The Jell-O Resurrection Catastrophe

Victor, now standing ankle-deep in freshly disturbed grave dirt, glanced at the relic in his hand—the Claw of Skilbognar. The claw seemed to wiggle a bit, its googly eyes shaking in the wind. "Why do these things always have googly eyes?" he muttered to no one in particular.

**Narrator:** *Good question, Victor. It’s the only way to make eldritch horrors less horrifying. You’re welcome.*

Victor blinked and looked around. "Wait, did someone just—? Nah, never mind. Focus. I’m raising a high priestess from a rival cult. No time for distractions."

The Claw glowed, or at least tried to—it looked more like it was sparking from bad wiring. Regardless, Victor began chanting, pouring the ceremonial glitter over Darla Flimbledygg’s grave.

"By the power of the stars, by the… oh god, that smells awful… by the ancient rites of… hold on, what even is ‘Flimbledygg’? Did someone make that up just to mess with me?"

**Narrator:** *I can neither confirm nor deny that. But let’s just say names are hard, okay?*

Victor rolled his eyes but kept going. The ground shook, the dirt split, and from the cracks, a strange gelatinous hand emerged. Darla—or at least something resembling Darla—oozed up from the grave, her rainbow spaghetti hair flailing in the breeze.

Victor’s face went pale. "What the… she’s covered in Jell-O! This isn’t in the necromancy manual!"

**Narrator:** *To be fair, Victor, you skipped half the instructions. Remember the footnote about ‘never mix sects that worship desserts’?*

"Wait, what footnote?" Victor whipped out the crumpled ritual guide from his robe pocket. He squinted at the bottom of the page, where in minuscule print, it read: *WARNING: Do not attempt to summon from rival dessert-based cults. May result in abominations of confectionery and chaos. Side effects include spontaneous gelatinous lifeforms, unpredictable flavors, and existential dread.*

"Are you kidding me?! Who even prints that in size 2 font?!" Victor threw the paper down in frustration as Darla—no, **The Slime Empress**—wobbled to full height, her googly eyes spinning like slot machines.

"**I AM REBORN!**" she gurgled, her voice sounding like someone had stuffed an old-timey radio into a vat of jellybeans. She glanced at her new form, poking one of her spaghetti noodle fingers. "Wait… am I… am I Jell-O? Again?! **Again?** Oh, for the love of—"

Victor threw up his hands. "Okay, can someone please explain what’s happening? I just wanted to summon some powerful spirit, not end up in some bizarre food fight!"

**Narrator:** *Well, Victor, the thing is—when you dabble in rival occult practices, you accidentally opened a gateway to the "Absurd Realms," where laws of logic and physics are about as stable as a toddler on roller skates. Congratulations.*

"Great. Just great." Victor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And now she’s covered in spaghetti and Jell-O. I’m never going to live this down, am I?"

**Narrator:** *Not even a little bit.*

Meanwhile, The Slime Empress was busy inspecting her new form. "Seriously, why is it always Jell-O? Do I look like a cafeteria dessert to you people?! And these googly eyes? What am I, a craft project?!"

Victor shrugged. "Honestly, I thought you’d be a lot scarier."

The Slime Empress groaned, tentacles of gelatin slapping the ground. "Do you know how hard it is to terrorize someone when you jiggle every time you move? Look at me! I’m a walking snack pack!"

**Narrator:** *Hey, don’t knock it. Jell-O monsters are a classic. At least you’re not made of cottage cheese.*

She wobbled threateningly toward Victor. "Fine! You summoned me, and now I’m going to… uh… what’s the word? Oh yeah, **destroy you!**" She lifted her spaghetti tentacle dramatically, though one of the googly eyes fell off mid-swing.

Victor dodged the limp noodle attack with ease. "That’s it? You’re gonna ‘destroy’ me? With **noodles**?"

"I’m working with what I’ve got!" The Slime Empress shot back, her voice crackling with frustration. She slung a glob of lime Jell-O at him, which hit a nearby tombstone and… melted it into a pile of rubber ducks.

Victor stared. "Okay, I didn’t expect that."

**Narrator:** *Plot twist. But hey, at least the ducks are cute.*

The Slime Empress glared up at the sky. "Who is that? Why do they sound like they’re enjoying this?"

"Right?!" Victor threw his hands up. "They keep narrating everything I do! It’s incredibly distracting!"

**Narrator:** *Sorry, but you signed up for this when you started messing with forbidden rituals. Gotta keep things spicy.*

Victor groaned. "Next time, I’m summoning something normal. Like a ghost. Or a demon that just wants to negotiate for my soul instead of hurling Jell-O at me."

The Slime Empress, wobbling uncontrollably, tried to give him a menacing stare, but one of her spaghetti limbs tangled with another, causing her to faceplant into the dirt.

Victor winced. "Oof, that’s gotta hurt."

**Narrator:** *I mean, she’s mostly Jell-O. I doubt she even felt it.*

The Slime Empress slowly reformed herself, a spaghetti noodle dangling from her forehead. "You know what? Screw this. I’m done. I’m going back to the underworld, or wherever the heck I came from, and I’m filing a formal complaint about these resurrection rituals."

Victor sighed in relief. "Oh, thank god."

"Not so fast, mortal!" She reared up one last time. "Before I go, I shall curse you with… uh… I dunno. **Uncomfortable socks!**"

Victor stared at her. "Seriously?"

"Yup." She raised a wobbly limb. "For the rest of your days, every time you put on socks, they’ll either be slightly damp or inexplicably too tight. **You’ll never be comfortable again.**"

Victor’s jaw dropped. "You’re the worst."

**Narrator:** *Honestly? That’s a pretty solid curse. Diabolical, really.*

The Slime Empress, clearly satisfied with her absurd curse, wobbled back into the grave, which promptly swallowed her up. The earth sealed over with a plop, leaving nothing but a faint smell of lime Jell-O.

Victor stood in the silent cemetery, his shoes squelching in the aftermath. "Well," he muttered, glancing around at the rubber ducks, spaghetti strands, and inexplicable piles of goo, "at least it wasn’t cottage cheese."