Adventure Time Rebellion: Fight for the Throne

Chapter 39: The Hero's Return Effect (1)

After entrusting Princess Bubblegum to Marceline—leaving her behind in the wreckage of her emotions to come to terms with Simon's betrayal—Finn departed in silence. His face was unreadable, his body heavy not from fatigue, but from the lingering weight of everything he'd done… and everything he was about to face. He said nothing as he walked her back to the gates of her kingdom. No guards flanked them. No songs heralded their approach. Just two figures—one broken, the other unreadable—marching through a world that had begun to stir once more.

And then, without ceremony or hesitation, he allowed the truth to be spoken aloud:

Finn Mertens has returned.

The moment the declaration was made, it tore through the Land of Ooo like a lightning bolt—swift, deafening, and impossible to ignore. Within the span of a single day and night, everything changed. Entire kingdoms reeled. Villages froze in disbelief. Markets fell silent mid-transaction. Scholars dropped their pens, priests forgot their prayers, and old soldiers wept.

The Human Boy who had once held the weight of the world on his back—the one believed to be dead, lost, or worse—was alive.

The news traveled not in whispers, but in waves. It surged over icy tundras, skipped across desert winds, and echoed through enchanted canopies. Magical scrolls unfolded themselves. Crystal speakers ignited spontaneously. Even the clouds seemed to part as if the very sky had been holding its breath for this moment.

And in those first few hours, Ooo forgot how to breathe.

In the far northern isles, where snow fell like knives and only the fiercest survived, Viking clans broke into thunderous roars. Warriors who had not smiled in years embraced one another with trembling fists, shouting his name with pride, relief, and a kind of awe that bordered on worship.

"Finn Mertens! He lives!"

Tankards shattered from celebratory slams. Old chieftains fell to their knees. Songs were sung—some ancient and nearly forgotten—now revived in his honor.

In the Candy Kingdom, the reaction was something else entirely.

It started as a whisper in the outer markets, but by the time it reached the palace gates, it had become a thunderous wave. Candy Citizens swarmed the streets in chaotic, sugary joy. Peppermint guards who had once stood at attention broke rank just to hug passing civilians. Gelatin babies bounced high into the air, and clouds of sprinkles exploded in spontaneous bursts. Someone lit fireworks before dusk. Instruments were dragged from basements and rooftops, and songs poured out in a mixture of laughter, tears, and disbelief.

Princess Bubblegum stood alone in her tallest tower, gazing down at it all. She said nothing. But behind her still eyes and unmoving lips was a storm that no one could hear.

The heart of Ooo had started beating again.

It didn't stop there. Every corner of the land responded. The Fire Kingdom, the Cloud Realm, the Underforest, the Bark Nations—each one stirred. Elites, royals, hermits, and creatures alike rushed to prepare tributes and tokens. Mountains of gold were carved into statues. Ancient blades were polished for presentation. Some wrote songs; others simply carved his name into stone, as if fearing it might vanish again.

The mood had shifted. The gloom that once drowned the world had lifted. The people of Ooo—who had trudged on with a weight in their chest—now felt light again. Hope returned. Excitement surged. The promise of stability, of purpose, had returned in the form of a boy with a sword and an unshakable heart.

But what made Finn so revered wasn't just nostalgia. It was earned.

He had saved more lives than anyone could count—across kingdoms, villages, nomadic bands, even isolated clans untouched by time. He had crossed the threshold into the True Phase, a realm so far above common reach that most dared not dream of it. Among the people, this was seen as an impossible achievement—something closer to myth than fact. But Finn had done it. He had entered that rare echelon of existence where power wasn't just wielded—it was lived. And despite standing among those who were stronger, older, or more refined, he held his own. Not because he was the best, but because he never gave up.

The climb through the realms was brutal. It demanded time, suffering, energy, and resources many never found. Some simply weren't strong enough. Others couldn't endure the trials. Many quit. But Finn never stopped. And more importantly, he never climbed for glory. He climbed to protect. To help. To ensure that others didn't have to bleed like he had.

That was what made him dangerous to tyrants… and sacred to the innocent.

He had been the sword of the weak, the hammer of justice, the shadow over the wicked. He had been everything this world needed, and more.

But all of that... all of that belonged to the Finn of before. The one people remembered.

What had returned… might not be the same.

---

The hallway was silent, save for the sharp thud of footsteps pounding against thick red carpet.

A young man ran with precision and speed, his polished boots hitting the floor in rhythmic succession. He was handsome, but not soft—his skin held a faint orange hue, as if touched by fire, and his sharp eyes gleamed with purpose. His yellow hair fluttered behind him like a trailing flame, and his fine clothes—clearly denoting high status—billowed as he moved.

He turned a corner and skidded to a halt in front of a towering black door, ancient and ominous. Upon its surface glowed two red symbols—piercing, watchful dots like eyes from a forgotten age. He stared into them. The moment his gaze locked, the light in the runes faded, and with a low hum, the door became unlockable.

This was a privilege granted to him alone.

But he didn't enter.

He waited.

Then, from behind the dark oak came a voice—soft, feminine, but wrapped in coiled power.

"Enter..."

He obeyed at once.

The doors creaked open to reveal a breathtaking chamber. Ornate black and orange banners hung from the walls. Delicate carvings of fire and shadow twisted through obsidian pillars. The air was rich with incense and silence.

At the far end, draped in thick orange veil, sat a shadow—small, still, and unmistakably royal. She didn't move. She didn't need to.

The young man dropped to one knee and bowed deeply.

"Your servant greets the esteemed princess."

Her voice came slow, smooth, and cool as a blade resting in silk. "I hope it's something important."

"Yes, my lady," he said firmly. "This servant brings news he believes Your Highness will want to hear."

"I'm listening."

He swallowed.

"Do... you remember the tragedy of Finn Mertens' death five months ago? It seems that—"

"Stop." Her tone sliced the air. "I don't want to hear about him. Not now. Not ever. If that is all you've brought, you may leave."

He paused. That was not the response he had prepared for. Still, he pressed on, voice trembling.

"No... no, my lady. Please, forgive me, but... you don't understand. It seems... it seems Finn Mertens is alive."

The words landed like a meteor.

In an instant, the air changed.

The room's temperature surged, a searing heat blooming out from her side of the chamber. Even the stone beneath the young man's feet grew warm.

"W-what did you say?!" she shouted—shouted. Her voice, normally smooth and reserved, cracked the silence like thunder. A wave of sheer, oppressive force slammed into the room.

The soft, calm girl behind the veil had vanished. What remained was a presence—a queen cloaked in fire and fury.

He dared not lift his head.

"The news comes from the Candy Kingdom," he explained quickly, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "They're spreading it across all the lands. It's not a rumor. It's being confirmed by multiple sources—our allies, even the fringe colonies. Everyone is receiving the same message. Finn... Finn has returned."

She said nothing at first.

Then—quiet, bitter, calculating—she spoke: "The Candy Kingdom? Weren't they attacked last night? How are they managing this... while making announcements like this? Even if it's Finn, the logic doesn't hold."

The servant lifted his head slowly, nervous but compelled.

The queen's voice was colder now. But the fire in the room had only begun to rise