The cries draw her to it: ragged bleats that cut roughly into the fragrant spring air of the otherwise tranquil forest. Of course, she was expressly forbidden from straying beyond the confines of the sacred grove, but she'd already slipped the watchful eyes of its lookouts (she'd gotten quite good at it over the past year or so) long before the noise had first caught her interest. It wouldn't make much difference, either way, if she ventured a little further now.

And she might as well make the most of her little outing, after all.

Adjusting the cloth rucksack on her back, the young forest nymph crests a gentle, well embowered ridge and comes abruptly upon a gutter-like hollow with steep slopes on both sides. The one across from her rises sharply, shifting into a high, rocky cliff face. At its bottom, however, the source of the noise becomes hauntingly apparent. A large bull elk lays flat on its side against the ground. His back legs are pinned, crushed rather, under a heavy stone slab.

Rockslide. The poor thing had been unlucky enough to be caught in its path. Even more so not to have attracted any predators to end his suffering.

She slides down the side of the hollow and approaches the fatally injured animal. He notices her once she gets close and starts to struggle, digging at the ground with his forehooves as he calls even louder than before. Then, after a bit, the bull goes quiet. He simply stares up at her in utter exhaustion. One big black eye: wet and pleading.

The young nymph bends down. She places a hand between his antlers and strokes her thumb soothingly behind his ear. He snorts. As she comforts the beast, she feels the edge of her other hand brush across something hard. Her gaze drifts over to a splinter of flint laying in the grass with several others. Pieces of the slab – long and sharp. She frowns. For her entire life, she'd been taught to revere the course of nature. Any alteration was to be done strictly out of necessity.

But…she couldn't.

She picks it up. The dull shard sits heavy in her hand.

Another bellowing bray from the elk below and she knows. Without looking away, she lifts the makeshift dagger and brings the point down right across the neck. Red. Blood, hot and thick comes spilling out. The elk gives a final, wailing call that sputters and dies midway out his throat. He and the forest are both silent once more.

Blood laps in gentle tongues from the wound, pooling steadily below his neck. The little nymph extracts the stained rock but doesn't move away. She stares at the fallen animal even as the warm pool spreads up to the bottom of her feet. It seems unfitting that the great beast should die forgotten in this lonely corner of the world. Rotting away without any predators to send him off with swift dignity to the next turn.

She spends a long time looking, considering.

Then, with a sudden jab, she gouges the tip of the stone into the elk's chest. As the edge sinks in, she pulls down. More blood splashes into the open to stain her hands and legs. As soon as the incision is wide enough, the little nymph uses her tool to break past a few ribs and finds the object of her search: a big red organ at the left side of the cavity – an elk's heart. She takes it tightly in both hands and pulls hard. The muscle is slippery beneath her fingers, but eventually she rips it free of its connective tissue. It sits neatly in her palm, red and shiny like a sweet, ripe fruit.

Her people take their energy from the sun or forage for whatever nuts, fruit, or mushrooms the forest happens to offer them. The elders, though; they often told stories from long ago when the forest nymphs were not forest nymphs, but part of a tribe called 'hew-man' who ate many things, including meat. The hew-man tribe's hunger for all things grew so great that they warred against the Earth and each other with terrible weapons. The hew-man tribe ultimately perished by its own hand as a result. In their final hour, however, it is said that a privileged few who had still revered their Mother Earth were able to win Her pity. Instead of extinction, they were allowed to shed their hew-man forms and become one with Her forever. And, so, the forest nymphs of Ooo were born.

She hated those kinds of stories. Hearing them made her feel as though she was tethered to a past she had no part in. Still, the notion that her ancestors had been able to eat meat freely was a captivating one. It implied that their bodies might still possess the same capability. She'd seen wolves, along with other predators, eat meat before and always wondered how it might taste. Bringing the heart up to her face, the young nymph sinks her teeth in, taking a sizable chunk out of it. She chews tentatively.

It's heaven.

Something about the bold tinge of blood on her tongue; the dense texture of the muscle…lovely. Eagerly now, she takes several more bites, savoring every bit that dances across her pallet. A newfound world of flavors and sensations, all for her and her alone to revel in. She has to have more; as much as she can possibly get.

Quickly, she dumps the collection of old-world trinkets that she'd collected in her bag that day and starts removing a selection of the elk's organs. She packs them inside as tight as she can before bundling the bag and slinging it over her shoulder. Looking once more at the elk, the nymph bows in reverence toward its body and then steals back up the hollow. The blood on her hands and legs is starting to congeal. She would have to find a spring to bathe in before returning home.

Princess Bubblegum didn't have time to be surprised anymore. When she saw the giant demonic form of Hunson Abadeer appear in the distance, she briefly considered the possibility that Marceline had summoned him, but otherwise continued soldering around BMO's delicate circuitry. Glob, the Cosmic Owl, and Abraham Lincoln himself could show up for all she cared. It was absolutely imperative to get everything up and working as fast as possible.

"Frieda, Simon: I know Marceline's father is a sight to behold, but you can't let your concentration waiver."

The two humans are openly gawking at the demon lord. Simon snaps back to hooking up NEPTR upon PB's curt suggestion.

"Sorry, Princess. I saw him once a long, long time ago, but he didn't look anything like that."

"That's the vampire girl's dad? Her poor mother!"

"Focus, Frieda! Have you put The Maid into position?"

"Right, sorry. Yeah, it's all loaded up inside the port, right over the lens."

"And how are you doing with the linkup?"

Frieda looks to her holo-display. "It's shaky, but the cybernetic nexus is holding across all Minerva-bots. I've also managed to extend the lock-out period of the head bot's extremities. She won't be giving us any trouble for now."

"Good. Keep it as stable as you can for the time being; I'll be done in a few moments."

Princess Bubblegum readjusts her grip on the iron. She was finding it hard to keep a steady hand while the fate of her love, her friends, and her kingdom all hinged upon her every move. What's more, the ruined state of the lab had forced her to cobble together most of the equipment they needed, eating away precious seconds.

'Time. Never enough time.'

BMO giggles as she reroutes a few more of her wires.

"You are tickling me, Princess!"

"Bear with it for just a bit more, BMO. If I don't get this just right, it could crash your entire system."

The little robot nods and tries stifling her laughter, though she can't help but let out a strained titter every so often. After several more adjustments, PB finally sets the soldering iron aside and sits back to inspect her work. A long series of wires trails out from BMO's heart-drive and over to NEPTR's console on one side and the main Minerva-bot's head on the other. The Minerva-bot is, in turn, linked up to all of her duplicates in a similar fashion. Attached to BMO's controller port is a jury-rigged VR helmet composed of a pair of goggles and a mishmash of spare electronics scavenged from Malloy's broken console, all held together with electric tape.

Overall, a rough job, but it would have to do. She reattaches BMO's front casing and sits her up.

"Alright. That should do it. Are you finished over there, Simon?"

"Yes, NEPTR is all set according to your instructions, Princess. What happens now?"

"I go into Minerva's central processor and try to deactivate the quarantine programs that Malloy put into place. Hopefully, we can get her back to full operating capacity in time."

"What should we do while you're in there?" Frieda asks.

"Keep the linkup stable and make sure BMO and NEPTR don't overload their systems while I'm under. I'll be able to communicate through your wrist projector, so keep me updated on the Lich's status. Also, keep an eye on Susan. If she wakes up and is alright to fight, send her to help everyone else. Otherwise, keep your heads down and try to stay safe."

"We will." Simon picks up the helmet and passes it to her. "Good luck, Bonnibel."

Princess Bubblegum takes off her tiara and dons the VR helmet. She lowers the blinded goggles over her eyes and adjusts the bands around her forehead. Once properly secured, she flips a switch at its base. There's an electric drone as a bright blue current flashes across the cables holding the chain of Minerva-bots together. It passes up through NEPTR and BMO, and then strikes against the helmet with a burst of harsh frequencies.

As though shocked, Princess Bubblegum feels her body go completely rigid before the sensations of the outside world cease altogether. Her vision transitions from black to white.

Slowly, the princess sits up and takes in the virtual realm around her.

"Wow."

Jake always kicked the ball too hard.

The way he could make his foot super big…it was cheating. He and Jermaine had told him as much before, but Jake always said it was a reflex; that he couldn't help doing it. Still, Jake was the one who kicked the ball all the way into the woods, so why'd they have to rock-paper-scissors for who went to get it? Why'd he have to lose? It just wasn't fair.

'No. Dad says don't be a crybaby. Crybabies don't whine. They get their ball and bring it back without being scared at all.'

Injecting some feigned confidence into his step, little Finn marches into the thick brush crowding the forest floor, hoping to find a glimmer of red. Further and further, he walks until the dark green shadows of the hemlock and black cherry trees cover him wholly. And, still, no sign of the ball whatsoever. Finn feels a dampness at the corner of his eyes at the thought of returning to his brothers empty handed, unable to help them. He wipes it away and is about to press onward when he hears a sniffly cough of laughter from behind.

Finn turns about and catches a rustle within a nearby bush. As he approaches, an arm – abnormally long and partially covered in patches of sickly, matted feathers – extends outward with his ball sitting in its gnarled hand. A withered face emerges from the leaves beside. It's startingly ugly: crooked, elongated features covered in the same mess of natty feathers as its arm, and wrinkly skin filled with warts and a host of parasitic growths. It fixes upon him with milky, cataract-filled eyes and smiles. The teeth are rotten and too long and crowded to fit properly in her mouth.

"Child!" The bird-woman creaks. "Looking for the shiny prize I found? Come to steal it away from dear ol' Nana Slitches, yesss?"

"No, I…I wasn't." Finn takes a wary step backward. His mother had always been vivid in her retellings of the nasty things that hags and witches did to unsuspecting children. He had to be careful now.

"Liar! I've glimpsed you and your dog family from the edge of my forest. I watch you play; I watch in the dark as they tuck you in at night. I saw you with your pretty plaything. But now it's part of my forest so that makes it mine!"

She snickers and smacks her chops. Finn feels the hair on his neck prickle.

"And so are you."

Her other arm whips out from the bush, snatching at the young boy. Finn is quick enough to duck away from her clawed fingers and bolts back down the path he came from. The hag bursts out of the foliage and scuttles on all four of her spindly limbs in pursuit.

'OH NO OH NO OH NO!'

"You can't escape little one!" She cries after him. "I know the sweet smell of your flesh!"

Finn swerves a hard right and leaps over a thick patch of shrubbery. His heart pounding, he can hear the witch scrabbling and shrieking as she plows through the undergrowth mere seconds behind him. He can practically smell her fetid breath, she's so close on his trail.

'Think think think! What did Dad tell you about fighting witches? They're vulnerable to fire, salt, silver coins soaked in pig's blood. Grod! I don't have any of that junk! Can't lead her back to Jake and Jermain, can't outrun her…'

He veers around the trunk of a tree, narrowly avoiding another swipe of the crone's arms.

'I have to deal with her now.'

"Such a lively child! Your bones will make a fine broth once I strip them of all that lovely, tender meat!"

"How about some knuckles? Ready to serve!"

Finn pivots on his heel (just the way his dad taught him) and slams a tightly balled fist straight into his pursuer's face. Her nose crumples against it with a loud crackle of cartilage. A scattering of black teeth are cast from her gumline.

"BRAAAAH!"

The crone reels to the side in pain and Finn stands there, astonished that his last-ditch attack actually managed to hurt her. He never thought that the training regimen his father forced him through each day would ever actually pay off. Nana Slitches clasps a hand over her bleeding nose and glowers viciously back at him.

"Horrid little whelp, much stronger and meaner than you look! Nana knows better now. I'll gnaw your hands and legs off first – less of a fuss that way."

Emboldened by success, Finn hollers and rushes at her with a fist wound up for another punishing strike. This time, though, the witch leverages her far longer reach to counter. She swipes outward as soon as he closes in and clocks Finn squarely on the side of his chest. The impact throws Finn backward through the air. His back hits heavily against the base of a large oak tree.

Before he can recover, the crone scuttles up and grabs him by the head. Her long nails cut into his skin as she squeezes.

"You, child, put up quite a fight, but I think your pretty little face will make a lovely head cheese for my pantry."

Finn grits his teeth as pain fogs his senses. He thrashes in a vain attempt to wriggle out of the cannibal creature's grasp, but her claws are firmly set around him. As he struggles, his elbow suddenly hits against something sticking out of the tree he's pinned against. It's not a root or a branch. Instead, it feels hard and cool to the touch, like steel. He strains his gaze down past the edge of the witch's hand.

Embedded in the trunk sits an abandoned blade: gold with a black hilt. A scarlet gemstone is set in the pommel.

'Sword. A sword!'

As though magnetized, the young boy's hand snaps around the grip and, with a jerk, he dislodges the weapon. The edge lets out a resonate hum as it sails up and lops straight through the crone's arm.

A jet of blood paints the side of Finn's face as he drops back down to his feet. In front of him, Nana Slitches rears back, screaming bloody murder as she clutches at her spurting stump. With no time to waste, Finn lunges forward with a thrust attack and sinks the tip of his sword straight into her wicked heart.

Her scream diminishes to a wet gurgle and her limbs slacken. She flops to the ground and the ball rolls out of her grasp, sitting in the pool of blood oozing out around her decrepit form.

Still shivering with adrenaline, Finn backs up against the tree trunk and slowly slides down into a sitting position. He stares at the body for a long time.

Then, finally, he leans forward and grabs the ball. It's slick and wet – just like the blade in his hand.

No sooner had Hunson jammed Huntress Wizard down the Litch's throat than the undead sorcerer's body begins to move again. Immediately, it grabs hold of the demon lord's arm with its remaining limbs and rips him out of its neck. The stump hisses and boils as it begins to reassemble itself.

"He's regenerating, Dad! Blast him again!"

Heeding his daughter, Hunson shoots another laser (much weaker this time) into the bubbling neckline. Lady and Flame Princess join in as well, their combined beams leveling the black ooze once more.

"Think again."

The Lich's skull surfaces at the center of his chest. Before the trio can redirect their fire, the necromancer's remaining arms let loose a salvo of heavy necrotic bolts. FP, Jake, and Lady all manage to evade the oncoming blasts, but Hunson's size and proximity to the Lich makes dodging impossible. He takes the full brunt of nearly every bolt, each one shearing away a portion of his flesh.

He growls in pain as green flames spread across his open wounds.

Marceline dives into action. Brandishing her axe, she pounds her four wings for a straight shot at the Lich's grinning face. The vampire girl makes a swing, only to find the skeletal visage slipping further up along the chest as the edge of the axe head bites against the weave of tendrils left int its place. It arrives at the top of the neck, swiftly reaffixing itself while the missing portion of the Lich's chest and arms boil back to full.

"FP! Can you do anything about those flames?"

"On it, Marcy!"

Flame Princess holds out her hands and draws out the green flames that travel in wild, fanning flares across the Demon Lord's body. She succeeds in stemming their spread, but the damage is already done for the most part – a scorched tapestry of weeping blisters and bloody gashes covers his skin. Although the more serious injuries start to regenerate, Hunson's movements appear noticeably sluggish after sustaining such a terrible attack. Either out of pride, love, or stupidity (or a potent combination thereof) the Lord of Evil continues on with the fight regardless.

Smoke still curling up from sections of exposed muscle, Hunson throws his full weight into the Lich as droves of phosphorescent tentacles come spilling out of his hands and face. The tentacles smash into the Lich, dividing and intertwining among the weave of limbs. With a heave, he wrenches back to tear out a large portion of interdimensional arms shielding the necromancer's chest. Momentarily unformed and exposed, FP, Marceline, Jake, and Lady drop in to take advantage of the new opening. They lay into him as a unit, slashing, blasting, and burning at the ceaselessly roiling sludge. Yet, whatever damage they manage to do against it is just as quickly undone. The putrid tissue is regenerating faster than ever now.

The Lich laughs and lunges forward, wrapping one hand entirely around Hunson's head. With seemingly little effort, he lifts the Demon Lord high into the air and slams him cruelly, face-first back into the earth. The human buildings and streets below are demolished in the crater his body leaves. Not yet done, the Lich slams Hunson repeatedly, over and over until the flattened section of Humantown is coated with the demon's blood.

"Oh Glob, Dad!"

Rushing to the rescue, Marceline wings her way up and slams her axe through the Lich's fingers. Hunson Abadeer plummets to the ground with a crushing rumble. He shrinks back down to his human size. Almost immediately, the Lich's digits regenerate and the undead sorcerer bats Marceline away with the back of his hand, spiking her sharply downward.

"HTT!"

The vampire queen dashes against the ground, landing with a spray against a thick pool of her own father's blood. Stunned, she lies there, practically floating in it before gradually rising up on her elbows and knees.

*KAFF*

She coughs and a trickle of the blue-green liquid spills from her lips.

So long…it'd been so, so long since she'd last tasted actual blood. And not just any blood, but demon blood at that. The taste sits on her tongue, almost burning with the unbridled strength of its raw flavor. Even the smell of it is thick inside her lungs and nose, hanging on the air like weather. It takes every last sliver of her willpower not to simply dunk her head back down under the surface and drink to her heart's content.

Marceline shakes the blood-drenched locks of hair clinging to her face and looks over at her dad's unconscious form. The Lord of Evil's face is completely pulped. It's starting to regenerate, but so slowly that it's hardly noticeable. She glances over her shoulder to see the Lich snag Jake off of Lady's back. The sorcerer cackles as he wrings Jake out in his hands, delighting in his pain.

"AHHHGH!" Jake howls. "GAH! NOT AGAAAAIN!"

Lady Rainicorn flits about, shouting Korean obscenities as she tries to free her lover, but with little success. Flame Princess, further below, spouts out a comparatively dim trail of fire at the Lich. Her hair has lost its tall peak.

'I could save them all, Marceline, if you'd just let me.'

Marceline sets her teeth at the dark voice filtering across her mind.

"Shut up. I don't need your help. Not now."

'Really? I'd say that your options are looking pretty thin by now. You realize he'll go after Bubblegum and Simon once he's done tearing through you. I can make sure that never happens. You just need to give me a little room to work with…'

"Slod off!" Marceline shouts out as she flares her wings.

She explodes upward into the sky, axe still in hand as she breaks towards the Lich. Together, the laughter of her foe and the whistle of the wind against her ears are almost loud enough to drown out all the honeyed promises that his voice continues to drip across her thoughts.

Right upon waking, the little nymph knows that it's not her parents. They always took care to pad around the house so as not to wake her or her siblings in the middle of the night. Instead, these footsteps strike weightily against the floor, straight up to their shared bedroom. She can't see anything from her mat except the shadowy outlines of two figures. Without a word, they bend down and take her roughly by her wrists as all her siblings – likely awake, but too petrified to move – watch on. They drag her up and march her towards the front door as she cries out for her parents. Neither one comes to her aid.

Out in the moonlit grove, she can see her assailants clearly: two guardians. She knows them as well as any of the others in the village. The little nymph pleads with them to let her go, but the pair don't listen. They continue ushering her in grim silence to the village square. A crowd is gathered there; it's the entire village, or nearly. The throng of nymphs open a way for her and her escorts before closing in around them again. She can feel all eyes on her as she's led to the center. At last, the guardians release her and take up positions at her side.

Across from her, the crowd parts way once more and the village chieftain enters. She is a stately, older nymph with long, willowy tresses and a commanding face rugged as a burr oak. She is flanked on her left by the high priestess. The chieftain looks at the young nymph – or, rather, straight through her – before addressing the crowd.

"That which is not freely given by the forest shall be taken only by necessity. This is our sacred maxim: the root of our deepest held spiritual and cultural beliefs. Yet that law, so central to us, has been deliberately broken by the one brought before us today." She motions to the high priestess. "Bring forth the evidence against the accused."

One of the priestess' acolytes steps in from the assembly and hands her mistress an object draped in a shroud. The high priestess kneels before the chieftain, placing the object directly at her feet. She then plucks off the cover. The young nymph feels her heart sink into the pit of her stomach at what she sees. The rest of the village gasps.

Laying in the grass before them are the ragged, half-chewed remains of elk offal still tucked away inside her rucksack.

"Little one, you stand accused of the wanton consumption of another creature's flesh. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"M-my mom…and dad? Where-"

"You will not see them this night. Answer."

She feels herself shaking. Her breath comes out in unsteady gasps. "I…I don't know. The elk was dead. I thought it was…sad just to leave him there to rot. I wanted to give his death some meaning."

"All death has meaning, child. In an act of reckless vanity, however, you sought to subject its passing to your desires. In so doing, you not only tainted the will of the forest, but also endangered your clan. Had it not been discovered, this flesh you smuggled back with you could have brought any number of beasts upon us as we slept."

The chieftain sighs heavily. The adolescent nymph twists shamefully in her spot.

"The punishment for this offense is absolute. Henceforth, child, you are a stranger to our kind and will find neither food nor shelter among us. You will go out into the world and fight for survival or perish as the Great Mother wills it."

"W-what?!" An icy pike of fear runs up her chest. "No!"

Tears stream from the little nymph's eyes as the two guardians take her by the wrists once more.

"No! Please! I'll be good! I promise I'll be good from now on! I swear it!"

She thrashes against their hold, but their grip on her remains firm as they begin dragging her away toward the village entrance.

"Mommy! Daddy! Help me!"

As she calls out, a glob of black liquid spatters down onto her chest. Confused, the little nymph looks up to find more of the ooze dribbling down from the eyes of the guardians. The eyes of everyone watching her are black and leaking too.

"Wait, no, that wasn't how…" Huntress Wizard clutches her head as the vision fades. She looks about only to find herself lodged from the waist up, upside-down, within a small cavity somewhere deep inside the Lich. All around her is a dark sea of black muck and pulsing Jake-flesh. Only the glow radiating from her protective runes lights the area.

'Psychic residue. Some kind of digestive mechanism to feed on trauma.'

Shaking off the pall of dysphoria dredged up from her old memories, the nymph kicks her legs until the goo around her bottom-half loosens and she plops down into the cramped pocket. It was a full decade later before she finally discovered that her parents and siblings had been forbidden from participating in the trial. Even before then, she'd already forgiven them; they wouldn't have been able to change her fate, even if they'd been there begging and groveling for mercy on her behalf. Forgiveness, of course, had done nothing to mollify the hurt she'd carried deep in her heart for her entire life. But even now there was no time to dwell upon it. She had to find Finn and fast.

To minimize the chance of losing his hostage and object of revenge, Huntress Wizard reasons that the Lich would stow Finn in the deepest, most well-protected region of his body. All she needs to do, then, is pass the rest of the way through the necromancer's system until she naturally arrives at this point as well. Unfortunately, it also means diving back down into the muck to live out another chapter of her awful, awful childhood.

As though there were even any other options left at this point.

'C'est la vie…'

She strikes the pointed heel of her boot against the floor.

The gelatinous membrane keeping her afloat ruptures and begins to liquefy under foot. With the pocket collapsing rapidly around her, the wood nymph leaps forward into a dive. She plunges straight down, transitioning to a powerful breaststroke that takes her deeper into the cold, dark slurry. Again, she feels her mind sinking, slipping back over into the irreparable accumulations of the past.

"Hot crackers, son!" Joshua flicks the brim of his hat. "How'd you manage to pull this one off?"

He stands with Margaret and their three boys in the middle of the forest, looking upon the dead witch.

"She…she took the ball and attacked me." Finn motions to the blade still in his hand. "I found this sword, so I hit her with it. And killed her."

"Looks like you broke her nose and took off a hand, too. You really did a number on this old buzzard, kiddo."

"I'm sorry, Dad." Finn hangs his head. "I should've gone to you instead of getting the ball on my own."

"Heck, I couldn't be a prouder papi, my boy! This here is a magpie witch, or a 'hag-pie' which is a name I just made up. They're nasty creatures. This one must've been a sight cleverer than most to avoid all the traps I've laid in these woods over the years." He beams at Finn. "And you took 'er down all on your own."

"Dear, do you think we should be encouraging this? Just look at how bruised my poor baby's neck is!"

"Nonsense, Margie, the kid's a natural! Why, I haven't seen monster slaying talent like this since I was a lad and a good deal older than him besides. Our Finn could be one of the best if we get him started right away."

"Started? Started how?"

"The same way my Dad started me out: send him off into the world. If he can fight enough monster buns to stake a home, he'll be a tough galoot in no time."

Finn takes a step back, shocked. "W-what?"

"We are not sending Finn out all on his own, Joshua!"

"Of course not, dear; I wouldn't dream of it." He turns to his sons. "Jake: you go with your brother."

Jake starts. "But-"

"Butts are for pooping! I want you and Finn packed up and out of the house by tomorrow morning."

"What about me?"

"Jermaine, either kill something evil or get magical powers. Otherwise, you're staying put."

"I never get to go anywhere!" Jermaine huffs and storms off towards the house.

"And you won't with that attitude!" Joshua calls after him. He fixes his hat and returns his attention to Finn and Jake. "Alright, first thing's first: you two are gonna help me get rid of this body. You leave a witch's body without burning it, another spirit might take residence inside. Jake: go pull up some trees for firewood. Finn: help me drag this old bag into the clearing over there."

"Joshua, I still don't think this-"

"Don't back-sass me, Margaret. We both know that this is a tough world and only tough cookies make it out there. If you keep dunking them in mother's baby milk, they'll get soft and fall apart."

Margarete frowns, obviously critical of her husband's swift decision. She knows how difficult it is to alter Joshua's mind once it's made up, though. "Very well, dear. But we're going to discuss it over dinner tonight."

"Good enough for me. Now, put that tinfoil away and grab an ankle, Finn. Lesson one for monster hunting: a dead body is much heavier than it looks."

Pushing back tears (Dad always yelled at him and his brothers whenever they cried), Finn sticks the blade into his waistband and takes hold of the hag-pie's leg. Together, he and his father drag the witch's limp weight along, leaving a thick streak of black blood across the forest floor in their wake. All the while, Finn keeps his eyes trained squarely on his feet.

He does not want to look back.