They bolted from the chamber after the unholy sight of those abominations forming, fleeing through the cavern as the creatures stirred and began to follow.
Luckily, they had Lysithea. Without her, Finn and Seraphina would’ve gotten lost and eaten five times over already.
She led them deeper, always certain of her path, saying that the exit lay ahead. Finn clung to that hope like a starving man clutching bread. Seraphina, ever skeptical, still found herself trusting Lysithea—after all, she’d saved their lives again and again, and very, very... protective of Finn.
The trek was long and excruciating. Backtracking. Hiding. Skirmishes with twisted slime-beasts. Finn was completely sick of it. His body ached, his sanity frayed. All he wanted was to see sunlight again, feel the breeze, and hear Majestria complain in his ear while forcing him to carry her useless butt around. Even that sounded heavenly compared to this hellhole.
He even lost track of time—an hour? Two? Who cared. All he knew was slime, darkness, and misery.
He had tried his "trip" ability multiple times, flailing like an idiot, but nothing. Of course. Apparently he needed to trip ten more things before he could affect enemies that weren’t even alive. And then there was his "rearranger" skill. Yeah. Try rearranging furniture in a cave. Spoiler: there was none.
He wasn’t a warrior, wasn’t a mage. He was basically a V.I.P. being escorted by security—except the security was a busty priestess and a terrifying slime woman, and the V.I.P. wanted to die.
His sanity frayed further with each step: slime sticking to his skin, the constant feeling of filth, the never-ending roars shaking the cavern, and the oppressive absence of the sun.
The walls dripped and pulsed, slime oozing down in grotesque curtains. At one point the ground in front of them collapsed into a yawning black pit. Finn had been a step away from plunging straight in when Lysithea’s slimy hand shot out, stopping him cold.
If not for her, that would’ve been it. Game over.
Finn swallowed hard, his voice cracking. "Y-You know... maybe staying infertile wasn’t so bad after all."
It also made Finn wonder how Lysithea even knew where to go. Sure, she’d lived in this cavern for who knew how long—but from what he guessed, she’d probably just sat in that one weird puddle-room most of the time. Yet now she was practically their GPS, stopping him before pitfalls, guiding them around dead ends, and always knowing when danger was creeping close.
It almost felt like the slime itself whispered warnings to her. An early detection system made out of gross, dripping goo. Great. She was basically Wi-Fi, and Finn was running on dial-up.
Of course, she never stopped muttering about the abominations. "Mockeries of me... mindless husks... pathetic," she would hiss. Finn figured the constant fighting was finally getting to her slimy head. Or maybe she was always like that. Hard to tell.
Each level they climbed, the cavern felt less like what the Midwife described and more like the inside of a collapsing stomach. Roars rattled the stone, slime poured from walls and ceilings, whole chunks of the path caved in behind them. At one point they climbed a steep slope, only to watch it flood with ooze seconds later. Finn shuddered and, not for the another time, thanked Lysithea for existing.
Still, his nerves gnawed at him. This place was going to collapse sooner or later—probably sooner. His mind drifted to his party. Were they okay? Hopefully outside already. Majestria was probably complaining that waiting too long "interfered with her divine duties." Translation: she was cleaning her feet.
He actually felt a little bad for Lysithea. This cavern was her home, and it was literally crumbling around her. Then again, she’d probably be happier once she was free of this slimy hellhole.
Step by step, they pushed forward—until, finally, they reached the second level. It was less slime-choked than the last, but still horrible. Like moving from a clogged toilet into a slightly less clogged toilet.
But when they at last stepped into the first level, something changed. The air was lighter. Their moods lifted instantly. Seraphina even smiled, talking about how she was going to take the longest, warmest bath of her life. Bubbles, back massages, the smell of fresh bread in the air...
Finn’s stomach twisted with envy. She had money. She had luxury. She had hope. Meanwhile, his future was—what? Cold water in a ditch? Maybe if he was lucky, Majestria would allow him to carry her laundry while she bathed.
The realization hit him like a wagon wheel to the face: he was broke. He couldn’t even afford soap.
His happy mood plummeted into despair so deep it could’ve been classified as its own cavern level.
It wasn’t fair. Seraphina would get to lounge in a steaming bath like some pampered queen, while Finn would crawl out of this nightmare smelling like despair and fermented slime. His sadness curdled into anger.
He even tried guilt-tripping her about it. "You know, that bathwater could be feeding starving children right now."
But instead of folding, Seraphina doubled down. She practically described a commercial for her perfect bath—bubbles, oils, steam, back rubs, bread. Each word was a knife in Finn’s heart.
That was when the universe decided to add insult to injury. In the middle of their bickering, Finn slipped and face-planted into a puddle of slime. Some even splashed into his mouth. He gagged, spat, then vomited—his pride dissolving faster than the slime itself.
His mood hit rock bottom. At this point, letting Lysithea absorb him and do... unspeakable things... almost sounded like a blessing. At least someone would be having a good time.
And what was waiting for him once they escaped? Slavery. Eternal servitude to Majestria, the world’s most ungrateful goddess. Future Finn was looking grim—dirty, broke, and possibly footstool-shaped.
But then, finally—finally—they reached what looked like the exit.
Or at least... they thought it was.