too many. Too fast. Too mad.

"Go for the eyes!" Élisa shouted.