This post contains spoilers for American Horror Story: Apocalypses finale.

Well, folks, it appears the world has been saved from nuclear annihilation—at least for now. On Wednesday night, American Horror Story: Apocalypse came to a close, with the witches of Miss Robichauxs Academy defeating Antichrist Michael Langdon as expected. Cordelia sacrificed herself so that Mallory could rise as Supreme, going back in time and killing Michael before he could come into his own as the ender of days. But unbeknownst to the witches, another Antichrist was born to take his place—to Timothy and Emily, the lovers seen in Outpost 3. So it looks like weve got precisely one generation before this entire battle needs to play out, more or less, again.

Sure, the episode came with plenty of fan-service-y moments. But once the superficial thrills of guest appearances and quippy one-liners wore off, it was hard not to feel a little cheated by a finale that, ultimately, spent its time on all the wrong things.

Like the rest of the season, the spectacle was plentiful on Wednesday night. The witches who braved the apocalypse outside Outpost 3—Myrtle, Cordelia, and Madison—rose from the dead after a couple of years, thanks to the healing powers of Louisiana swamp mud. (Shout-out to Misty Day!) Marie Laveau showed up to help the witches defeat Michael, informing the traitorous Dinah, “She needed the help of a powerful voodoo queen—but that aint you, sis!” before killing her and flipping her butt-length braids. Jessica Lange even came back for a few brief moments as Constance Langdon, while Jamie Brewer returned for the first time this season—for just long enough to remind us why we missed Nan so much in previous weeks. But overall, these flourishes came off as just that: shallow gimmicks that had little effect on the actual plot. Instead, the events that actually moved the story forward unfolded pretty much as fans expected they would going in—which felt like a wasted opportunity.

Its hard not to wish this season had played out in a less predictable fashion—but its equally vexing how convinced this finale seemed to be of its own unpredictability. Moments we all knew were coming—like Cordelia killing herself so that the next Supreme could rise, and Mallory running over Michael Langdon to kill him—dragged on, unable to live up to their own inevitability. (Also, Michael deserved to go out with more flair; are we really supposed to believe that after all that, the Antichrist was defeated by a hit-and-run?)

The few curveballs that did happen—like Marie showing up, or Mallory getting stabbed by Brock—got waved away without consequence, while the fallout from Mallorys time travel felt both artificially limited and pat: Myrtle and Marie Laveau never got resurrected, Mallory sprung Misty Day free from her own personal hell, and Queenie got persuaded not to visit the Hotel Cortez in the future. (Mallory plans to free Madison from her personal hell, eventually—but wants to let her sit in there for just a little longer.) And after all that, another Antichrist was still born to terrorize his babysitters and, eventually, the world. Are we really meant to believe that after such major meddling in the fate of the planet, the only fallout turned out to be which witches got to join the Robichaux reunion? Hm.

That said, theres still a chance we havent seen the last of the effects from this season. After all, as Mallory put it, “The battle between good and evil never ends. The devil is never going to give up—and in changing the past, a part of me will always wonder what it means for the future.”

Despite all the griping one could, deservedly, make about this seasons circuitous nature, I cannot deny this truth: that finale was a blast to watch, thanks to choice lines and priceless shots, including Kathy Bates getting decapitated—again. It was also coherent enough to at least avoid undoing all of the thrills we enjoyed in the season that led up to it—a quality that, in this franchise, its best not to take for granted. More than anything, its been nice to see American Horror Story embrace the campy, ridiculous heart it seemed to have abandoned in recent years. Going forward, lets hope we get even more of the elements that made it sing—especially Billy Porter, Cody Fern, and delightfully peppy door-to-door Satanists.

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Get Vanity Fairs HWD NewsletterSign up for essential industry and award news from Hollywood.Laura BradleyLaura Bradley is a Hollywood writer for VanityFair.com.