CHAPTER 80: MAJESTIC WIGGLES: A NAME TO FORGET

’There is nothing special about that language. It’s just German...’

Finn stood there, jaw slack, sanity fraying like an old sock in a blender.

A German guy told this fantasy world that his Earth language was an ancient sacred tongue?

Unreal.

And they believed him? Built a whole-ass company around it?

"Haus Silbertraum"... Yeah, that definitely sounded like something a guy in Berlin would shout after snorting powdered bratwurst and declaring himself king of Middle-earth.

Finn blinked again. The revelation slammed into his brain like a wet couch.

’There’s a whole company named after that?! There are Earth people here? There’s more of us?!’

This changed everything.

Finn didn’t even care about slime holes anymore—screw the sinkholes and the methgasmite and the emotionally abusive maid.

This was hope.

Maybe, just maybe, he could find someone else from Earth who actually got him.

Someone who didn’t yell at him every ten seconds. Someone who also cried over anime deaths or understood the agony of student loans.

Maybe even someone who—

"But if you see any more of these Slime Sinkholes," the maid suddenly cut in, dragging Finn out of his spiral,

"Let authorities know immediately and stay clear. Seeing how you people are, you wouldn’t stand against a common slime."

Finn winced.

He wanted to bite back.

He really did.

But also: he didn’t want to be emotionally folded like an origami swan again.

And let’s not lie—he had been violated by one slime already. No point pretending like that memory didn’t come with therapy bills.

He opened his mouth—

Then closed it.

Yeah. Nah. Not worth it.

Majestria would just make fun of him for trying and bring the whole incident up.

And also probably remind him how a slime jiggled him like a Thanksgiving casserole.

The maid continued.

"There should be a party assigned to the sinkhole cases in this region. They’re far more qualified to deal with it than you four will ever be."

Chestelle, ever the curious gremlin-duck, tilted her head again. "What party?"

Finn already knew the answer.

He could feel it in his bones. The irritation was already there. Festering like mold in a gamer chair.

"The Sacred Blades of Hope."

Finn rolled his eyes so hard it nearly reset his vision.

’Of course it’s those overachieving clowns—but not my queen Seraphina of course. She’s too perfect.’ Finn giggled in his head.

Those heroic, shiny, noble idiots were probably already bathing in slime blood and giving emotional speeches about friendship and sacrifice.

"These people," the maid said coldly, "will handle the matter and do so with grace. You should take notes from them. That’s what a real party looks like—not... whatever the hell this is."

Finn muttered, barely loud enough to be heard, "You don’t have to be such an asshole to us..."

But yeah. Whatever.

At least they weren’t the ones on slime duty anymore.

No more sinkholes. No more monster goo. No more post-traumatic jiggling.

He could sleep easy.

’Fine with me.’ Finn told himself, finally starting to relax.

Then Chestelle started chewing on a leaf again.

Finn sighed.

...Mostly relaxed.

But in any case, it was time for Finn and the gang to hit the hay.

Or should I say, the Majestic Wiggles to hit the hay?

...

Yeah, no. Never saying that again.

Finn scanned the trees around them one last time, before turning back toward the maid.

"Can we go now? I really need to get that potion."

The maid eyed him for a long moment. Her gaze could melt steel. "This is your second time bringing up this potion. Are you sure it’s just for... fertility issues?"

"YES!!" Finn snapped, louder than intended.

"Well, he is infertile, so he needs it to fix that," Chestelle added with sincere cheer.

Finn looked at her like she had just punched his Craftscraft dog off a cliff.

Slowly, like his soul was breaking in five different ways, he turned toward the maid—only to find her expression as blank and deadpan as ever.

And somehow...

That hurt more than anything she could’ve said.

But, mercifully, she said nothing.

Thank the gods.

The maid turned toward the sinkhole.

"Well then, you may leave. I have more important matters to attend to."

She paused, glancing back at them.

"And everything you saw here is confidential. If word gets out, that’ll be the end of you... Not that anyone would believe a lunatic party like yours."

Do you have to be so mean about it?!

"Okay..." Finn sighed in defeat, turning on his heel. "Come on, guys."

Chestelle hopped up obediently, brushing her hands together.

Licthorn, on the other hand, was still lying on the ground, giggling like she’d licked a weird frog. And Majestria, finally done fixing her hair, looked at Finn with mild confusion.

"What’s happening?" she asked flatly.

Finn felt his heart crack again. "We’re leaving..." His tone carried the full weight of crushed dignity and secondhand embarrassment.

"Before you go," the maid said abruptly, halting their retreat.

They all turned.

She was facing them now. Her arms crossed. Her voice monotone.

"What’s your party name? So I can remember you—and report you if necessary."

"It’s Majestic Wiggles!" Majestria proudly declared before Finn could stop her. She stood tall, hands on her hips, chest puffed out like a rooster with divine authority. "The greatest and most divine party you will ever see in this world!" She pointed directly at the maid. "You’ll see our achievements one day and regret ever mocking us. Especially me!" That last part came with enough venom to kill a god. Her eyes practically glowed with divine hatred for the earlier insult.

Finn wanted to die.

But also... he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of her.

The maid stared at Majestria, utterly unmoved. Expressionless. Soulless.

She blinked once.

"I’m sure I’ll remember that name."

"Oh—you will!" Majestria snapped, spinning on her heel. "One day you’ll grovel at our feet, begging forgiveness for ever doubting our greatness!"

"Hmph!" And with a dramatic flick of her hair, she strutted away like a divine warlord.

Chestelle clapped enthusiastically at the performance.

Licthorn finally stumbled upright, still dazed and muttering something about flowers speaking to her or whatever.

And with that, the Majestic Wiggles finally departed—off to retrieve their potion from the most creepiest person—or thing. Finn wasn’t entirely sure what it is. Maybe a person. Who knows.

The Incubus Midwife.

Finn didn’t know what was waiting for him there...

But he was already exhausted.

***

Some time had passed since they left the emotionally abusive maid behind and returned to the trail.

Finn walked in silence, head low, hands in his pockets, praying to whatever god was actually on shift today.

Please. No more distractions. No more random murder attempts. No more sexually aggressive slime holes. And absolutely no more killer maids.

The path curved gently ahead—and that’s when he saw it.

A house in the distance.

Finn’s lips curled up in joy. His eyes lit up like a child seeing their dad come back from a ten-year military deployment with the new console in one hand and a pizza in the other.

"Finally." He broke into a sprint, tearing down the road like freedom itself waited just ahead.

Past the trees.

Out into the clearing—

And then he saw it.

And everything inside of him died a little.

His lips curled down.

His eyes went wide.

His soul tried to evacuate his body.

"WHAT. THE. FUNK!?"