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Fischl X Slime - Race To The Finish -vicineko- May 2026

Oz, perched on the cart's canopy, sighed. "Mein Fräulein, it’s a slime. It doesn’t have a constitution. Also, the race has started."

Fischl skidded to a halt, singed but proud. "A tactical concession," she panted, adjusting her eyepatch. "I allowed the familiar to win so it might taste the fleeting glory of victory before I reclaim the throne."

"Oh no," Oz muttered.

As Fischl’s cart caught fire (again), the slime shot past the finish line—not with a bang, but with a soft, triumphant bloop . It jiggled smugly on a pedestal, wearing a tiny winner's laurel that had somehow materialized.

The final stretch: the electro-puddle chute. Fischl took the high road—a rickety wooden bridge. The slime took the low road—bouncing directly into the puddles, each impact sending it rocketing forward like a pinball of pure voltage. Fischl x Slime - Race to the Finish -ViciNeko-

The slime, true to its nature, didn't steer. It squished . It compressed itself into a flattened disc to slide under collapsing pillars, then re-inflated mid-air, bouncing off a ruin guard's disconnected fist to gain altitude. Fischl, meanwhile, was shouting incantations while desperately yanking her lance-left, narrowly avoiding a cactus. Her hair, a magnificent silver mane, whipped in the wind like a battle standard.

Fischl stared. Then, with the gravitas of a queen accepting a crown, she took it. "You fight with honor, creature. I shall call you… Sir Bounceton." Oz, perched on the cart's canopy, sighed

"Pathetic creature!" Fischl declared, her eyepatch gleaming under the sun. "You face the sovereign of the Immernachtreich! Your conductive constitution is no match for the night-vision of my raven!"

Features

3/10

Tech Specs

3/10

Build Quality

3/10

Treadmill Review

Fischl x Slime - Race to the Finish -ViciNeko-Fischl x Slime - Race to the Finish -ViciNeko-

Oz, perched on the cart's canopy, sighed. "Mein Fräulein, it’s a slime. It doesn’t have a constitution. Also, the race has started."

Fischl skidded to a halt, singed but proud. "A tactical concession," she panted, adjusting her eyepatch. "I allowed the familiar to win so it might taste the fleeting glory of victory before I reclaim the throne."

"Oh no," Oz muttered.

As Fischl’s cart caught fire (again), the slime shot past the finish line—not with a bang, but with a soft, triumphant bloop . It jiggled smugly on a pedestal, wearing a tiny winner's laurel that had somehow materialized.

The final stretch: the electro-puddle chute. Fischl took the high road—a rickety wooden bridge. The slime took the low road—bouncing directly into the puddles, each impact sending it rocketing forward like a pinball of pure voltage.

The slime, true to its nature, didn't steer. It squished . It compressed itself into a flattened disc to slide under collapsing pillars, then re-inflated mid-air, bouncing off a ruin guard's disconnected fist to gain altitude. Fischl, meanwhile, was shouting incantations while desperately yanking her lance-left, narrowly avoiding a cactus. Her hair, a magnificent silver mane, whipped in the wind like a battle standard.

Fischl stared. Then, with the gravitas of a queen accepting a crown, she took it. "You fight with honor, creature. I shall call you… Sir Bounceton."

"Pathetic creature!" Fischl declared, her eyepatch gleaming under the sun. "You face the sovereign of the Immernachtreich! Your conductive constitution is no match for the night-vision of my raven!"

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