CHAPTER 52: SO, DO I JUST TRIP THE DEMON GOD?

Arsenio stared at Finn like the man had just insulted his entire bloodline.

The audacity!

"You... can’t be serious."

Finn nodded with conviction, doubling down. "I am so, so serious."

Chestelle watched him with gleaming excitement, as if he were about to punch fate in the throat. Lickthorn stared at him like a piece of meat she planned to chew on slowly. And Majestria? She smirked—just for a second—then wiped it off like it never happened when Finn turned her way.

He gestured dramatically to himself. "I mean, look at me. I’ve got no mana. According to you guys. My divine gift is tripping people. I can now apparently move furniture with my mind. Oh—and I’m carrying enough trauma to start a podcast."

"So tell me—what the hell am I supposed to do against a demon god? Trip him down the stairs? Feng shui his evil lair? Rearrange his cursed bookshelf by color? Maybe I’ll summon the power of mild inconvenience. Give him a paper cut. Haunt him with spam mail from a fake prince asking for gold."

Lickthorn let out a soft giggle. Chestelle clapped once. Just once. And said absolutely nothing, because that was her brand. Even Majestria cracked again—lips twitching—but pretended to be aggressively uninterested in his existence.

Arsenio sighed so hard it sounded like he aged ten years mid-exhale.

"You do realize this affects everyone," he said, rubbing his hand down his face like he was trying to erase the conversation. "Including you."

Finn gasped, eyes wide. "R-Really?!"

Then immediately grinned. "Yeah, still not my problem. I’m sure somebody will handle it. Me? I’ve already punched in my hours. I need to fix my junk and go straight into early retirement. Spa day. Maybe a nap."

Majestria gave him a side-eye so sharp it could file nails. "You’re not retiring. You’re just lazy."

"Same thing," Finn shrugged.

"You say that..." Arsenio began, "but if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have been able to—"

"Shhh." Finn held up a finger like he was silencing a child at a funeral. "That was a one-time thing. A quest moment. You know how it is. Main objective, bonus XP. Happens to the best of us."

Arsenio looked at him for a long second, like he was trying to figure out if this was a bit. Eventually, he just gave up and nodded slowly.

"In any case... we deeply appreciate what you’ve done. You may not realize it, but your actions won’t be forgotten."

Finn didn’t say anything. He just blinked. A bit caught off guard. Unsure how to process praise from someone who wasn’t trying to kill or belittle him.

His brain tried to load a response. All it found was a mental image of a chicken in a wig playing bongos. So he nodded.

Arsenio turned his eyes back to the tower walls as they descended past another row of glowing glyphs and runes.

"I’ve got a lot to handle once you guys leave," he muttered. "You know... most of us wizards can’t actually leave the tower. That’s why you saw one of those... rooms."

Finn’s eyes widened.

’Oooooh, so that’s why they’re racist toward outsiders. It’s just trauma in a bathrobe.’ It all clicked now.

The balcony continued to lower like a sad, magical elevator running on depression and loose rope.

Silence fell again—thick with awkwardness, fate, and a vague sense of doom. Finn stood there. One guy.

A guy who truly, wholeheartedly believed he wasn’t meant for anything great.

Which, ironically... Made him the most dangerous one of all.

This was a legacy waiting to be unfolded.

Probably against his will.

***

Before long, Finn and the crew finally reached the bottom of the tower.

They passed through the clouds that had once cloaked the forest below in a heavy, mysterious fog. To Finn’s relief, that fog had finally started to dissipate. The trees came into clearer view now—tall, gnarled things swaying in the distance like they were just as confused to be visible again.

The balcony rotated with a soft weird sound, slowly turning outward to face the forest floor instead of the tower wall. Finn thought that was kinda cool.

Like a magical Uber doing a three-point turn.

The whole squad stepped off together, looking like they were disembarking from a JRPG airship cutscene. If a narrator had said "And so, the heroes return..." Finn might’ve thrown up.

Arsenio stayed back on the balcony, hands behind his back, watching them go.

Finn turned. "Aren’t you coming?"

Arsenio shook his head. "Unfortunately not. I’ll be staying here. This is where our paths diverge."

Finn let out a soft hum. Didn’t know if it was disappointment or gas.

Majestria had already stormed a few feet ahead, but stopped. She looked back at the group, her expression unreadable—but with that usual flavor of holier-than-thou mixed with ’I’m too tired for this.’ Ironic.

"I’ll need to file this report immediately with the Sapient Kingdom. What happened here... it’s serious," he said. Then, with the faintest smirk, he added, "Still... you’re probably the most bizarre group I’ve ever encountered. And I’ve met a talking chair who tried to unionize. I’m sure we’ll cross paths again."

’Yeah, and maybe next time you can actually be useful instead of giving us info dumps and standing on the sidelines,’ Finn thought, but kept that one in the drafts.

"Well, then," Arsenio said. "Goodbye."

The balcony began to rise slowly.

Lickthorn immediately waved with her usual too-much enthusiasm. "Byee~!"

Finn gave a respectful nod. "It was... nice meeting you." Chestelle mimicked him with way more energy and two thumbs up, because of course she did.

Majestria didn’t wave. She just watched Arsenio ascend like some tragic anime ending. Maybe she was too proud to say goodbye. Or maybe—just maybe—she was jealous he got to go up while she had to walk back to literal hell.

Finn sighed and turned around, hands in his pockets.

One foot in front of the other. Back down the twisted path. Back to the town of decay and mildew.

Back to...

God-forsaken Moistvile.