After those ungodly words left the Midwife’s mouth, Finn bolted out of the fetus-shaped house—leaving everything and everyone behind without a single glance back.
Like hell he was going to masturbate in front of an audience. Why would he ever need to "test" it that way? That was beyond insane.
His desperate sprint soon caught up to him, though. His legs burned, his lungs wheezed, and finally he staggered to a stop in the misty forest path.
Panting hard, he bent forward with his hands on his thighs. "What... the hell..." he gasped between breaths, slowly recomposing himself before looking around.
The forest was still completely drowned in fog. The thick, clinging white mist swallowed the trees and made every shadow twitch in the corner of his eyes. It set his nerves on fire. For the first time, he regretted running out so blindly.
But he shook his head. If he thought too much on it, he’d spiral into madness—start imagining things, freeze up, maybe even faint. "Keep cool, Finn. Keep cool. Everything will be fine."
He exhaled shakily, trying to convince himself, when something pinned on the tree caught his eye.
Finn narrowed his eyes, trying to read it. The handwriting was horrible—like a deranged chicken had been given a quill—but the words were clear enough:
Finn’s lips curled into a deep frown. "...Okay then."
And with that, he took it off and crumpled the paper and walked away, ignoring it completely. As if it wasn’t important at all. Because to him, it absolutely wasn’t.
He turned in what he assumed was the direction of the Midwife’s home. As much as he hated that freakshow, the girls were probably still waiting, and it beat wandering this foggy hellscape alone.
But that creeping sensation wouldn’t leave him. The unnerving, skin-prickling certainty of being watched. Not by one set of eyes—but two.
His whole body shivered with goosebumps. Instinctively, he picked up his pace, boots crunching faster along the path.
And then he heard it.
One of the girls’ voices suddenly echoed through the foggy distance where Finn was running.
"Finn, where are you?!"
It was Majestria. She sounded... actually concerned. Worried, even.
Finn’s chest swelled with relief as he picked up his pace. "I’m right here! I’m heading towards you guys now!" he shouted, legs pumping harder.
Another voice called out. The same voice. This time behind him.
"Finn, where did you go?!"
It was Majestria again, but this time the tone was sharper—irritated rather than worried.
Finn froze mid-step, his blood running cold. That was creepy. Disturbingly creepy.
And then both voices overlapped:
"Finn, please hurry, we’re getting worried about you!" — ahead of him.
"Finn, if you don’t hurry I’ll beat you!" — behind him.
He turned forward. Then backward. His stomach twisted. His skin prickled.
"Mmm... okay. Now which one is real..?"
The voice ahead called out again, this time joined by the sound of leaves crunching—something walking toward him.
"Fuck that!" he yelled, sprinting in the opposite direction of the irritated voice, charging blindly into the wall of fog.
He didn’t see a damn thing ahead of him.
He collided hard with someone and went sprawling to the ground, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.
It was the Incubus Midwife. It looked almost relieved to see Finn sprawled out on the ground from their collision.
Finn, on the other hand, only looked more horrified than ever—before letting out a piercing scream.
The Midwife lifted its hand in a calming gesture. "There, there, it’s okay, darling~ you’re fine."
Finn shook his head violently. "Noooo, I am not fine..."
And then Majestria appeared around the Midwife, her face twisted with anger. "There you are!"
Finn practically leapt at her like a dog reunited with its owner, pressing his head against her chest in sheer relief.
"G-Get off me!" Majestria yelped, stumbling back from the sudden contact. She quickly smacked him down on the head, forcing him to let go and collapse to the ground clutching his skull.
Moments later, Lickthorn and Chestelle emerged through the fog, both looking worried.
"Why did you runnnn? I wanted to see that snake of yours..." Lickthorn purred, disappointed.
"Why did you run? I thought we were all supposed to take our pants off," Chestelle added, tilting her head in confusion.
Finn didn’t even respond. He just lay there sprawled out on the ground, utterly drained, until a thought hit him like a thunderbolt.
The Midwife’s warning, the swamp, the fog—it all clicked in his head.
He shot up to his feet. "We need to head back to Moistvile!" he blurted out.
Never in his life did he think he’d say those words, much less with this much enthusiasm.
The girls just stared at him.
Chestelle, as always, didn’t care—she’d follow him anywhere. Lickthorn was just Lickthorn: horny, unreadable, and impossible to pin down. Majestria, however, was not pleased.
"Absolutely not." She crossed her arms firmly. "I am not going back to that disgusting swamp town. Do you know how hard it is to keep their stench off me and you? That smell lingers. Even the people smell weird after staying there too long. That hero—what’s-his-face—even he reeks less because he douses himself in women’s perfume for some reason."
Finn just stared at her, the pieces slowly connecting. It explained why she never reeked like the others, and why Moistvile’s residents seemed to carry that swamp-musk no matter where they went. He hadn’t noticed it much himself—his nose was garbage—but now that he thought about it, yeah... Ardin bathing in women’s perfume actually kind of tracked.
Finn turned to the Midwife for answers.
It only shrugged. "She isn’t wrong, darling. People who leave there do have a scent that follows them."
Finn glanced back at Majestria, an odd appreciation dawning on him. Even something as petty as this—she always had it handled.
But now was not the time to linger in arguments or complaints. Finn couldn’t waste another second. They needed to head back to Moistvile—to warn the people, to stop whatever was happening...