Chapter 165: Hell Above, Hell Below
Crying. That’s what Finn saw. The so-called badass warrior was practically crying at the sight of Majestria. His giant sword shook in his hands like a butter knife in a toddler’s grip, trembling as if it could somehow protect him.
’This world cannot be real. This guy cannot be real,’ Finn thought, staring in disbelief.
Everyone around was equally baffled, wearing expressions that ranged from what the hell? to is this dude serious? Meanwhile, Lickthorn had that predatory gleam in her eyes again—like she was already plotting how to pounce on this broken man later.
"S-Stay away! Don’t come near me, I—I’m warning you!" the man stammered, his voice cracking like puberty had just hit him again.
Then, out of nowhere, Majestria’s tone flipped. Sweet, melodic, dripping with fake divinity. "Do not worry, mortal. I am a goddess. The goddess of—"
"GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU WITCH! DON’T EVEN SPEAK TO ME!" the man shrieked, voice going full banshee. It looked less like a standoff and more like a one-sided assault now.
Majestria snapped instantly, sweetness gone. "Okay, you human shit stain! You dare reject my kindness and pure love?!" Her fist clenched tight, glowing with rage. "I will—"
Before she could launch into a divine meltdown, Finn stormed forward and stepped between them, blocking her path.
She glared down at him, seething. "And here you are, getting in my way again! You piss me off more than anyone else—I’ve had enough of you too!"
Finn didn’t answer. He just looked at her, dead-silent, mind digging through the questionable wisdom his friend’s dad once gave him about women.
"Well? Say something, dammit—"
SMACK!
The sound echoed like a gunshot across the field. Everyone froze, jaws hanging open. Majestria’s head snapped to the side, cheek burning red.
Finn lowered his hand. ’Could I have just complimented her and calmed her down? Sure. But no. I went with what my friend’s dad always said: sometimes, you just gotta slap a woman to shut her up.’
And, to be fair... it worked. For a second. Majestria’s eyes watered, her lip trembled like she was about to cry—then her hands shot around Finn’s throat like a vice.
"I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!" she roared, shaking him back and forth like a ragdoll.
Finn gagged, kicking uselessly. "Ca—can’t... breathe!"
Meanwhile, the long-sword warrior screamed again, louder than before, pointing at the scene like it proved his point. "THIS IS WHAT I MEAN!"
Before Finn fully blacked out, Isolde glided in. Her strings snapped out, wrapping around Majestria’s arms and yanking her back in one smooth motion. Finn collapsed to the ground, gasping, once again saved by a woman.
And with that, his soul died a little more. ’Great. Another rescue. Masculinity at an all-time low.’
Majestria thrashed against the bindings, veins popping in her forehead. "I’M TIRED OF YOU! I’M TIRED OF ALL THESE DAMN WOMEN ALWAYS AROUND YOU!"
Finn coughed, lying flat on the mud. "I never asked for this."
Which was true—he never really asked for any of the women in his life. Sure, he wanted hot women, but what he got instead were this collection of weirdos he called a party. He had met four actual baddies, but none of them stuck around. Unfortunate for him.
’Great. I’m covered in swamp diarrhea, and everyone’s still ignoring the skyscraper-sized wing behind us. This feels so stupid and absurd—I hate it.’
"AHHH, IT’S ANOTHER WOMAN!" the long-sword guy suddenly screeched, looking like he was about to faint.
"Please, I mean no harm," Isolde said softly, holding out a hand to calm him.
Naturally, that only made him scream harder.
Before Finn could process this circus any further, a guttural groan ripped through the air. The ground rumbled violently, forcing everyone’s attention back to the actual threat.
’Thank God!’ Finn thought.
The wing spread wider, its slimy membrane stretching until bubbles began to form across the surface. With wet, tearing pops, those bubbles split open, sprouting new growth—primaries and secondaries—until actual feathers were pushing out, ripping free like knives through flesh.
It was turning into a bird’s wing. A colossal, nightmarish bird’s wing.
The long-sword guy stiffened. His panic flipped off like a light switch. Forgetting all about women, his eyes locked on the beast. Finally—finally—he looked like an actual badass again.
Finn silently prayed no woman so much as breathed near him, or else the meltdown would start all over again.
Meanwhile, the ground beneath the wing gave way completely, collapsing in chunks and revealing the yawning blackness of the slime cavern below. The same cavern Finn and Seraphina had suffered in for hours.
’So... hell above, hell below. Wonderful.’
Pushing himself up from the mud, Finn squinted at the massive wing and the trembling crowd. There was no way they were going to beat this thing with basic foot soldiers and sweaty panic. Then it hit him. Something obvious.
’Wait. This is a damn fantasy world. Magic!’
Scanning the knights and adventurers, Finn realized they were all just standing there, looking dazed and lost. If someone didn’t snap them out of it, they were screwed.
So, he straightened his back, wiped mud off his face, and forced his voice loud and commanding.
"Everyone!"
Dozens of eyes flicked his way. Nobody listened. Not seriously, anyway—not to the guy who looked like he just lost a wrestling match with a swamp.
Grinding his teeth, Finn tried again, louder. "Listen, everyone!"
Still nothing. Awkward silence. His embarrassment crawled up his spine—until he felt a firm, steady hand on his shoulder.
A presence radiated authority as it stepped past him, and Finn immediately recognized who it was.
Theron.
The man himself. The head master of the Haus of Silbertraum. Theron jabbed his cane into the ground, his voice booming with the kind of authority that forced even the most panicked soldier to freeze.
"It would be in everyone’s best interest to stop panicking," he declared, his words crisp and unshakable. "And listen to what this interesting young man has to say." He gestured toward Finn.
Finn froze. ’Now you’re making me feel like the weird cousin no one actually invited to the reunion...’ He frowned, glancing away in embarrassment as dozens of eyes bored into him.
Theron’s voice cut sharp. "Well? Are you going to speak?"
"R-Right..." Finn straightened, trying to puff himself up, then blurted out: "Uh... are there any magic users here? Like, people who can cast spells—fireballs, lightning bolts, you know... wizard crap?"
They just blinked at him, blank-faced, like he’d just asked if anyone had Wi-Fi.
"Like—mages! Mana! You guys have mana, right?!" His eyes darted to Seraphina. "Like her! She can cast spells! And heals and stuff!"
As if the pointing finally flipped a switch, a group of figures shuffled forward. Cloaks, staffs, the whole fantasy starter pack.
"We are mages," one of them said, a young man in a purple cloak and pointy hat stepping ahead of the others.
’Okay, okay—we’re finally cooking here!’ Finn thought, practically vibrating with relief.
"Alright, great. So can you guys, I dunno, huddle up, do your magic circle thing, and blast that wing until it regrets existing?" He jabbed his thumb at the monstrosity behind him.
The purple-cloak mage nodded. "Yes. There are a few combined incantations that might damage it. I can’t guarantee much, but we can certainly try."
Finn clapped his hands together like a kindergarten teacher. "Perfect! And the rest of you who can’t use magic... just, uh... stand here and cheer us on, I guess?"
Before he could feel proud of himself, someone in the crowd shrieked and pointed. "What is THAT?!"
Finn spun around—his jaw immediately dropped at the sight behind him.
The wing now looked like a full bird’s wing—down to every joint and tendon, even the alula and marginal coverts—except instead of feathers, it was covered in that same slick, pulsing slime-skin. It was both ungodly and awe-inspiring, something that seemed above everything living... and yet utterly wrong.
At the very top of the wing, something shifted. Finn’s stomach lurched. Little shapes—tiny heads—pushed against the membrane, their muffled screams and wails piercing through the flesh.
’What the funk...’
The lumps strained and clawed until the skin tore open. Wet, half-formed shapes crawled out, peeling themselves free of the wing’s surface like maggots leaving a corpse. One by one, they spread quivering limbs that twisted into wings of their own. Within moments, they were no longer lumps but full, flying human-sized abominations, shrieking as they took to the air.
The soldiers muttered in rising panic. Some fell to their knees, others just stood frozen in horror. Who could blame them?
"What... what are those things?" someone whispered, voice cracking.
For a second, they just hovered in the distance like a storm cloud made of nightmares. Then the whole swarm angled toward them, screaming as they dove.
It was as if hell itself had decided to descend.
"Brace yourselves!" Theron thundered.
And before long the creatures rained down upon them.