CHAPTER 93: I HAVE A PLAN LICKTHORN!

Finn just stared at her—slouched, drained, utterly betrayed by every molecule of her existence.

He didn’t even have words. Just stood there, mouth slightly open, mentally buffering.

Majestria blinked at him. "Well? What are you waiting for? Go fight it. Shoo, shoo." She waved her hand at him like he was a bug bothering her lunch.

Finn said nothing.

He turned around slowly, like a man accepting his fate, and looked back toward the slime monster.

The creature was now fully emerging, dragging itself out of the puddle on two gelatinous legs. Slime oozed off its arms, slapping the ground with each step. It looked like it was ready to attack—or hug someone to death.

Chestelle tugged at Finn’s arm, her voice tight. "What are we going to do?"

"I don’t know... punch it or something..." Finn muttered, absolutely dead inside.

He glanced at Lickthorn, who stood nearby, contributing nothing. Just watching, blinking like an idiot.

’Oh my gods. We’re actually the worst adventurer party in the history of existence...’

"KYA!!"

The sudden shriek snapped Finn’s attention forward—just in time to see Chestelle charging the slime.

"What are you doing?!" he screamed.

"Defeating it!" she yelled back, with wild chest-goblin determination.

She punched the slime square in the torso.

Nothing happened.

Then she ran back and kicked it. Her foot just sank halfway into its gooey stomach, slathering her leg in greenish muck.

The slime slowly looked down at her.

Then it grabbed her by the leg.

And threw her.

Like a rag doll.

It slammed her into the ground so hard the cavw floor quaked—then spun her like a discus and launched her into the wall.

She soared past Finn at light speed, a blast of wind smacking his hair back, before her body crashed into the wall with a sickening, wet thud.

Silence.

Finn stared at her—crumpled, broken, mangled like someone’s lost action figure. One arm was twisted behind her back, her body tilted at an unnatural angle. She looked like a meme thumbnail after someone failed a backflip.

Finn took a deep breath.

And screamed. Like a man who just watched his last remaining sanity evaporate into mist.

Lickthorn, eyes wide, just murmured, "I want to be manhandled like that..."

Majestria finally blinked, processing what she just saw—and smiled. "Yeah, hehe. That one’s all yours, Finn."

Finn wanted to cry.

He really did.

But he also kinda wanted to laugh—like a man who’d lost too many brain cells in too little time. His emotions were bouncing around like a cracked rubber ball in a blender.

And the girls? Not helping.

Not even a little bit.

Finn was—clinically, spiritually, maybe even metaphysically—traumatized.

With nothing else to lose, he sprinted at the slime monster like a man who had, well, nothing else to lose.

At least Chestelle tried something, even if she got obliterated like a Goomba in a speedrun. The others were just standing around like confused interns on their first day.

But then, halfway through his charge, clarity struck.

He screeched to a stop mid-run, shoes skidding in the muck.

Nope. No thank you. His life was way too precious to be folded like a used napkin just yet.

Chestelle’s mangled body flashed through his mind.

’God may have mercy on her soul. And realign her spine.’

He needed a plan. A real one.

Not a good one, just... anything that wasn’t "run into gelatinous death."

His eyes snapped to Lickthorn, who was still standing around like she was waiting for a turn in line at a soup kitchen.

"Lickthorn!" he barked.

She blinked. "What?"

"Distract the slime! Buy me time to come up with something!"

She crossed her arms. "And why would I—?"

"It’ll probably slam you into the wall like Chestelle!"

That was enough.

Without another word, she fired a blast of white liquid at the slime, shrieking like a banshee and wildly waving her arms like she was calling it out in a wrestling ad promo.

The slime locked onto her instantly. Challenge accepted.

As it lurched toward Lickthorn, Finn darted the opposite way, past the slime puddle and toward the far edge of the room.

There—it was. A rock.

Roughly the size of a head, maybe slightly bigger. Sitting at the base of the wall, half-covered in slime and possibly fused to the stonework.

Not much.

But it was something.

He grabbed it—nothing.

It didn’t budge.

"Damn it..." Finn muttered, biting his lip. He pulled harder, gritting his teeth, trying to force it loose.

Still nothing.

Then—an idea. A stupid one. A desperate one. The best kind he had.

The Rearranger.

Sure, it was supposed to work on furniture... but maybe—just maybe—some insane peasant somewhere considered rocks to be furniture.

And maybe, just maybe, fate would throw him a bone for once in his cursed, pathetic existence.

He planted his hands on the rock and focused.

Rearrange it.

He visualized it.

Willed it.

Imagined it lifting, rotating, obeying his divine authority.

Nothing happened.

He strained harder, gripping the rock like he was trying to squeeze the life out of it.

Still nothing.

In the background, he could hear the girls screaming—someone was definitely getting flung again—but he tuned it out.

He had one thought.

One desperate prayer.

’Please, God. I need this. I need this.’

Finn tugged on the rock with all his might, every muscle in his flimsy adventurer body straining to the brink. His knuckles turned ghost-white, his arms trembling. He grunted, hissed, cursed under his breath.

And then—finally—he felt it.

The faint, stomach-turning stretch of slime peeling away. The rock shifted.

Bit by bit.

Until—with a sickening SHLUP—it came loose.

The force yanked Finn backward, and the rock slammed into his ribs as he fell flat onto the ground.

"Ghhrk— DAMN, that hurt!" he wheezed, clutching his chest like a dying Shakespearean actor.

Groaning, he sat up, clutching the rock like it was the Holy Grail.

Then he turned around—and immediately wished he hadn’t.

It was a full-on circus act.

The scream from earlier? Lickthorn.

She was curled up on the floor, bawling like a rejected anime villain. Tears and white fluid everywhere. From the looks of it, the slime monster had walked right past her—completely ignored her attempts to bait it.

Yikes.

Now the slime was standing directly in front of Majestria. Towering. Gurgling. Arms raised like it was about to deliver the finishing blow in some unholy, slime-based wrestling match.

And Majestria?

Screaming. Flailing. Backing up with all the grace of a malfunctioning Roomba.

Despite all her godlike power, all her divine pride... she still refused to touch it. She wouldn’t even breathe near it.

So inspiring. Truly.

Finn, clutching his stupid rock, took a deep breath.

And charged.

With the full fury of a man whose entire team was either crying, concussed, or allergic to physical effort.

He ran at the slime.

Raised the rock.

And—

BONK.

Delivering a blow to the slime monster...