Chapter 145: Stone Cold Reception

Grace stood at the cave entrance, trying to convince herself this wasn’t the dumbest thing she’d ever done.

[Going alone to fight personified stubbornness. What could possibly go wrong?]

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” she told Valkyrie and Petriel. “Probably. Maybe with all my limbs.”

Valkyrie crossed her arms.

“This is idiotic.”

“Yeah, but it’s my kind of idiotic and that’s worked out decently so far.”

“The kind that gets you killed?”

“Angels don’t die. Except from Primals. And the Mountain isn’t a Primal, she’s just…” Grace waved vaguely. “An emotionally constipated rock.”

Petriel wrung her hands.

“What if she turns you to stone as soon as you walk up to her?”

“Then you can use me as a very attractive garden decoration.”

Neither of them laughed.

“Look,” Grace said. “Remember what happened with Seraph and the Flame? I had to carry her head back while she complained the whole way. I’m not doing that again.”

“So you’ll go get your own head severed,” Valkyrie said flatly.

“My head’s too pretty to sever.”

Grace stopped.

[Did I just say that? Why did I say that? Who says that?]

“Anyway, I’m going.”

Before either could respond, Grace turned and marched into the cave. Behind her, she heard Petriel whisper something about “suicidal tendencies” and Valkyrie grunt in what was probably agreement.

The cave went deep. Deeper than should’ve been possible. Grace’s footsteps echoed in a way that sent shivers down her spine.

“Okay, Mountain,” she muttered. “Where are you hiding?”

The temperature dropped. Not demon-nearby-cold, but the kind of chill that came from being underground where sunlight had never reached. Her breath turned to mist in front of her.

The path opened into a cavern so massive Grace couldn’t see the ceiling. Stalactites hung like frozen tears. Everything was gray stone, unchanging and eternal.

And there, in the center, stood the Mountain.

Grace had expected… well, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Maybe another Eternia-lookalike made of rock. What she got was a bit weirder.

The Mountain was a statue. Not a lookalike, but a perfect stone recreation of Eternia, down to the smallest detail. Every curve, every feature, captured in gray granite. Frozen mid-step, one hand extended like she’d been reaching for something when time stopped.

[Okay, that’s creepy. That’s really, really creepy.]

“Hey there,” Grace called out. Her voice bounced back at her from a dozen angles. “I’m Grace. I’m here to—”

The statue’s eyes opened.

Not normal eyes. Stone eyes that somehow conveyed more disdain than Diana on her worst day.

“I know why you’re here.” The Mountain’s voice was gravel grinding together. “The answer is no.”

“I haven’t asked anything yet.”

“You want me to change. To stop being what I am. To embrace your chaos and movement and noise.” The statue hadn’t moved except for those eyes. “No.”

Grace stepped closer.

“People are suffering. You’ve frozen entire villages.”

“I gave them peace.”

“That’s not peace, that’s—”

“Peace. Permanent. Lasting. Unchangeable.” The eyes narrowed. “Unlike you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You change constantly. Your body, your mind, your desires. Your decaying flesh. You meatbags are chaos incarnate.”

Grace blinked twice.

[Meatbag? Geez.]

“… Change is natural,” Grace tried. “It’s how we grow.”

“Growth is decay by another name. Everything that changes eventually breaks. Everything that changes eventually dies.”

“Everything that doesn’t change is broken in itself!”

Silence. Stone grinding on stone. The statue’s hand twitched.

“You think you’re clever,” the Mountain said. “Coming here with your words and your passion. Do you know how many have tried? How many centuries I’ve heard these arguments?”

“Probably a lot.”

“Even if Eternia herself tried, I would not reconsider. I would not budge. I know I am correct.”

Grace felt her temper flare.

“Yeah? But Eternia isn’t around, isn’t she? She left. Left you all alone to stew in your… correctness.”

The cavern shook. Dust rained from the invisible ceiling.

“Careful, little chaos. You’re standing in my domain.”

“And you’re stuck in one position forever. Who’s really trapped here?”

Another tremor. Stronger this time. The statue’s fingers curled into a fist.

“You want to fight me.” Not a question.

“I want to help you.”

“I’d rather you fight me.”

The Mountain moved.

It shouldn’t have been possible. Stone that solid, that massive, shouldn’t flow like water. But she did. One moment a frozen statue, the next a blur of granite coming right at Grace’s face.

[Oh crap.]

Grace threw herself sideways. The fist missed her by inches, cratering the ground where she’d stood.

[Okay. Fighting it is.]

She summoned her Blade of Eternia. The rapier felt small against an opponent made entirely of stone.

The Mountain turned. Still that flowing, impossible movement.

“You can’t pierce what doesn’t yield.”

“Watch me.”

Grace darted in, aiming for joints. The places where stone met stone. Her blade skittered off without leaving a mark.

A backhand caught her in the ribs. Grace flew, hit a stalagmite, kept flying. She finally stopped when she hit the far wall, lungs emptying in a whoosh.

[Ow. Ow ow ow.]

“You see?” The Mountain hadn’t moved from her spot. “I am permanent. You are temporary.”

Grace spat blood.

“Temporary’s got its advantages.”

Like being able to dodge. She rolled as another fist pulverized the wall behind her. Stone shrapnel peppered her back.

“How long can you run, little chaos?”

“Longer than you can stay interesting!”

Was taunting sentient stone a good idea? Probably not. But Grace’s mouth had always worked faster than her brain.

The Mountain’s face, Eternia’s face, carved in granite, twisted into something like annoyance.

“You mock me.”

“I’m trying to have a conversation! You’re the one attacking!”

“Words change nothing.”

“Then why are you getting mad?”

Another pause. The cavern held its breath.

“I don’t get mad,” the Mountain said.

“Sure. That’s why you’re trying to paste me across your walls.”

“I’m removing an irritant.”

“By getting emotional about it.”

“I don’t have emotions. I am stone.”

Grace laughed. Actually laughed, despite her ribs screaming.

“Bullshit. You’re made of Eternia’s emotions. Her fear of change, right? That’s all you are.”

The temperature dropped further. Frost spread across the stone.

“I am permanence itself.”

“You’re scared.”

“SILENCE.”

The roar shook the entire mountain. Cracks appeared in the walls. Grace’s ears rang.

[Hit a nerve. Good.]

The Mountain charged. Not the flowing movement from before. This was raw fury, ton after ton of animate stone bearing down on Grace with all the subtlety of an avalanche.

Grace’s new gauntlets hummed. She brought them up on instinct.

The impact should’ve killed her. Should’ve reduced her to paste. Instead, the gauntlets absorbed the blow, divine energy crackling between metal and stone.

“What—”

Grace didn’t let her finish. She twisted, used the Mountain’s momentum against her. It was like trying to redirect a landslide, but the gauntlets made it possible.

The Mountain stumbled. Just for a second.

Grace drove her rapier into the back of her knee.

This time, it bit deep. Not much, but enough. Stone chips flew.

The Mountain spun with shocking speed. Grace barely got her guard up before a fist the size of her torso connected. The gauntlets screamed, energy discharge lighting up the cavern.

“Impossible.”

“This doesn’t begin to cover the stuff I can do.”

They separated, circling each other. The Mountain moved differently now. Cautious. Like she’d remembered what pain felt like.

“Those gauntlets. Where did you get them?”

“Found them. Lucky, right?”

“Eternia’s work.”

“Probably. She’s got a thing for leaving me presents.”

The Mountain’s stone features twisted into something complicated.

“She always did play favorites.”

“Jealous?”

“Of you? A mayfly pretending to be divine?” But there was something in her voice. Not quite doubt, but close.

Grace pressed the advantage.

“She left you. Left all of you. But she made me to come back and fix things.”

“Fix? You mean destroy.”

“I mean change. There’s a difference.”

“Not from where I stand.”

“That’s because you only stand in one place!”

They clashed again. Stone against divine metal, stubbornness against determination. Grace’s ribs ached. Her shoulder burned where she’d hit the wall. But she was learning the Mountain’s patterns.

[She fights like she thinks. Direct. Unchanging. Predictable.]

Duck the haymaker. Deflect the follow-up. Strike at the same knee, deepening the wound. Dance away before the counter.

“You’re just delaying the inevitable,” the Mountain growled.

“Story of my life.”

“Why do you persist? Why struggle against permanence?”

Grace paused, breathing hard.

“Because the only permanent thing is change. And fighting that is like fighting gravity. You’ll lose eventually.”

“Pretty words from a pretty fool.”

“Hey, you think I’m pretty?”

The Mountain actually sputtered. Granite features cycling through emotions that stone shouldn’t be able to express.

“That’s not—I didn’t—”

“Too late!” Grace replied. She knew she was being bratty and annoying. That was the point. “You said it! The eternally unchanging Mountain thinks I’m pretty!”

“SHUT UP.”

Grace grinned, tasting blood.

“Make me.”

The fight resumed. But something had shifted. The Mountain’s attacks came faster but sloppier. Like she was trying to prove something instead of just being.

And that, Grace realized, was the key.

[She’s not fighting me. She’s fighting the fact that I’m making her feel things.]

Each clash of gauntlet against stone, each dodge and strike and taunt, was forcing the Mountain to react. To change tactics. To be something other than an immovable object.

“I hate you,” the Mountain snarled after Grace scored another hit.

“That’s a feeling! Progress!”

“I’ll grind you to dust!”

“Also a feeling! You’re doing great!”

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