Lightning fell around Alwin while fireballs erupted from every corner of the kitchen, even from the frying pans, yet he was still running around and screaming like a goofball. His gelatinous body squishing and squashing in pure panic.

As he continued to run, the pain wasn't subsiding, instead, it was growing stronger. He wouldn't be able to survive the Tribulation if this kept up.

This being running around like a headless chicken without a plan. But to come up with a genius plan, he needed to get rid of the pain. Sadly, Healing Pills don't exactly grow on trees. Instead, he would go for the next best thing. He would create a half-baked plan, but a plan was a plan, whether raw or fully cooked.

Alwin continued his mad dash around the kitchen, dodging a fireball that shot up from the floor tiles and jumping over one that erupted from a half-opened cupboard door. As he zipped around in circles, he searched for his target. The one thing that could—probably—take away the pain.

Huddled in a corner, wrapped in all manner of soot-stained cloth—the same type of fabric that bound Winal earlier—was what Alwin was looking for. Most likely. It was hard to tell when fireballs and lightning bolts rained everywhere and anywhere.

With a grunt and a scream, Alwin rolled under the huge swathe of cloth.

Inside was none other than Gary Stew. He sat on a stool with his legs crossed. During all of the chaos, he had been happily sharpening his chef's knife on a whetstone, only to be disturbed by a weird black-and-white slime who just kept screaming.

"What the—?" He flinched, nearly nicking his thumb on the blade, but quickly recovered.

"Shoo! Shoo! There's only room for one." Gary Stew gave a swift boot to the blob, punting him out of the protective cloth and sending him tumbling onto the System Screen covered ground.

Alwin bounced along the kitchen tiles. The one he came to a halt on flared red beneath him. He barely had time to scream before rolling away as a fireball shot out. A thunderous crack followed as a bolt of lightning descended right on that spot. The flames and electricity collided with each other, exploding into a shower of sparks.

If he had stayed there for a second longer, he would've been fried extra crispy.

Alwin launched himself back towards the cloth, screaming under his breath at the way he had been treated. Just because he was black and white and looked like a soccer ball didn't give Gary Stew the right to kick him.

He rolled under the protective sheet of cloth once more. This time, he found Gary Stew sharpening his pan, grinding its bottom against the whetstone.

Yeah, even Alwin was confused.

"Go away! I'm not exactly in a cooking mood right now!" Gary Stew yelled, lifting his foot to kick Alwin away again.

Alwin responded by screaming even louder and rolling away from the incoming foot. He rolled in circles around the stool, all while avoiding kicks from the rampaging chef.

When Alwin rolled right behind him, he jumped. The slime headbutted the chef's waist. As Alwin fell, he opened his mouth and took a big chomp. Not on Gary Stew's flesh, but his belt. The one carrying a myriad of bottles containing yummy spices.

The chef must've worn his belt a tad loose today because as Alwin fell, he managed to pull down his belt and pants, leaving Gary Stew in a pair of bright red undies.

"That's it! I was trying to be nice, but now you're dead. I'm not even going to turn you into a dish. I'll just let you rot."

He picked up his knife, and his fingers instinctively went for his waist, only for him to brush against his own skin.

Alwin didn't want to be on the receiving end of that knife, spice-coated or not. The slime rolled back out of the protective cloth, belt, and pants in teeth. Even with his mouth currently occupied, Alwin found the strength to scream. Although it was a tad muffled now

Pain wasn't the only thing making him yell like there was no tomorrow. That chef really needed to do his laundry on a regular basis because those pants reeked! The essence of a thousand farts ingrained into the fabric. No amount of spices would mask the odor.

Still, Alwin held on and rolled.

What was Alwin's half-baked plan? It was simple, really. If he couldn't heal the pain away, he just had to suppress it.

Gary Stew's spices, when mixed correctly, could put anyone to sleep. And if he remembered what Winal mentioned, he didn't feel any pain even with his legs chopped off. The ant had attributed it to Gary Stew's spice still lingering in his system. So, all Alwin had to do was spice himself up, and the pain would be gone.

Except there were a couple of problems. From teensy to majorly big, it was a smorgasbord of issues.

Alwin didn't know the right spice combination.

Then, there was the time Gus attempted to dig his grubby little mitts into the spice bottle only for the FluffPaw to receive an electric shock of a lifetime.

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Plus, Gary Stew was chasing him in only his underpants, which made him even more intimidating. Blinded by rage, the Monster Chef didn't even throw his frying pan at him. Instead, he shouted a slew of vulgarities while swinging his knife around like a madman.

There was also the fact that the Tribulation was ramping up.

The System Screens were shifting. Those attached to the pans, cupboards, and ceiling trembled and fell onto the floor. They slid across the ground toward the center of the kitchen.

Red screens climbed atop each other, building and stacking high. In seconds, they formed a blocky construct composed entirely of System Screens. For some reason, it was in the shape of a toy robot, except much larger and infinitely more frightening.

The System Screens that made up its leg swung open. Mini-versions of the bot were inside. They emerged from the mother bot, moving one at a time in mechanical unison. Their square feet clanked on the tiles and glowed red, leaving a trail of rectangular marks on the kitchen tiles.

Their arms rotated upwards before they started firing indiscriminately. They didn't just shoot fireballs. Flames spewed out of their palms as well. In other words, a flamethrower.

As the System Screens transformed, Alwin just kept on rolling and screaming.

Gary Stew paused in his tracks. Without another word, he turned around and ran back into his protective sheet in the corner of the room.

Meanwhile, the two young masters were stuck inside their skills—Lightning Net and Burning Basket.

Huang Jian held his sword above his head, channeling electricity into the defensive net. Next to him, Hong Jian's blade was plunged into the ground, flames roaring around them into a flaming wall.

Fatigue and exhaustion were written all over their bodies. Their knees were weak, arms heavy, and vomit about to leak onto their robes. They wanted nothing more than to be fanned by their attendings or some spaghetti prepared by their mother.

Instead, they were bathed in a shower of lightning and flames.

Still screaming, Alwin was rolling towards them. He had another plan.

A quarter-baked plan.

The slime rolled Gary Stew's pants around his body. Its smell making him gag.

He dove right into the two young masters' elemental defenses.

His not-so-protective layer of clothing caught fire.

Then, he caught fire.

Alwin landed next to their feet, flames dancing across his slimy body. The pair of pants had turned to ash. Yet, in his mouth was the miraculously intact belt of spices.

He did the most sensible thing when you're on fire. Stop, drop, and roll.

The flames were snuffed out, and now Alwin was in an even bigger world of pain. His black side had grown darker, and his white side had been singed badly. Almost every inch of his body was scorched black. It was as if he were a Dark Slime all over again.

Soon, the pain would fade away. Either he would die from a spice overdose, or it would nullify his pain. Both were good in his book.

Not so much Niwla or Winal's.

The young masters could only spare a glance in Alwin's direction. Sweat trailed down the curves of their scrunched faces as they concentrated on keeping the defenses up.

Alwin, still screaming, summoned out a pair of Spirit Hands. They grabbed the belt from his mouth. And now that it wasn't occupied, his screams were louder than ever.

Huang Jian and Hong Jian flinched from the sudden outburst.

For a fraction of a second, they wavered. The flames of the Burning Basket waned while the grid of the Lightning Net became lax. Attacks rained down on them. They grunted under the strain and willed the defensive skills back into shape.

Even without facing Alwin, he knew that they were glaring at him for almost getting them killed. But Alwin was too preoccupied screaming and enacting his plan to care.

The Spirit Hands removed the caps from the spice bottles. Because it would've been foolish not to try, one of them dipped their fingers into the head of a bottle with reddish-brown powder. As expected, a blast of electricity travelled up the Spirit Hands. It was electrocuted to the point that translucency was a thing of the past, becoming blacker than black. The hand waved goodbye as it vanished, its ashes carried off into the wind.

With that out of the way, multiple Spirit Hands grabbed all of the spice bottles. They floated up toward the edge of the Lightning Net. With a scream of acknowledgement from their master, they plunged the heads of the glass bottles into the electric net. Sparks flew everywhere upon contact.

His plan was, maybe, sort of, working. If he could overload the enchantment preventing intruders from entering the bottles, then it would be spice galore.

Huang Jian growled at the sudden influx of power. His face grew more strained. Veins in his forearm bulged as he poured more power into his blade. The net was trembling from being bombarded from both inside and outside his shield, coupled with the inability to concentrate thanks to a certain no-good slime.

Then, he heaved a sigh of relief.

The trembling ceased, and the sparks faded. The Lightning Net became taut once more.

Alwin, too, screamed in relief—that was a scream that went down in pitch. His normal scream was just a constant, high-pitched wailing.

Meanwhile, the Spirit Hands brought the spice bottles back down to Alwin.

Once again, a single Spirit Hand stuck its finger into the opening of the bottle. Instead of it being shocked, Alwin was the one who was shocked. Not in the electrical sense, but in the 'this really worked?' sense.

The Spirit Hand was able to dig all the way into the reddish-brown powder and bring it out. It stuck the spice-coated finger in front of Alwin, and he took a nice big whiff. The smell was a combination of cinnamon and rust. It was a weird scent, but maybe it tasted better than it smelled.

Alwin licked the finger clean, and his mouth was assaulted by a wave of flavors. He couldn't tell if they were delicious or disgusting. They tasted metallic, yet sweet and spicy.

Maybe Gary Stew accidentally added rust to the cinnamon bottle? Both powders looked the same, so Alwin couldn't blame the man.

Now, all he had to do was get rid of the pain.

He'd do that first, then come up with a plan to destroy the System Screen robot and its mini-bots that shot fireballs and waves of flame in all directions.

After that, he'd worry about the thunderstorm above. For now, he would ignore the fact that it was shifting, swirling, and coalescing into something that would be a hundred times more dangerous.

Yup, that was a problem for future him.

Even if future him was about five minutes away from now.

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