’Her divine sweat is touching my body!’
Majestria was resting her chin on the top of Finn’s head, her sweat dripping down onto him like divine condensation from a heavenly armpit.
In most cases, he would’ve died for this kind of intimacy—but right now, this was despair. Pure, uncut, soul-wrenching agony. Never in his life had he wanted a shower this badly. Or a hazmat suit.
They were deep within the forest heading to who-knows-where. Finn had taken a random guess and just committed, like a guy clicking "Accept All Cookies" on his fate.
Majestria’s breathing was soft and steady—clearly exhausted from everything. He could feel her chest rising and falling against his back. Her plumpy breasts moved like stress balls of divine weight and tragedy.
Honestly, it was the only thing keeping him from mentally collapsing.
As they trudged through the endless trees, seconds turned into minutes, and minutes into hours. Time had lost all meaning.
The current state of the duo could only be described as tragic. They looked like SpongeBob and Patrick gasping on dry land. Crusty. Dry. Dead inside.
But at long last—like a cruel RPG throwing them one mercy—they reached the edge of the forest.
Finn’s eyes, previously hollow and devoid of all light, suddenly ignited with hope. A spark of life! A fragment of joy!
Majestria saw it too. She started smacking his head like a game show contestant slamming the buzzer.
"I HEAR YOU, MA-JEZEBEL! WE’RE FREE—HAHA!"
He charged out of the trees like a golden retriever escaping a gated community, even though it had a bed, food, and an Xbox.
There was joy. There was space. There was—
And soon... it would all go horribly wrong.
The cloud ahead was green and murky, like someone had unleashed an ungodly fart into the sky and it never left.
Ahead of them sprawled a swamp—thick, soupy mud the color of diarrhea mixed with expired guacamole. The trees looked like dollar store Halloween props, the kind that witches hang out in when they’ve been canceled on social media.
’You have GOT to be kidding me.’
Just as Finn’s soul was about to permanently vacate his body, he noticed a half-rotted sign up ahead, tilting like it was trying to run away from the town itself.
"Moistvile village ahead."
’Who the hell comes up with this shit?!’
He was about to throw his hands in the air when he remembered Majestria was still on his back. He turned slightly to check her expression—only to find it dead. Like, taxidermy-dead.
She grabbed his head and screamed into his ear like she was trying to summon Bloody Marry.
"WHY IN THE WORLD DID YOU TAKE US HERE?!"
"LET GO OF ME, YOU—" He snapped, grabbing her by the waist and RKO-ing her straight off his back like a wrestler who just hit his limit. "CRAZY BITCH!"
"Aaaah!" She landed head-first, flopping backward like a Jenga tower with trust issues. Then she popped up—like a cat who just got spritzed with water—and leapt back onto him like a clingy acrobat.
"Don’t throw me like that again!" she shrieked.
Her boobs were now... directly in his face.
She glanced down—and instead of seeing him screaming or struggling, Finn was totally still. Silent. Accepting.
She could feel his breath. It was warm. Calm.
Like he’d made peace with life... between two plumpy, divine pillows.
Her mouth fell open. Her eyes widened in horror—like someone who just accidentally spent their entire savings on one crypto coin that just crashed.
"YOU SICK PERVERT!" she yelled, yanking herself off his face.
His head fell back with a peaceful smile, blood dribbling from his nose. "Hehe..." he sighed dreamily.
She stood frozen, torn between jumping off of him entirely... or staying on because her feet were not about to touch this disgusting ground. Not today!
So she climbed back around him like a cursed spider-monkey and settled on his back again, pinching his ear like a mom who was done.
"Don’t ever do that again!"
"Hehe~ you invited me into the gates of heaven..."
She slapped him across the face with divine shame.
"Ouchie..." he muttered, rubbing his cheek.
"Just go forward into this nasty place," she ordered, crossing her arms.
"Yes ma’am!" His voice was filled with a renewed energy—as if being dunked between her boobs had baptized him in the Church of divine.
He took off with Majestria on his shoulders, charging across the narrow wooden bridge that creaked under every step like it was ripped straight out of a Dark Souls level.
The air reeked like a dead raccoon marinated in Monster Energy and Axe body spray.
Majestria instinctively squeezed her thighs tighter around Finn’s neck, trying not to fall into the festering swamp below—and honestly, who could blame her?
Ahead, the town revealed itself like a bad decision at 2 a.m.—perched precariously atop hundreds of rotting wooden stilts. Most were warped, waterlogged, and groaning like arthritic knees trying to climb stairs.
The entire village looked like it was built by a drunk carpenter trying to win a bet against gravity.
Beneath it all, the swamp gurgled ominously—bubbling like it was cooking something. Something alive. Something judging you. The murky green water sloshed between the stilts, hiding who-knows-what in its digestive soup of despair.
’Who the hell in their right mind built this place... or chose to stay here? This is like watching a husband cling to his terminally ill wife... but the wife is the ground.’
Finn stared at the town, disgusted and mildly afraid, while rethinking every decision that led him here.
Majestria said nothing. She was too busy trying not to make eye contact with the moldy architecture.
The silence between them was thick with mutual trauma.
Finally, after what felt like one of those Dark Souls boss runbacks where you die five feet from the fog wall, they reached the village entrance.
It was marked by a single sagging arch made of driftwood jammed into the muck, and an old, limp banner barely hanging on by a thread. It read:
"Welcome to Moistvile—Est ????"
’What the hell is it with these names? Who is naming this shit?!’
They stood at the edge of the rickety platform, staring into the rot-scented abyss of Moistvile.
Finn’s soul was already halfway out his body. Majestria looked like she was mentally filing a lawsuit.
The banner above them flapped weakly in the breeze, as if even it regretted being here.
And so, with the grace of a man who’d just been emotionally baptized by boobs and bodily slime, Finn took his first step into the swamp town.
A wet squelch echoed beneath his foot.
Something in the distance let out a moan. Or a belch. Or maybe both.
He didn’t want to know.
"...And so," Finn muttered, dead-eyed, "our great journey of isekai adventure begins. Yep. Isekai"