The echoing silence of the mountain's depths was a stark contrast to the monstrous activity that had once permeated its tunnels. Bathilda, accompanied by her clone, Blossom, navigated the labyrinthine passages, a sense of quiet satisfaction mingling with her lingering frustration. The ease of communication, the seamless flow of shared thoughts and intentions, was a novelty that still brought a faint smile to Bathilda's lips. It was like having a perfect conversational partner, one who understood her every nuance without the need for explanation.

  It was nothing like talking to Hiro.

  The remnants of the Bart horde, once an obstacle to overcome, were now nothing more than a faint, acrid scent in the air, a testament to the past. Their remains now destroyed through the devastating power of Bathilda's Obliterate spell. The clean, efficient eradication of the monstrous rat-men was a necessity, a preventative measure against the potential spread of disease and a way to avoid the unpleasantness of wading through decaying corpses.

  "So, where to now?" Blossom asked, her voice a perfect echo of Bathilda's own, yet somehow imbued with a slightly lighter, more optimistic tone. The pink bear, levitating with the aid of her (Fly+) magic, surveyed the seemingly endless network of tunnels.

  Just like Hiro, Blossom wasn't able to access Bathilda's higher tier spells and skills. Clone abilities capped at ten. It's a shame, Bathilda thought, (Gravity), (Reality Tear), and (Obliterate) had evolved when she became a Vampire, yet her clones were still stuck with lesser versions. Bathilda couldn't picture Blossom using (Chomp+) on anything with her adorable form, even if beneath her (Illusion) lay a sharp of fangs.

  "I'm still skeptical about this whole endeavor," Bathilda admitted, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "This mountain has always been infested with monsters, a place of danger and death. I find it hard to believe that there's anything else hidden in here."

  "And Bob," Blossom reminded her, a hint of amusement in her tone.

  "Yes, Bob was here too, but that was different," Bathilda conceded, a flicker of warmth in her eyes. "He wasn't here when I first arrived."

  They ventured deeper into the mountain, exploring tunnels that Bathilda had never bothered to check before. The sheer number of passageways was staggering, a complex network that snaked and twisted, leading to dead ends and circular routes. It was a disorienting maze, designed to trap and confuse.

  The initial novelty of exploring new terrain soon gave way to a growing sense of frustration. Bathilda, despite her newfound confidence, still felt a prickle of unease in the depths of the mountain, a lingering fear of being trapped beneath its stony embrace. The lack of any sign of human habitation only amplified her frustration.

  "This is ridiculous," she muttered, her voice laced with annoyance. "We're wandering around in circles, wasting our time."

  "It's alright," Blossom reassured her, her voice calm and soothing. "We can always teleport back if we want to. There's no need to panic."

  Bathilda considered erecting a stone arch and teleporting back to her home, a warm, inviting space filled with the comforts of her own creation. The thought of leaving the mountain behind, of escaping its oppressive atmosphere, was tempting. She was certain the council's information was wrong. No sign of any intelligent life, no tools, no markings, no skeletal remains to indicate past inhabitants.

  Blossom, ever the pragmatist, began to meticulously map the tunnels, using her own (Parallel Mind) skill to create a mental representation of their progress. Bathilda didn't want to think about how many parallel minds a (Parallel Mind) could have, but the number seemed infinite.

  The mapping was slow and tedious, but it brought a sense of order to the chaos, a way to navigate the labyrinthine network.

  "Have we searched everywhere?" Bathilda asked, her voice heavy with weariness.

  "I think so," Blossom replied, consulting her mental map. "Every tunnel leads somewhere, even if it's just back to where we started. We've explored several small chambers and the large one where King Tarb probably lived."

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  The large chamber, the former lair of the Bart king, was a macabre display of skeletal remains, a testament to the monstrous hierarchy that had once ruled underneath the mountain. But there was no sign of human presence, no indication that anyone other than the monstrous inhabitants had ever called this place home.

  "So the council was wrong," Bathilda said, her voice filled with annoyance. "We came back here for nothing."

  "Maybe, maybe not," Blossom countered, her voice thoughtful. "They haven't received a signal in hundreds of years. Their equipment is old, and their understanding of it is limited. It's possible that they simply misinterpreted the data."

  "So they lied to me? They told me what they thought was right," Bathilda asked, her frustration resurfacing.

  "Not necessarily," Blossom replied, her tone patient. "It's more likely that they made a mistake, that they got the coordinates wrong. Or perhaps the signal is faint, obscured by the mountain's natural interference. We should check all the areas you've explored before, just to be sure."

  Bathilda sighed, her frustration battling with a sense of reluctant curiosity. She followed Blossom as they retraced her original steps, revisiting familiar tunnels and chambers, searching for any sign of human presence.

  The went down to the lava cavern where Bob had reincarnated as a Demon King. The Brat tunnels at the top of pit, the Millisnake's lair, even the entrance where the King Slime had made its home. All to no avail.

  The mountain, once a source of fear and dread, now felt like a frustrating puzzle, a mystery that refused to be solved. Bathilda's initial eagerness had given way to a weary resignation, a sense that she was chasing a phantom, a figment of the council's faulty equipment and wishful thinking.

  As they continued their search, Bathilda began to notice subtle details that she had previously overlooked. The rock formations, the patterns of erosion, the faint traces of mineral deposits. It was a subtle language, a story etched in the very fabric of the mountain.

  "Look at this," Blossom said, pointing to a section of the tunnel wall. "The rock here is different. It's smoother, almost polished."

  Bathilda examined the wall, her eyes tracing the subtle variations in texture. The rock was indeed smoother, as if it had been worn down by repeated contact.

  "It could be natural erosion," she said, her voice skeptical. "Or monsters."

  "Or it could be the result of something else," Blossom replied, her voice thoughtful. "Something that moved along this tunnel, something that rubbed against the walls."

  Like a monster, Bathilda thought. They continued to explore, but found nothing.

  Then, Blossom stopped abruptly, her gaze fixed on a seemingly unremarkable section of the tunnel wall. "Look," she said, her voice hushed.

  Bathilda approached, her eyes scanning the wall. At first, she saw nothing unusual. But then, she noticed a faint, almost imperceptible line etched into the rock, a line that ran parallel to the tunnel floor.

  "What is it?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

  "It's a groove," Blossom replied, her voice filled with a quiet excitement. "A very faint groove, but it's there. And it's consistent. It runs along this entire section of the tunnel."

  Bathilda followed the groove with her eyes, tracing its path along the wall. It was indeed a groove, a shallow indentation that ran for several meters, disappearing into the shadows of the tunnel.

  "It could still be natural," Bathilda said, her skepticism still lingering.

  "Perhaps," Blossom conceded. "But it's worth investigating. Let's follow it."

  They followed the groove, their senses heightened, their eyes scanning the walls for any further clues. The groove led them deeper into the mountain, through a series of narrow passages and winding tunnels. The air grew colder, the silence deeper, the sense of mystery more profound.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the groove ended at a section of the wall that was slightly recessed, a hidden alcove concealed by the shadows. Blossom reached out, her fingers tracing the edge of the recess.

  "There's something here," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  She pressed her hand against the wall, her fingers searching for a hidden mechanism. A faint click echoed through the tunnel, and the recessed section of the wall slid open, revealing a hidden passage.

  A rush of cold air escaped from the passage, carrying with it the faint scent of something metallic, something old. Bathilda and Blossom exchanged a glance, a mixture of apprehension and excitement in their eyes.

  They stepped into the hidden passage, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The passage was narrow and dimly lit, the walls lined with strange, metallic panels. The air was thick with a sense of age, of secrets waiting to be uncovered.

  The passage led them to a large chamber, a vast cavern filled with strange, glowing devices. The chamber was dimly lit by the soft, pulsating light of the devices, casting long, eerie shadows across the floor.

  In the center of the chamber, a large, crystalline structure pulsed with a faint, ethereal light. It was a beautiful, mesmerizing sight, a stark contrast to the rough, stony environment of the mountain.

  "What is this place?" Bathilda whispered, her voice filled with awe.

  "I don't know," Blossom replied, her voice equally hushed. "But I think we've found what we were looking for."