Chapter 164: The Kaiju’s Scary, But Women Are Worse
It wasn’t a body, or arms, or even a head.
It was a wing.
A gigantic, world-splitting wing of dark, bluish flesh, ripping itself from the earth like it had been waiting for this exact moment to crawl free. It spread, slow and deliberate, blotting out half the damn sky.
The crows—those freaky, loyal background birds—lost all nerve at once. They scattered, screeching, abandoning their ominous circle to get as far away as possible. Even the swamp seemed to recoil.
It resembled a bird’s wing, but it wasn’t one. It had the shape, yes—but none of the detail, none of the feathers. Just this impossible, alien outline that bent the eye if you stared too long. It was a sight older than the world itself. Something people weren’t built to look at.
Everyone stood there, slack-jawed. Even Majestria, who could bitch about literally anything—even she shut her mouth, her anger stunned right out of her by sheer awe.
It was unforgettable. Wrong. Beautiful. Terrifying.
"What are we supposed to do..." an adventurer muttered nearby, voice trembling.
’I don’t know, maybe don’t all huddle in one spot like idiots waiting to be stomped,’ Finn thought grimly.
Chestelle, meanwhile, was losing her entire mind, bouncing in panic. "What are we going to do, Finn?!"
"What the hell am I supposed to do?!" Finn threw his hands in the air. "I can’t do anything—my only powers are tripping people and moving furniture! Neither of those work on a skyscraper-sized nightmare bird thing!"
"But you beat that monster! And the chicken!" Chestelle pleaded, desperation in her dumb eyes.
Both his eyebrows shot up. He was actually... impressed? For once, she used her brain. But the logic collapsed under its own weight.
"Yeah, but this is completely different! That thing is like a mountain! That other stuff was human-sized, elephant-sized—y’know, reasonable nightmare fuel. This? This is unreasonable nightmare fuel!"
"Can you try to trip it?"
"...Uhh." Finn blinked. "I actually hadn’t thought of that."
He looked up at the wing, stretched out his arm, pulled it back—just like always.
Nothing.
Then the voice hit him, flat and unhelpful as ever:
[User cannot trip Sin that is larger than All.]
’The what?!’
[User must trip thousands more beings in order to qualify.]
"Are you kidding me?!"
[Progress: User has tripped one-hundred-thirteen opponents.]
Finn’s jaw dropped. "...Oh sweet, I’ve hit triple digits! Wait—hold up. What does that mean now? What new garbage power-up did I just unlock?"
[User is now able to trip inanimate objects. User is now able to trip multiple targets at once. Limit: Five.]
"Oh, what the hell?! Hell yeah! My day just got so much better!" Finn pumped his fists like he just unlocked a free trial of life.
Chestelle’s muddy face lit up. "What is it? You were talking to no one again. That’s so cool—can only you see them?"
"No, but I can hear them!" Finn said proudly. Out of context, it sounded like he was celebrating schizophrenia.
On impulse, he scooped Chestelle up and spun her around like he’d just won a carnival prize. He instantly regretted it. "Oh my god—you’re heavy!" He dropped her like a sack of potatoes and hunched over, wheezing. His hands were coated in swamp mud and Chestelle residue.
"Ew. Ew. EW!" He shook his hands violently, like that would fix his life.
"What’s the matter?" Chestelle blinked at him, guileless as ever.
"Do. Not. Touch me."
"Why?"
"Just do what I say!"
"Okay!" she chirped.
Finn groaned and turned back to the impossible wing, towering over them like an apocalypse waiting to cash its check. His brain spun, desperate for an answer.
’We need like... a catapult. Or a cannon. Or a nuke. Something—anything!’ He smacked the side of his head.
"Is there something the matter, Mister Finn?" Isolde’s soft voice whispered behind him, nearly giving him a heart attack.
"Is there something the matter?! Lady, look around! EVERYTHING is the matter!"
"Well... is there anything I can do to assist you?"
"Yes! Please tell me you’ve got artillery, siege weapons, a slingshot, something!"
Her head dipped apologetically. "I’m afraid not. We brought only equipment for close combat and tunnel clearing. Not... this."
Finn’s face collapsed into his palms. "Oh my god. We’re doomed."
Then, from the crowd, someone tried to rally: "Don’t worry! Ardin Lightblade is here—the blessed hero will save us!"
"Yeah! Ardin will know what to do!" another shouted, and soon a chorus of cheers rose up.
Until the obvious question cut them in half: "Wait... where is he?"
The cheers dissolved into murmurs. Suspicion. Fear. Hope crumbling like soggy bread.
Finn looked away immediately, sweat trickling down his spine. Only Theron, Silvara, and Chestelle knew the truth: Ardin Lightblade was dead. Vaporized, courtesy of Finn himself. And the murderer? Standing right in the middle of them.
Evil.
Finn leaned toward Isolde, desperate. "Please—there’s gotta be something. Or someone. Right? Anyone at all?"
"Well... unfortunately she isn’t here right now, neither is—"
’Oh my god, of course there’s another "she." This world collects crazy strong women like it’s a hobby.’
But before she could finish, the crowd shifted. Heads turned. Gasps rippled through the knights and adventurers.
Someone was walking forward. Slowly. Purposefully. And whatever he carried was enough to silence everyone else.
Finn blinked, craning his neck. "Okay... what the hell now? What’s got everybody staring like it’s free beer?"
He turned his head—and froze.
The man Finn saw had a very, very long sword strapped to his back—so long the tip practically dragged through the mud with every step. A short cape tried and failed miserably to hide the blade, like a toddler covering a skyscraper with a dish towel.
His armor clung tight to his shoulders, chest, and legs. Across his torso, absurdly oversized knives were strapped like decorations that screamed: stab magnet. He was built, too—broad shoulders, thick arms, the kind of guy who could casually pop Finn’s head like a grape.
He walked steadily forward, brown-black hair brushing against his forehead as his brown-green eyes scanned ahead. He looked less like a man and more like he’d been ripped straight out of a movie poster titled Revenge Blood Kill VI: Sword Orgy.
’Well, I’ll be damned.’ Finn stared, wide-eyed. This guy looks cooler than Ardin ever could on his best day. Hell, he looks like he eats Ardins for breakfast.
The crowd was the same—knights and adventurers alike gawked in silence, caught somewhere between awe and confusion.
The man finally spoke, his voice low and even: "Looking at me isn’t going to solve anything."
He pushed past a few trembling knights and stepped into the open, alone before the looming winged creature.
’This might be it,’ Finn thought. ’This guy... this guy’s probably the real main character of this world. Just look at him—he oozes plot armor.’
With a satisfying metallic shiiing, the man drew his sword. It wasn’t just long. It was stupidly long—the kind of long that made you wonder if he was compensating for something or if he was about to cut the sky in half. The blade was thick, but not cartoonishly so—just enough that Finn thought, Yeah, that could slice a cake in the air.
The man leveled the sword at the massive, otherworldly creature, bracing himself for the impossible.
Finn’s jaw dropped. No way. He’s actually gonna try it.
"What are you going to do?!" Finn shouted, half mocking, half desperate.
The man didn’t hesitate. "Kill it. That’s what."
Finn blinked, nearly tripping over his own disbelief. "You can’t be serious..."
"Well, you need a plan or something! You can’t just walk up to that thing and expect to win," Finn tried to reason with him, throwing his hands around like a man begging for common sense.
The man didn’t even blink. "You just support me, and I’ll handle it."
Finn stared at him. "I can’t with these people, man..." he muttered under his breath.
It was almost a fine heroic moment—until Majestria opened her mouth. As usual.
She strutted up, voice dripping with venom. "And what exactly do you expect to do with that toy of yours? You’re not going to accomplish anything. You’re just as useless as my so-called partner."
’Here we go again...’ Finn braced himself.
But then the impossible happened—the mysterious badass turned his head, saw Majestria, and instantly screamed. Not a manly roar, not a battle cry—an actual high-pitched scream. He jumped back like a cat seeing a cucumber.
’What the hell?!’ Finn blinked in disbelief.
Majestria advanced, glaring. "What is your problem?"
The man screamed again, higher this time, scrambling backwards. "It’s a woman!" he wailed like he’d just discovered his worst nightmare.
Finn couldn’t help himself—he burst out laughing. "Looks like you’re more terrifying than beautiful, Majestria!"
Majestria froze, snarling at him with the fury of a thousand divine tantrums.
’Oh, this is priceless,’ Finn thought, grinning, while the badass warrior continued trembling like a child who’d just been shown his first tax form.
’Wait is he actually scarred of women?’