CHAPTER 82: IT GRABBED MY BALLS...

As Finn stepped into the house, he braced for horror—but was instead... surprised.

It was nice.

Weirdly nice.

The space was cozy and decently sized, with warm wooden walls and a faint lavender scent in the air. A spiral staircase coiled upward into what appeared to be the building’s arm. Just past it was a fully stocked brewing station, lined with strange glass containers and bubbling flasks, backed against the far wall. A compact kitchen with an actual stove sat neatly beside it.

To the right, a hallway stretched into the head of the fetus-shaped house.

To the left, a door that presumably led into the legs.

And at the far back—yes, unfortunately—there was indeed a small wooden door built directly into what Finn could only describe as the ass of the building.

He shivered.

Why. Why like this.

The place smelled like fresh wood and potions—a mix of soothing lavender and high school chemistry lab trauma.

Finn sighed internally. "Why couldn’t it have been a hot, tired witch lady?"

He had a thing for witches. A secret thing. A long, embarrassing scroll of fetishes sealed deep in the vault of his soul, waiting for the right moment to burst out like cursed Bollmon cards.

But instead... he got this.

Behind him, the girls examined the room with varying levels of tension and distress.

The Incubus Midwife strutted past them gracefully—if grace could be defined by jiggling thighs, fishnet, and a sense of escalating doom.

Finn gagged a little watching those thighs bounce with every step. "God, why couldn’t it have been a hot horse-woman instead?" He didn’t know the rules of gender anymore. Hell, he didn’t even know the rules of sanity.

Then, the towering figure turned at the brewing station, facing Finn directly.

"So tell me, darling~ what brings you here?"

Finn fidgeted like he was giving a book report on a project he didn’t start. "Uh... I lost my fertility. And, um..." He scratched his head and looked around for moral support—none found. "I was told you could help me with a potion. For that."

The Incubus Midwife’s expression fell into a pout. "Oh no~ That’s so unfortunate..." It stepped closer.

Too close.

And then, without hesitation, it cupped Finn’s balls.

Firmly.

Finn made a sound that could only be described as a dying pigeon being exorcised. His soul evacuated his body.

He could feel nothing but pain and shame.

Majestria’s face twisted in pure revulsion. Chestelle was off in her own world, probably imagining ducks in dresses. Lickthorn... was visibly jealous.

The Midwife gently rotated its fingers like it was turning a combination lock on Finn’s dignity.

And then—it sniffed them.

Finn’s spirit detached like a cheap USB drive.

"God, please. Anyone. Save me. Kill me. Smite me with a holy sword. Anything."

The Midwife let out a sigh and turned back to the workstation. "Slimes, huh? Nasty things. That’ll do it, alright. You poor, poor thing."

Finn stood frozen, cupping his violated future children in both hands like a traumatized fruit vendor.

It somehow got worse.

"Those slimes are sneaky, darling~ You have to kill them the moment you see them, or you end up like this," the Midwife cooed, glancing back at Finn. "Infertile. Helpless. But still... cute~"

Finn stared at the floor, willing it to swallow him whole. "You don’t say..." he muttered.

Then, the Midwife licked its lips. "But I’m glad I got to meet you and see your sexy self. You should visit more often~"

In Finn’s mind, a thousand alarms rang.

’AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.’

The girls could only stare, helpless witnesses to this spiritual hit-and-run.

Even Majestria looked seconds away from activating divine judgment.

Chestelle had blinked out of reality.

And Lickthorn?

Lickthorn... was drooling.

Of course she was.

This was hell.

Actual, high-heeled, lavender-scented hell.

And Finn was stuck in it.

The Incubus Midwife let out a dramatic sigh and began walking down the hallway—toward the legs of the house.

Finn glanced desperately at Majestria, silently pleading for help.

She immediately looked away, pretending not to see him. This was his mission. His problem.

And in a way... she was right.

They had come here for his fertility issues.

So Finn clenched his soul and accepted his fate.

Moments later, the Midwife returned, dragging a small wooden chair and a circular table, placing them directly in front of the brewing station. The towering figure looked down at Finn, its wet crimson lips curling into a smirk.

"Come sit, darling~ It’ll make my job easier... and faster for you."

It ran its long fingers along the chair’s edge, patting it suggestively.

Finn sat down.

He didn’t know why.

No one was forcing him.

But here he was.

He stared blankly ahead, barely registering the thing now turning to the girls with a raised brow—until it made a twisted realization.

"Ah~ Your friends must enjoy watching, huh?" It licked its lips, leaned down, and whispered into Finn’s ear, "I like that."

Finn screamed silently inside his brain.

His soul whimpered and retreated to a safe space deep within.

Then the Midwife reached up into a cabinet and pulled out a pot.

Shaped like a womb.

Finn blinked slowly. His body stopped processing sensory input for safety reasons.

The womb-pot was filled with water and set atop the stove. Steam began to rise as the concoction began its cursed boil.

"To fix your little fertility problem, I’ll be making you a Hornus Potion." It glanced back at Finn with a smirk. "And because you’re so adorable... I won’t charge you anything~"

Finn blinked. "...Really?"

"Unless you moan or whimper," it added with a wink. "Then I’ll have to charge you, darling~"

"What the funk..." Finn muttered, traumatized.

"Rules are rules, sweetie," it giggled.

And with that, the Midwife turned and walked toward the door built into the rear of the house, hips swaying like a cursed metronome. It slipped out the back, presumably to gather ingredients.

Hopefully.

Please, Finn begged the gods. Please let it be gone for a while. Please let it never come back.

He sat there in silence, paralyzed. He could still feel the memory of its fingers. Still smell the scent of lavender and whatever moral decay had cursed this building.

He needed to leave.

Immediately.

Or at least never speak of this again.

The door opened and it returned.

With something that only made Finn cry more.