Adventure Time Rebellion: Fight for the Throne

Chapter 52: What in the World Is This? (2)

With his path set, Finn turned back toward the road home, his head swirling with calculations and possibilities, but ultimately... no solid plan in place for the days ahead.

He was just walking.

Thinking.

Empty.

Until—

Something caught his eye.

As he passed a steep, jagged slope, a sudden flicker of light flared from below—a dark red shimmer, pulsing like a warning.

"What the..." he murmured.

He leaned forward, trying to get a clearer view.

And that was a mistake.

His bike wobbled violently beneath him as the terrain shifted. The front wheel dipped into loose gravel, and before he could catch himself, the whole thing slipped—sending him sliding down the slope.

He barely managed to stabilize himself, catching his footing just inches before a full-on fall.

But his bike wasn't so lucky.

It crashed hard, bouncing once against a rock before slamming into the dirt below with a dull, metallic thud.

"My beloved bike!!" he shouted, voice breaking into panic as he scrambled down after it. He landed fast, knees scraping, eyes already searching for signs of damage.

His hands ran across the frame.

No dents.

No warping.

No cracks.

Everything was intact.

He exhaled with visible relief, wiping sweat from his brow as his heartbeat finally slowed.

"Thank you, Princess," he muttered under his breath—grateful for the craftsmanship that had saved his machine.

[You're showing a lot of concern for a piece of metal.]

Her voice came through the neural link with its usual cool sharpness, but this time there was something else under it—just a hint of curiosity. Maybe even a little jealousy.

"Believe me," Finn muttered as he crouched to grip the frame and lift the bike upright again, "this piece of metal is more useful than you most of the time."

The dry sarcasm came out effortlessly, laced with the weariness of the day. He wasn't in the mood for bickering.

[Excuse me, what??]

Sika's voice cracked like a whip, this time layered with unmistakable offense. It was the first time she actually sounded like she cared what he thought—emotionally, not functionally.

But Finn didn't respond. He didn't roll his eyes or toss another jab. He just stared past the wreck site, his expression suddenly cooling, mind refocusing. The reason for his fall was still glowing faintly in the distance.

That strange light.

That unnatural, pulsing crimson glow.

He could still see it—dim and ominous—nestled within the rocks like a buried ember waiting to breathe. He started walking toward it slowly, deliberately, his every footstep pressing into scorched soil still warm from yesterday's magma flow.

The closer he got, the more focused he became.

It was coming from what looked like the entrance of a narrow cave, barely wide enough to slip through, half-buried behind sloping stone.

He crouched down and studied it, eyes scanning every crack, every angle. The glow wasn't reflecting from lava or bouncing off glass. It was emitting from inside—steady and alive.

[Seriously, are you bored enough to follow a light in a land full of lights?]

Sika's voice buzzed in again, part snark, part warning.

But Finn shook his head, eyes locked on the entrance.

"I noticed something," he murmured, almost to himself. "The ground near this cave? Completely free of lava. No bubbling pits. No flowing magma. Not even heatwaves. And the rocks here... they're darker. Older. Like they've been scorched and left untouched for years."

He glanced over his shoulder before ducking further down.

"There's no reason for light to be coming from here."

In a land where everything glowed, burned, or burst with fiery energy, a cold void like this didn't just stand out—it felt wrong. Which, to Finn, meant one thing:

It was worth checking out.

He slipped into the cave like a shadow, twisting his body through the narrow gap between rock and earth. The heat from the outside faded almost immediately, replaced by a heavy, breathless stillness.

After only a few tight meters, the tunnel opened up into a chamber—small, empty, and unnaturally dark.

But the moment his eyes adjusted, he saw it.

A small gate embedded directly into the far wall. Unlike the rocks around it, it pulsed with a deep, infernal light—a red so dark it bled black at the edges. The glow spread across the chamber, throwing warped shadows and bathing Finn's face in its sick warmth.

He froze.

His gaze locked on the gate.

And then... something began to change.

Shapes twisted within the glow. Lines bent into curves. A face began to take form—not a kind one, not a human one. A monstrous grin emerged, carved by light, broad and vicious. Eyes bulged unnaturally. And the mouth stretched wide open in a jagged, mocking laugh lined with knife-shaped fangs.

Finn's heart thumped.

A chill ran down his spine.

It was grinning.

At him.

Suddenly, as if responding to his presence, laughter erupted—low at first, then louder. It echoed across the stone walls, bouncing between surfaces in an unnatural, disorienting rhythm. The air itself seemed to pulse with it.

His hands curled into fists. Sweat gathered along his temples.

"What is happening here?" he whispered, unsure if he even expected an answer.

His steps began to falter, his footing unsteady—not from motion, but from something worse: fear. Raw, instinctive dread that slithered beneath the surface of his nerves.

The grin widened further, and the red lines shimmered, warping into deeper patterns. He felt it in his bones—this place wasn't just wrong, it was hostile. And it had noticed him.

The laughter escalated.

His chest tightened.

"That's enough for today," he muttered, trying to shake off the dread clawing at his gut. He turned, one foot already backing away.

And that's when it struck.

Without any warning, a sphere of light burst from the gate—blood-red, fast, and filled with malice. It shot toward him like a predator unleashed.

It didn't hesitate.

It didn't miss.

It collided with his back.

And everything exploded.

The world didn't just shake—it shattered.

The chamber detonated in light and force. The impact cracked reality like glass. Finn's vision went white, then black, then nothing. He wasn't falling—he was being erased.

A fire tore through him—not physical. Not muscle or skin or blood. It was inside, deeper—a raw, blinding agony that erupted in the deepest corners of his soul.

His breath stopped.

Time stopped.

Everything stopped.

He hung there, suspended in a void where sensation and memory collided. His heartbeat slammed against his chest like war drums. His emotions crashed together, violent and out of control. Panic. Pain. Grief. Rage. Despair.

It wasn't just pain. It was identity unraveling.

A part of him—something fundamental—was being torn away.

And he couldn't stop it.

In that frozen moment, Finn saw the nightmare unfold across his mind. Reality fragmented into shadows. Familiar memories twisted into echoes. Voices from his past screamed accusations into his skull.

You failed.

You weren't strong enough.

You let this happen.

[What is going on here??]

The voice crackled across the plane, far away but unmistakable.

Sika.

Somewhere else entirely, in a realm separated from time and space, a beautiful blonde girl jolted upright from a bed carved of soft emerald silks. Her chamber glowed with elegance, framed in gold and green—but her focus was gone.

She disappeared instantly.

No hesitation.

She reappeared inside a boundless, shining space of pure white. It extended endlessly in every direction, quiet and sterile—until her eyes landed on it.

A fracture.

Hairline cracks of crimson had begun to crawl across the radiant white, all stemming from a single point—like a spiderweb tearing through divine fabric.

Her breath caught.

"They didn't tell me about this part," she growled under her breath, voice tight with frustration. Her teeth clenched as her eyes narrowed.

Her arm raised.

She fired.

A bright green beam of light launched from her hand, cutting across the plane like a streaking arrow. It aimed straight for the corruption.

But just before it hit, a chunk of the white realm shattered—and the red surged forward like blood in water. It spread through the breach, crawling fast, staining everything it touched.

Her attack vanished like mist.

And the crimson energy kept advancing—unstoppable, hungry.

Sika's eyes flinched.

The air around her dropped in temperature. Her fingers trembled for half a second before her expression went cold and still. The sensation washing over her wasn't heat or magic.

It was death.

Cold, creeping death.

What is this thing?

What kind of power was invading this sacred space?

She didn't wait for an answer.

Her eyes shut. Her lips pressed together. Her arms rose wide, then slammed inward.

"Record of Absolute Light: Infinite Binding."

Four perfect green rings erupted in the air around her—sigils of divine restraint.

From each circle, chains burst out—glowing, alive, and deadly.

They whipped through the air, lashing out in all directions. Every strand they touched lost its crimson glow, pulled clean of its poison. The chains moved like they had minds of their own, converging on the infection, hunting it down and isolating it.

Then, in a coordinated snap, the chains wrapped around the pulsing red mass and locked.

Tight.

Immobilized.

The entity inside thrashed, its crimson glow pulsing violently between the links, sending out tremors and shockwaves.

But the chains held.

Everything went still.

Sika opened her eyes slowly, sweat trailing down her cheek. Her stare locked on the glowing sphere before her—contained, but struggling.

"What even is this...?"

She didn't dare touch it.

Didn't dare approach.

But she didn't need to.

Because what hurt the most... was something she didn't have to see.

She turned her head.

And there it was.

A red crack.

Thirty centimeters long.

Etched into the white like a scar. Not imposed. Not intruding.

Integrated.

It had already merged.

It had become part of the space.

"This thing... already merged with his soul," she whispered, voice caught between guilt and resignation. Her fingers curled with silent frustration.

All she could do now was sigh—and vanish.

The white realm returned to silence.

Purity restored.

All except for that one red crack—still pulsing. Still glowing.

Still growing.