Chapter 30: No Mercy (1)

Chapter 30: No Mercy (1)

Finn left PB under Marceline's watch, then surged through the air toward the Ice Kingdom, his body gliding with inhuman speed. His fingers clenched into a tight fist, his nails digging into his palm as he pictured the traitor’s face.

Simon…

Unlike PB, who had never sworn loyalty, Simon had already pledged himself. Yet, not only had he broken his oath, but he had also gone as far as to betray Finn—tried to eliminate him. Such defiance demanded an unimaginable price. Forgiveness? No. There would be no forgiveness. Only suffering.

The wind howled around him, biting cold slashing at his skin as he neared his destination. His fury burned so hot within him that he barely registered the chill. All that mattered was making Simon pay. He wanted the old man to regret every decision that led to this moment—to understand what it meant to cross him. And he would. Soon.

"Sika, what’s PB’s status?" Finn asked, his voice cold and sharp.

[First, you must grant permission to add her to the harem.]

"Doesn’t fucking her automatically do that?"

[Not if it was for punishment or intimidation.]

Finn scoffed. "Fine. Add her."

[Congratulations.]

[Harem: +Princess Bubblegum]

[1/2 of the primary objectives have been achieved.]

[Reward: 1800∆]

[Princess Bubblegum]

[Trust: 1/10]

[Submission: 6/10]

[Corruption: 6/10]

Finn said, rubbing his chin. "Trust is really low."

Not surprising, though. PB’s current emotions toward him were a storm of fear, shock, and cautious resentment. He could practically feel her disgust whenever she looked at him—her eyes screaming in defiance, even if her body had already started yielding.

[I’m honestly surprised she even has that one point. Logically, it should be zero.]

Finn smirked. "Hah, figures."

[I don’t get it. Your actions should’ve made her feel nothing but terror and submission, but somehow… she still trusts you? Even a little? That’s insane.]

[I know I shouldn’t criticize, but seriously—how does she trust you after you treated her like a branded animal?]

Sika’s voice carried genuine confusion, her words quick, almost frantic. The AI couldn't rationalize it.

Finn let out a short, sharp laugh. "Even with all your intelligence, Sika, there are things you just won’t understand."

[No, to be blunt—I think your methods are just idiotic.]

Finn leaned back, shaking his head in amusement. "Oh, Sika… Science and magic, no matter how advanced, will never grasp even the simplest complexities of the human mind. You can calculate probabilities, analyze data, but you’ll never truly understand the irrational things people do."

[???]

"This is beyond you. Don't stress yourself over it," Finn said, ending the conversation.

[Beyond me? Do you even comprehend what kind of entity I am? No offense, but this world is lucky someone like me exists in it.]

Finn ignored her cryptic boast, his focus locked onto the icy hills rising before him. His fingers twitched with anticipation.

"Your uncle is here, Simon," he murmured as he neared the frozen kingdom. It was hardly a kingdom—just a lair for some penguins and the ice monsters Simon had created. A pitiful place for a pitiful old man.

He landed smoothly outside the towering, jagged ice walls, surveying the land before him. The cold was more intense here, the kind that could freeze a man solid if left unprotected. But to Finn, it was nothing. His mind was too consumed by the thoughts of what he would do once he had Simon at his mercy.

Without hesitation, Finn leaped through a triangular window, landing soundlessly inside the palace. His boots pressed against the frozen floor, leaving no trace as he moved forward. The dim lighting gave the place an eerie atmosphere, shadows stretching unnaturally across the icy walls.

His eyes swept across the empty hall. No one in sight. He moved deeper within, silent as a ghost.

"Oh, Marcy, is that you, my dear?" a familiar voice called out from inside, paired with the sound of water splashing.

A smirk curled Finn’s lips. So the fool was in the bath. How convenient.

With eerie patience, Finn settled onto a couch, his legs crossing leisurely. He’d let Simon unknowingly welcome his own doom.

"Ah, good," Simon continued from inside. "I’m glad you’re finally pulling yourself out of that pit of depression. Trust me, darling, that bastard wasn’t worth it."

Finn’s gaze flicked to a sleek white device on the table in front of him. Curious, he pressed a large red button in the center. A green screen lit up—a paused game displayed.

"Huh. A computer, I think?" he muttered, adjusting his posture as he idly navigated through the game, passing time while awaiting his prey.

"...But at least it’s better than before," Simon droned on. "Girl, you were like a zombie for two months after his accident. Honestly, it was depressing to watch. But don’t worry, I promise—I’ll help you get past the rest of it. PB too, of course."

The sound of water stopped. Finn heard the shifting of a towel, the rustling of movement as Simon prepared to step out. His grip on the controller tightened, his smirk widening. Every second that passed brought him closer to the moment he had been waiting for.

"Oh, and speaking of PB, we spent some time together. Turns out, she’s not such a bad person after all. And it really seems like she cares about you..."

Finn’s smirk deepened.

[Doesn’t he expect an answer?]

"It seems he hasn't spoken to Marceline in a while, so he assumes she's just ignoring him out of resentment," Finn replied, his voice barely holding back amusement.

"...That's why I think... Did you say something, Marcy?" Simon called out again, stepping out of the bathroom, his body wrapped in a thin towel, steam curling off his damp skin as he moved. He frowned at the eerie silence. Usually, if Marceline were upset, she’d at least sigh or groan in irritation.

His eyes landed on the icy couch in the living room. His frown eased into a small smile.

Simon walked toward it, his expression soft. "Oh, come on, dear, there's no reason to—"

His words died in his throat.

His body froze, his blood running cold in a way that had nothing to do with the freezing air around him.

The figure on the couch wasn’t Marceline.

It was a boy.

A boy with golden hair, lazily playing on the computer like he owned the place.

"Hah..." A meaningless noise slipped from Simon’s lips, his brain failing to process the image before him. His throat constricted, his breath caught.

No. That wasn't possible. He had to be hallucinating.

Simon took two unsteady steps backward, his fingers trembling as he reached for his glasses. He removed them, hastily wiping the lenses with a cloth from his pocket, then slipped them back on and looked again.

The couch was empty.

A deep sigh of relief escaped him, tension slipping from his shoulders. His mind had to be playing tricks on him—perhaps a lingering exhaustion, stress—

"This game of yours is way too easy."

The voice was right next to his ear.

Simon’s stomach dropped.

He yelped and lurched backward, his heart slamming against his ribs as he stared at the boy who had appeared beside him without a sound.

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