Majestria picked up her pace, trying to get away from the elf. The elf did not stop. She continued pursuing them, undeterred, even while Majestria barked at her to buzz off.
Finn, still being dragged like an emotional support corpse, stared blankly—mind overloaded and spirit flickering like a dying Wi-Fi signal.
"I said you are NOT coming with us! I’m not repeating myself again!" Majestria snapped.
"You have to!" the elf cried, stars in her eyes. "Him and I are destined to meet! He even said I looked good—especially my flat chest. Seems to me he prefers flat-chested women more than your cow udders!"
Majestria froze mid-step and spun around. "Shut your mouth! He’s just a perverted loser desperate for attention—nothing more!"
"Will you two shut your slutful mouths!" a muffled voice roared.
The box in Finn’s arms shook violently.
Silence fell. Even the trees paused.
Then the box creaked open...
And the head verbally detonated.
"I am a disembodied head in a cursed box. Stuck listening to a flat-chested, forest-dwelling pervert goblin thirsting over a piss-stained hoodie loser, while a narcissistic ’divine’ bimbo throws tantrums every thirty seconds like an annoying bitchy girlfriend!"
Finn blinked. Once. Twice. Was he... back in reality? No. This was worse.
"You!" The head turned to Majestria like an AI locking onto a target. "You strut around like you’re the second coming of Aphrodite, but emotionally? You’ve got the depth of a damp sock. You bark orders, ride this man like a divine Uber, and act shocked when people don’t worship the ground your oversized boobs walk on."
Majestria’s eye twitched. "Excuse me—"
"No. I’m not done yet." The head spun in its box like a bitter Roomba. "And you—Hormone the Elf! Just because he complimented your pancake tits doesn’t mean you’ve imprinted like a baby duck! The man was probably delirious from swamp fever and slime trauma!"
The elf gasped. "It was destiny!"
"Destiny? Girl, he looked at your chest the same way someone looks at expired yogurt—curious... but also horrified."
Finn opened his mouth. "Can we please just—"
"No. And you!" His dead eyes locked onto Finn. "You. Piss-boy. Hoodie gremlin. I’ve seen prostitutes with more dignity than you. You let these two verbally slap each other into therapy over your broke, slime-covered, emotionally unstable ass like you’re some tragic prince. Newsflash: You smell like swamp dick and failure."
"I need a nap. Or a guillotine. Whichever gets me away from you people faster."
"Since I appear to be cursed with your presence for the foreseeable future, I might as well learn your names."
His gaze turned to Finn.
"You. I already know your name."
"But how...?" Finn asked.
"Because you touched me," the head said bitterly, as if that somehow made things worse.
It then turned to Majestria.
"You. Self-proclaimed goddess. Or should I say, boobs with no brain. What’s your name?"
Majestria puffed her chest. "I am Majestria the—"
"Majestria? That name sounds like someone tried to spell ’Majestic’ while drunk on divine boxed wine. God-awful."
Majestria’s ego shattered.
Then the head turned to the elf.
"And you... strange, horny elf with a wooden plaything on your belt. Your name?"
The elf beamed. "It’s Lickthorn Lewdwo—"
"Stop. Right there. I already feel a migraine forming. I refuse to acknowledge whatever the hell that name was supposed to be."
He paused, scanning them again like a disgusted teacher stuck with the worst group project team.
"Wonderful. The least incompetent one is the piss gremlin in a hoodie. And he’s also a complete failure. I hope you enjoy dealing with the wizards. Maybe one of them will put me out of my misery."
"Wizards where?" Finn asked.
The head groaned, clearly already done with life—again.
"The place you’re delivering me to, obviously. Did you even read the quest? Or did your last functioning brain cell drown in the elf pancake tits?"
The head turned to face the back of the box like a passive-aggressive parent on a road trip.
"I’m going to sleep. If you’re loud one more time, I swear I’ll start talking until you all lose your mind."
They all stood frozen. Shell-shocked. Soul-cracked.
Then the box rattled again.
"Oh, and Tit-Brains! Stop arguing. The pervert elf isn’t leaving, obviously. So shut up and deal with it."
Majestria glared at the elf, who simply smirked and whispered:
"You heard the head. It’s destiny."
Finn didn’t even look back. "Let’s just go, please. Before he wakes up and starts insulting us again."
Majestria huffed but said nothing. The elf skipped after them like a freaky woodland groupie.
Finn sighed internally. ’Why does this keep happening? First I die. Then I get dragged into fantasy hell with a walking boob statue, assaulted by slime, and now I’ve adopted a horny elf and a talking insult box....Still, I did get motorboated twice, so that’s cool. Wait no—FOCUS!’
He held the box in one hand and lifted the doodle-map with the other. They trudged forward toward their cursed destination.
As they continued their way through the forest, the sound of rushing water began to echo in the distance.
"Is that water? Finally, a place where I can soak my beautiful feet!" Majestria declared, practically glowing with excitement.
"Wait—let’s not assume it’s just water. Knowing this world, it could be anything," Finn said cautiously, eyes narrowing.
But Majestria didn’t listen. She took off ahead, skipping like a divine lunatic. The elf quickly followed, pausing only to turn around and lean toward Finn with a sultry grin.
"Don’t be a naughty boy and sneak a peek at two lovely women bathing... especially me~," she giggled, then disappeared after Majestria.
Finn bit his lip. ’Keep it together. Eyes on the mission. Focus. But... hot women...’
A scream tore through the trees.
Finn groaned. "Oh, come on! Just once, can I go five minutes without hearing a woman scream in horror?"
He sprinted after them, crashing through branches until the forest cleared.
There, ahead of him, Majestria and Lickthorn stood frozen, staring in disbelief.
Stretching across a deep, mist-choked ravine was the most suspiciously cinematic bridge Finn had ever seen. A sagging rope monstrosity, held together by moldy wooden planks, twitching ropes (possibly intestines), and a level of creaking that suggested the bridge had anxiety.
A limp, faded sign stood in front of it, scribbled in blood or possibly expired ketchup:
"Toll Bridge Ahead — Pay Up or Plunge to Death."
Finn’s jaw dropped. ’You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t even have money for this world.’
Then his eyes landed on her—the cause of the scream.
Seated at the entrance was a gnarled old woman in a rocking chair made of bones and broken dreams. She had only one eye—and it wasn’t in her head. It floated lazily in a murky jar beside her. Her pipe puffed out green smoke that reeked of wet cabbage and unspoken childhood trauma. And next to her sat a demonic chicken. It was glaring. The chicken was glaring.
Finn stood stunned. ’My god...’
Majestria turned and immediately bolted to him, clutching his arm like a scared toddler. "Finn! Oh thank the Divine Me—you’re here!"
Lickthorn was gripping her ’staff-hilt,’ ready to bash a granny if necessary.
Finn looked at the bridge. Then the chicken. Then the sign. Then the pipe that gurgled like a clogged toilet.
He sighed. "I should’ve just let that wolf devour me back in the beginning."