CHAPTER 83: HOW TO TRAUMATIZE A PROTAGONIST IN ONE SCENE

The back door creaked open.

The Incubus Midwife stepped back into the building... and what it held in its hands made Finn’s soul invert in terror.

In one hand: a penis-shaped plant, with the texture of a carrot slathered in cottage cheese. In the other: a foot-shaped herb, green and veiny, with the glossy texture of watermelon fused with asparagus.

Finn gripped his pants with both hands like he was holding in a war crime.

He began sweating profusely—his body screaming that it no longer wanted to be a part of this timeline.

The towering being strolled over to the kitchen and casually dropped both monstrosities into the pot. It then reached for a handful of salts and strange powders—seasonings from hell—sprinkling them in like a chaotic chef.

Then came the glowing minerals, tossed in like it was trying to break several interdimensional drug laws. The whole process looked illegal in at least three different realms and probably the Vatican.

Next, the Midwife moved over to the brewing station and took out a set of crystals. It crushed them with eerie precision, extracting a glowing liquid that it swirled into a glass vial.

Finn watched in silence, entranced.

It was like watching a dark alchemy cooking tutorial in the middle of a mental breakdown.

’Oddly satisfying...’ he thought, eyes following every fluid motion.

It was like watching those five-minute crafts videos—but for cursed fertility potions.

While the potion brewed, Finn’s gaze drifted.

Chestelle now sat beside him on the floor, legs crossed, gently rocking side to side like she was waiting for a bedtime story.

Lickthorn wandered near the wall, admiring the decor with starry-eyed awe.

Majestria had her arms crossed, foot tapping the wooden floor with growing impatience. She looked ready to slap someone—probably Finn—for dragging her into this nightmare.

Then the Incubus Midwife lifted the bubbling womb-shaped pot and poured its contents into a sleek glass, swirling the strange concoction gently.

But it didn’t hand it over.

Instead, it began rummaging through one of the overhead cabinets, muttering to itself.

"Where is it..."

Finn blinked. "Where’s what?"

"My Slime Melo."

"...Slime Melo?" Finn repeated, furrowing his brow.

It sounded familiar.

And then it hit him—Elise, the receptionist. She had mentioned it before. Said it was her favorite coffee flavor or something of the sort.

The Midwife continued digging through shelves like a cursed barista searching for their last pod.

"It seems I can’t find it," it finally said, clearly disappointed.

Finn exhaled softly, unsure if he was relieved or more terrified by what might replace it.

The Incubus Midwife turned back toward Finn, face twisted into a sorrowful pout.

"If I can’t find it," it said dramatically, "then I can’t make the potion for you, darling~"

Finn blinked. "Oh... that’s not good."

"Let me check one more place. Maybe I left it there."

It began walking toward the far end of the room—toward the head of the fetus-shaped building.

Its hips swayed unnaturally, exaggerated like a seductive pendulum. Clearly for show.

And clearly repulsive.

Finn’s soul recoiled.

He didn’t want to be anywhere near this thing. He wanted to burn the memory. He wanted a new life. Preferably as a cactus.

The Midwife glanced back over its shoulder, smiling with lips too red and too wet.

"Hey, darling~"

Finn froze. "...Y-Yeah?"

"Could you come help me?" it cooed. "I have a hard time bending over... with how tall I am~"

That pause.

That tone.

Finn swallowed hard. Like he had just tried to down a live frog.

He looked back at the girls behind him—desperately. Like a hostage searching for a sniper.

Majestria met his eyes.

She said nothing.

She didn’t need to.

Her expression alone screamed: "Move. Now. Or I will break your spine in five places."

Finn exhaled in pure, defeated agony.

"...Fine."

He stood up slowly, every cell in his body rebelling as he took steps toward the demonic glam-rock giraffe of a human.

The Midwife smiled wider, satisfied at his submission.

It led him to the door at the end of the room, tall and wooden, carved with vaguely organic patterns that looked way too anatomical.

It opened the door slowly with a creak... revealing what lay beyond.

The Incubus Midwife’s personal room.

And the bed...

Was shaped like a heart.

’That’s... at least relatively normal,’ Finn thought. A small mercy in this godforsaken architectural nightmare.

The room itself honestly looked modest—surprisingly normal, even. A closet, a nightstand, a simple vanity. Nothing was twitching. Nothing was shaped like genitalia.

A win.

But then his eyes fell to the bed again. And this time he noticed the rope.

Just... laying there.

Finn stared at it.

The Incubus Midwife followed his gaze. "Oh my~ sorry about that. I should’ve thought twice before bringing you in here." It giggled and picked up the rope like it was a pair of socks.

Finn nodded slowly, eyes hollow. "Yeah..."

The creature opened the closet and tossed the rope inside. And Finn—against every fiber of his better judgment—glanced inside.

Large pink sunglasses.

A pair of bunny ears.

Something fuzzy.

Finn shut his brain off before it could connect any dots. Nope. Don’t wanna know. My mind is too tired.

The Midwife turned back around and bent slightly at the hips, trying to peer under the bed.

But its body just... didn’t.

With a tired sigh, it gave up and turned to Finn, flashing that overripe smile.

"Could you look under my bed for me, darling~? I believe I may have stashed it there."

Finn was already dead inside. "Okay..."

He dragged himself over to the side of the bed, shoulders slouched, soul deflating with every step.

"Where exactly should it be?"

"Just under there~"

Finn sighed again, bent down onto one knee, and leaned in—

—And that was the worst decision of his life.

Because under the bed... Was not a potion. Or a box. Or anything that should be under a bed.

What Finn saw...

Was a full shrine. Of himself.

Photos of Finn.

Drawings of Finn.

A tiny crocheted Finn doll, lovingly stitched.

A bottle labeled "sweat (maybe)"

Finn froze. His soul evacuated through his nostrils. His mouth dried instantly.

"Oh my god I’m gonna die in here."

Behind him, the Midwife spoke sweetly:

"Do you see anything down there, sweetheart~?"

Finn didn’t move. He couldn’t. He had entered a new state of being: petrified embarrassment-induced paralysis.

He whispered into the darkness:

"...Please someone kill me."