"WHAAAT?" Finn screamed like he'd just watched his save file get deleted.
He knew something had been off. The important talking head-box-thing, the ominous warnings, the giant chicken clucking ancient Latin curses. And now it all made sense.
Even the guild crowd—who just moments ago were fawning over Ardin's artificially gleaming teeth—went dead silent. All eyes were on Finn.
And to be honest, Finn hadn't even meant to steal the spotlight. He was just mad. Mad that he'd almost died. Mad that a flying chicken demon had attacked him and the girls. And mad that apparently all of it was someone else's damn job.
The receptionist looked like she was about to collapse into a pile of regret. Not because Finn had survived—but because she'd just given a Mythic Tier mission to someone whose rank was literally "Dung." Dung. She might as well have handed a toddler a nuclear briefcase.
