The horde slamd into them with brutal force. The humanoid freaks and the winged abominations struck first, crashing against the wall of shields like a living tidal wave.
The shield-n dug their boots deep into the mud, muscles straining as they locked their arms together and held back the swarm. The clash sounded like a storm—wood creaking, steel grinding, sli splattering.
Above them, arrows and spells streaked through the air in ssy arcs. Fireballs burst against leathery wings, lightning bolts snapped through the sky, and feathers of sli and at rained down as creatures exploded mid-flight.
It was chaos. It was hell. Swords hacked, arrows whistled, magic lit the field like fireworks—and through it all, the second line surged forward to back up the shields, hacking at whatever slipped through.
And Finn? Finn was their wild card. Whenever a line started to buckle, whenever a monster’s claws scraped too close to breaking through, he’d fling his hand out—trip—and down they went, crashing into the mud where they were hacked to bits.
That was his job. His one little job.
anwhile, his so-called "party" stood around as glorified cheerleaders. Technically "reserves," sure—but in practice, they just stood there waiting for disaster to strike before bothering to move.
Which pissed him off.
’It’s always . Always holding the line, doing the work, while everyone else takes a damn smoke break.’
The German maids especially—if anyone should’ve been tearing into the horde, it was them. Instead, they just stood back with unreadable faces, like they were watching a play. Studying him? Studying the monsters? Saving energy? Or just lazy?
Finn didn’t know. And honestly, maybe he was just overthinking.
But his irritation didn’t matter. Because—as always—the good streak ended fast.
The ground quaked, shields shuddered, and shadows lood.
The bigger ones had arrived.
***
The humanoid four-ard nightmares and those twitchy cat-things finally broke through, rushing the line with terrifying speed. Finn flung his arm out again and again, tripping whatever he could—but it only delayed the inevitable.
The collision was brutal. The shield wall shattered like bowling pins in slow motion, n flying through the mud as the monsters plowed into them.
Thank God for heavyweights like Chunkus and Big Tim.
Chunkus swung his ham-shank club like it was Thor’s hamr, caving in a cat-thing’s head until its face looked like mashed potatoes. Big Tim wrapped his aty arms around one of the four-ard freaks, veins bulging as he snapped an arm clean off. The creature howled like a broken trumpet.
They were holding ground—but barely.
Finn turned, hoping for backup, only to be t with the infuriating sight of his supposed "aces."
Lickthorn, Seraphina, and Chestelle were at least fighting on the fringes, tossing sli monsters around. But the rest? The maids, the butler, the Haus elites?
Just standing there. Watching. Like they were spectating a wrestling match.
Finn’s jaw dropped. "What the hell are you guys doing?!" he shouted, arms flailing. "We’re out here fighting for our lives, while you guys are acting as if you are on so fucking coffee break?!"
Theron, ever calm, just t Finn’s rage with the softest smile.
Finn froze, veins throbbing in his forehead.
’WHAT IS THAT EVEN SUPPOSED TO AN?!’
Losing his patience with the useless bystanders, Finn turned his fury back on the battlefield. If no one else would step up, then fine—it was trip ti.
He swung his arm like a conductor on steroids, sending monsters tumbling left and right. One after another, they collapsed like dominos, mud spraying everywhere. Even one of the four-ard juggernauts went down—probably because it wasn’t focused on him. Finn wasn’t picky about the details. A win was a win.
The chaos kept ramping up. The creatures pushed harder, the people fought harder, and Finn just kept tripping anything that dared get close. He even managed to save an adventurer by dropping a humanoid mid-charge. For one fleeting second, he almost felt useful.
Then the exhaustion set in. His arms ached, his lungs burned, and he let out a tired sigh. All he wanted was to go ho, curl up on his futon, and forget this dieval nightmare.
But life hated Finn Wiggles.
Backing up to catch his breath, he bumped into soone. Heart jumping, he spun around, ready to trip the life out of whatever it was—
Only to find the thief.
The guy stood there like a kid caught sneaking cookies—wide-eyed, nervous, and very much not fighting.
"What are you doing out here?" Finn snapped. "You’ve got a sword—go stab sothing!"
The thief shook his head.
"What do you an no?!" Finn gawked. "Go fight!"
Another shake of the head.
"You’ve literally got no excuse," Finn said, pointing accusingly. "You’re probably just waiting to steal sothing!"
The thief’s eyes widened, and he stepped back like Finn had just exposed his browser history. "I am not!"
"You are!"
"I am not!" The thief’s gaze flicked toward Finn’s hat.
Finn gasped. "You’re looking at my hat!"
"I am not!"
"Prove it!" Finn crossed his arms.
The thief panicked. "If I lie, I could be punished by the gods! I wasn’t going to steal your hat agai—"
Before he could finish, a winged creature swooped down, snatched him up, and carried him off into the night. His scream faded into the distance like a dying kettle.
Finn just stood there, blinking.
’Oh my god.’
Watching the thief get carried off into the distance, Finn couldn’t believe his eyes. None of this felt real anymore—it was like the world had turned into a bad fever dream.
Then reality punched him. Literally.
A massive force slamd into his side, knocking the wind out of him and sending him gagging into the mud. Pain shot through his ribs as he clutched his stomach, wheezing.
Looking up, he saw the culprit: one of the four-ard nightmares. Its head still looked mangled beyond repair, but that didn’t stop it from screeching in his face and raising a fist the size of a giant rock.
"Not good," Finn croaked.
He tried to throw out his trip move, but if this thing fell on him, he’d be nothing but wizard paste.
"NOT GOOD!"
He scrambled back, screaming, as the monster’s fist ca crashing down like a thunderbolt.
Only—it never landed.
The beast’s arm stopped inches away from his stomach, trembling as invisible strings held it in place. The force alone threatened to cave him in, but the blow didn’t connect.
Blinking, Finn realized what it was: Isolde’s threads. The sa ones she’d once used to restrain Majestria.
The strings tightened, slicing deep into the monster’s flesh. In an instant, the arm tore apart like a rotisserie chicken, gore spilling as the beast shrieked in two voices—its beak clacking violently while its human mouth gasped like it was drowning underwater.
Before Finn could even process it, a pair of strong hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him back to safety. He glanced up—it was Silvara, her face as stoic as ever, like saving his life was just another Tuesday.
Isolde swept past, her movents graceful and deliberate. With just a flick of her fingers, more threads lashed out, shredding into the creature’s hide, cutting it apart piece by piece.
Finn, still clutching his side, could only stare.
’Does she always keep those strings on her, or does she just... pull them out of thin air? Where does she even store them? So many questions. Too much stuff that doesn’t make sense.’
Once the creature had been weakened by Isolde’s strings, Theron finally stepped in. With surprising strength, he drove his cane straight into the monster’s chest.
Then—boom.
The cane detonated with a violent blast, blowing a hole clean through its torso. Without anything left to support it, the upper body collapsed in on itself, folding like a broken lawn chair before hitting the mud with a wet thud.
Blinking in disbelief, Finn could only mutter, "So the cane was a weapon this whole ti. Who would’ve guessed."
Before he could think further, Isolde drifted toward him, silent and graceful as a ghost. She leaned in, fingers brushing under his chin, her warm smile steady despite the carnage.
"Are you alright, Mister Finn?"
"...Yeah," he said, dazed. "Yeah, I guess I am."
A shrill scream cut through the battlefield.
"AGHHH, GET THESE THINGS AWAY FROM !"
Finn whipped his head around and, of course, it was Majestria. She flailed wildly, shrieking as a swarm of the winged creatures clawed and pecked at her.
To Finn, it almost looked like they weren’t trying to kill her so much as mug her chest. The creatures swirled around her like desperate alley cats owing for food—except the food, in this case, was her boobs.
She scread louder, losing her mind entirely, swatting and spinning like a panicked drunk at a wasp nest.
Finn groaned, dragging a muddy hand down his face. "Of course. We’re out here fighting a literal nightmare horde, and she’s getting sexually harassed by Chernobyl pigeons."
Looking down at his hand, he realized he’d just sared mud all over himself. "FUCK !"
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