"Wow. Real original, guys," Finn deadpanned, shading his eyes like someone bored at a fireworks show.

The massive fireball hurtled across the battlefield, streaking through the sky like a flaming meteor hellbent on ending tax season forever.

The giant creature saw it coming. It let out a low, hollow scream and raised one grotesque arm to shield itself, its enormous chest and shoulders now fully unearthed. Muscles—or something pretending to be muscles—bulged under its warped, slimy flesh.

Then came impact.

The fireball smashed into its arm with the force of an exploding sun. For a moment, the world disappeared in a bloom of blinding orange. Flames tore outward in every direction, shattering the ball into thousands of burning shards that sprayed across the monster's body like buckshot.

The creature shrieked—a guttural, bone-rattling sound that echoed across the battlefield and into everyone's skulls. The scream alone was proof the attack had hurt. Should have…

Smoke rolled over the field in heavy clouds, swallowing the monster's form. The air stank of scorched flesh and burning swamp. Ash and flaming fragments drifted down like hellish snow.

For a few long seconds, no one could see a thing. Just the thunder of the creature's hollow wails.

Then, slowly, the smoke thinned.

What emerged from the haze wasn't victory.

It was a nightmare straight out of a horror series.

Chunks of blackened, half-melted flesh sloughed off the beast in heavy slabs, splattering against the ground with wet smacks. Sparks still clung to its skin, burning like dying coals on a rotting log. The creature's body twitched, shuddered, but it was still standing. Still alive.

And somehow… angrier than ever.

Its arm was nearly obliterated by the fireball—half-hanging, half-charred, a grotesque mess of bone-like ridges barely keeping the talon from snapping off entirely.

The skeletal framework was all that remained; every scrap of rot and slime that had once clung to it had been burned away, leaving the inside of its arm disturbingly exposed. Through the ruined limb, you could almost see straight to its head.

Grotesque didn't even begin to cover it.

The monster tilted its head, eyes locking onto the damage. It opened its warped mouth slightly, as if in disbelief at its own mutilation. The simple, almost human act of examining itself made everyone's skin crawl.

Snapping himself out of it, Finn waved frantically. They couldn't just stand there gawking—this was their chance.

"What are we doing?!" he shouted, voice cracking. "Cast more spells! Push forward while it's still open—bring this damn thing down before it recovers!"

But before his words could rally them, another adventurer screamed, pointing up at the monster.

"What the hell is that?!"

Finn's stomach dropped.

He turned, eyes darting back to the creature—and what he saw was not at all what he expected.

Its chest sagged where the fireball had struck—char and slimy bone exposed, ragged strips of flesh hanging off like shredded banners. At the base of its neck a cavity gaped open, and something inside thumped: a slow, wet heartbeat that echoed across the battlefield.

Finn felt his stomach drop. Whatever lived in that hole was the creature's core—its power, its life. If they could strike it, they had a chance. He forced himself to stop staring and to act.

"Can you mages make another fireball?" he shouted.

A man in the mage circle shook his head. "No. We don't have the mana left to forge another sphere, and there's nothing here to replenish us." Sweat dripped down the man's face

"Shit." Finn muttered, then hit his palm with his fist. Panic was contagious; a plan had to be louder.

"Okay—listen up!" He aimed at the priests. "Priests and priestesses, anyone who can boost or enhance magic: focus on the best mages. Pour everything into your strongest firecasters first. Get them ready."

He turned to the mages. "Whoever excels at fire—step forward and prepare every offensive spell you've got."

"And those priests who don't have a mage to boost," he continued, eyes sweeping the lines, "lend your power to the fighters. Strengthen the front line—keep them standing."

He glanced toward the archers and the young mage who'd lit their arrows. "You—make more flaming arrows. Anyone who can help him, help now. Aim at that neck-hole."

Finally he faced the rest of the force. "Everyone else: hold the line. Fight, don't give ground, and do not falter. I mean it."

Finn was starting to look less like a bumbling college bum and more like an actual commander. Deep down, though, he was giddy—it felt less like life-or-death and more like a giant strategy game to him.

'Why hasn't anyone else stepped up to lead? Whatever—guess that just means I get the spotlight I deserve, heh.'

His chest puffed a little as the people around him began moving, obeying his orders without hesitation. Mages gathered, priests shifted toward mages and fighters, archers scrambled for more arrows. The battlefield was chaotic, but it was organized chaos now—and that was thanks to him.

Among the movement, Finn spotted Seraphina, still clutching her staff, still pale from exhaustion, about to help a yet another wounded man.

"Seraphina!" he yelled, sprinting over before she could act.

She stopped, turning her weary eyes toward him. "Yes, Finn? What is it you need me to do?"

"Can you do more of those large blessings? Not like the earlier one for everyone, but something a little big, something that hits more than one person but not everyone?"

She hesitated, staff trembling slightly in her grip. "I think so… but I don't know if I'll be able to—"

"Perfect!" Finn cut her off, grinning and practically bouncing in place. "Round up as many soldiers and knights as you can. I need you to crank them up to max power!"

Seraphina exhaled, nodding despite her fatigue. "…Okay."

Turning his attention back to the battlefield, it was now time to strike back. While the earlier horde had burnt to a crisp, another began to arise. Luckily for them, there weren't any flying ones this time, and the giant creature looked as if it were ready to move as well.

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