CHAPTER 91: IF IT BUBBLES, RUN

As they ventured deeper, they finally reached the second level of the cave.

And it was worse.

Way worse.

Just like the Midwife warned, the slime started glowing more—faint, pulsing patches lining the walls and ceiling like sickly neon veins. It gave the whole place a disturbing alien glow, like the inside of a monster’s colon.

More destroyed slimes littered the ground, but these were bigger now—some the size of Chestelle’s legs stacked together like some sort of nightmare slime hotdog.

There was even a puddle.

A single, unmoving puddle of dark, glistening slime.

None of it made sense. The Midwife specifically said things didn’t get this gooey until level three.

So why the hell was this happening now?

Something was definitely off.

And Finn, naturally, hated it.

Which is exactly why he... walked right toward the puddle.

Majestria frowned. Chestelle cocked her head. Even Lickthorn stopped rubbing her thighs to watch.

The slime puddle wasn’t normal. It shimmered weirdly. Bubbling gently, like something deep was lurking under the surface.

It reminded Finn of those deceptive water puddles from survival games—just a shallow dip on top hiding an entire death trap underneath.

He narrowed his eyes.

’Something’s wrong with this thing...’

"What is it?" Chestelle asked, watching him crouch. "Are you thinking of jumping in it?"

"That would be the last idea to come into my mind—actually, no. That wouldn’t even qualify as an intrusive thought."

Chestelle tilted her head. "Then what’s an intrusive thought you’re having right now?"

Without thinking, Finn muttered, "You turning into a chest and me sitting inside you."

Chestelle blinked once... and then smiled sweetly. "We can do that sometime. Whenever you want."

Finn sighed. "You know what? I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore. Not with you."

"Sure!" she replied, cheerfully. For no reason.

He turned back to the puddle. Still bubbling. Still suspicious.

Despite the creepy atmosphere, Finn couldn’t help but appreciate the layout of the cavern. It reminded him of that one survival game he used to play back on Earth—Arken’s True Survival, the one where you tried not to get eaten by a T-Rex while crafting pants.

’Ah. Good times...’

But this slime puddle—it felt like more than just slime.

It felt deep. Like it wasn’t just on the surface. Like there might be an entire ecosystem under the cave, made up purely of slimes. Endless slimes.

The thought alone sent a cold shiver down Finn’s spine.

Then—

"Ahhh!"

A scream tore through the air.

Finn’s head snapped toward the sound.

It was Majestria.

And...

She was screaming because she’d stepped in a chunk of slime.

Like she’d just stepped in dog poo.

Which, to be fair, for her... might as well have been.

Majestria stumbled back from the goo, her face contorting into raw, undiluted horror. She clutched at her dress like she was seconds away from fainting.

"Oh gods! OH GODS!!"

"Can you not scream?!" Finn hissed. "You’re gonna attract unwanted attention—or worse, the adventurers might’ve heard us!"

Majestria stood frozen, panting, chest rising and falling in dramatic heaves. She stared down at her foot like she’d just watched her child die in a soap opera.

"My feet..." she whispered. "My beautiful feet are ruined!"

"It’s not that big a deal!" Finn snapped.

She turned to him slowly. Eyes wide. Betrayed. Like he’d just committed blasphemy in front of her shrine.

"They are a big deal! Who are you to speak of such things?! They’re not even your feet!"

"You can just wash them off later—"

"WASH THEM OFF?!" she gasped, clutching her chest. Offended. Appalled. Personally attacked.

"That doesn’t erase the trauma, Finn!" she shrieked, flapping her arms like an angry bird caught in a dryer. "Even if I clean them, I’ll know. I’ll know that this divine flesh touched that—that filthy, disgusting, shit-covered SLIME!!"

Finn just stared at her. Then sighed, completely giving up on the argument.

There was no point. You couldn’t logic with someone having a spiritual meltdown over goo.

’Why can’t she be like Chestelle and not care...’ he scoffed internally.

"I HEARD THAT!" Majestria snapped, eyes blazing.

"I didn’t even say anything!"

Finn sighed and crouched down in front of the slime puddle, peering into its viscous depths.

From his pocket, he pulled out one of the shiny minerals he’d pocketed earlier.

He stared at it for a moment.

’I can’t believe I’m doing this...’

With a reluctant flick, he dropped the mineral into the puddle.

It sank without a sound.

Then—worse—thin strands of slime slithered out, wrapping around the mineral and dragging it deeper into the goo.

Finn blinked in horror.

No splash. No bubble. No trace.

Just gone.

This was not okay. Not one bit.

Then, without warning, something whizzed past his head—and landed plop into the puddle.

It was a skull.

Finn screamed internally and fell flat on his ass with the grace of a distressed grandma.

He spun around—

Chestelle stood there, hands on her hips like she’d just done the dishes.

"Where the hell did you even get that?!" he yelled.

"She found it near one of the slime walls," Lickthorn said, pointing casually.

"So your first thought was to just... toss it into the puddle?!"

Chestelle tilted her head, genuinely confused. "Is that wrong?"

"YES! YES, IT’S VERY WRONG!"

"That isn’t important right now!" Majestria barked. "Finn, you need to carry me!"

"Someone DIED here!" Finn pointed furiously at the puddle. "That was a PERSON!"

"Well that person is dead. I’m not. Now chop chop."

Finn stared at her. Then looked at the others.

He whispered under his breath, "They’re all insane."

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? PICK ME UP!!"

"CAN YOU STOP YELLING?! YOU’RE GONNA TRIGGER SOME—SOME STUPID SHIT!"

Majestria stomped the ground like an entitled queen throwing a tantrum. "DON’T YELL AT ME! I AM A GODDESS! PUT SOME RESPECT ON THAT—"

She froze.

Just stopped. Mid-rant.

Her eyes widened in horror.

Chestelle slowly began backing away.

Even Lickthorn’s jaw dropped.

Finn looked around, arms out. "What is it now?!"

Then he felt it.

A low rumble. The tremble of sludge shifting beneath the earth.

"Oh fuck me," he muttered. "Not again..."