Finn stared at the scroll.
"Do you have any history of sexually transmitted curses?"
’What kinda question is this?! What kinda world is this... It’s like someone modded Skyrim with STDs and bad decisions.’
He wanted to write "No."
A moist, jiggling blob pinning him down in that cursed cave...
"IT’S—IT’S NUTTING?!"
The whispery giggle of the slime echoed through his mind like PTSD.
His eyes went wide. He clenched his chest as a shiver rippled down his spine.
’No... there’s no way. Right? ...Right?!’
Majestria leaned over with a smug grin. "You’re hesitating. That means yes."
"I’m just being cautious!" he snapped.
"Oh yeah, suuuper cautious—letting a slime latch onto your chest and stimulate you like it’s a honeymoon on Planet Nasty." She giggled, covering her smug mouth with divine fingers.
The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "Sir... are you going to answer the question?"
Finn sighed in defeat and scribbled:
(The tone of a man who absolutely means yes.)
Gasps echoed around the room.
The scroll glowed violently red before a bold message flashed across it like a divine public service announcement:
"ANSWER FLAGGED: CURSED VIA HORNY SLIME. USER IS TEMPORARILY INFERTILE UNTIL HE DRINKS A HORNUES POTION."
The guild exploded into laughter.
"HE CAUGHT A CURSE FROM A SLIME?!"
"TRIP GOD GOT SLIMED?!"
"THIS GUY GOT NEUTERED FOR SAFETY."
But Finn wasn’t even focused on them anymore.
His eyes had dropped to the floor. Breathing heavy. Clutching his crown jewels like a man on the brink of extinction.
A single tear slid down his cheek.
He turned to Majestria... hoping for support.
She was crying—not in sympathy, but from laughter, doubled over like she’d just seen the best stand-up routine of her life.
No more humiliation. No more emotional damage. No more dignity.
He began slamming through the rest of the scroll, speedrunning the questionnaire like it owed him money.
’WHO MADE THIS SCROLL?! I DON’T KNOW MY STATS—I’M NOT A DATING SIM!’
The receptionist blinked in surprise. "Wow... you actually answered truthfully. But still..."
She shook her head like a disappointed substitute teacher.
Majestria leaned in, glanced at the answer... and cracked up all over again.
"Twelve... and still gets no girls," she whispered like a holy curse.
Finn closed his eyes.
’I will not strike a woman. I am better than this. I will not trip the goddess down a flight of stairs no matter how much she deserves it. I am peace. I am patience. I am—’
"I’m going to kill someone," he muttered.
Before he could even act on any of it—
Majestria shoved Finn aside like trash. "Hand me a scroll. I’m registering too." She shot Finn a smug look. "Let me show you how a real divine being does it."
She began filling it out with graceful, goddess-tier handwriting like it was nothing.
Meanwhile, Finn—still hunched over, guarding his violated jewels—glared at her, winding up to smack her in the back of the head like she just said dark souls is trash.
Both their heads whipped toward the entrance, synchronized like two cheaters caught in 4K.
Standing in the doorway were four figures.
The guild exploded in cheers.
"IT’S THE SACRED BLADES OF HOPE!"
Finn blinked. "The who?"
The receptionist didn’t even look up. "They just said their name. They’re seen as gods among men."
Majestria scoffed, arms crossed. "Gods? Excuse me, there’s a literal goddess standing right here with beauty that defy reality and no one’s clapping? This is sexism."
The elf pointed to the first figure:
"That’s Ardin LightBlade, chosen by the gods."
Finn squinted. This guy looked like every protagonist from a low-effort power fantasy anime. Shiny plot armor. Jawline so sharp it could filet a dragon. Windswept anime hair defying gravity.
And the sword—why the hell was it glowing?! It wasn’t even doing anything.
He had the audacity to smile at the room like he just sold you toothpaste in a commercial.
The receptionist moved on.
"The guy next to him in black? That’s Raze Nocturne."
All black leather. Straps everywhere. Belts on his knees. One eye glowing red. The other hidden like it held trauma or taxes.
He dual-wielded daggers named—
"Misery and Taxes," she added. "We don’t know why."
’Yup. This man’s entire backstory is just edgy fanfiction.’
Then came the third member.
Finn’s brain stalled.
He was morbidly obese, but somehow still ripped under the fat. His armor was made of literal sausages and BBQ bones. His helmet was a cooking pot. And he wielded a giant ham shank club like it was enchanted by Colonel Sanders.
The receptionist practically sighed. "And that’s Seraphina Holywell."
Finn’s soul left his body.
She wore holy robes—white and gold—that looked like they were designed by horny nuns. Every curve was blessed. Every bounce was divine intervention. A priestess staff in her hand, glistening like an anime-only healing relic.
Her hair was honey-blonde, silky and braided, tied back with an elegance that said "I pray... but I sin." And her eyes—emerald green, soft, pure, like they forgave you for your browser history.
Finn’s jaw slackened. This was it.
He slowly raised a hand to his chin, eyes bouncing between the goddess and the priestess.
"Okay," he whispered to himself. "Compare and contrast: divine trash goblin vs. sanctified jiggle queen..."
"They’re both packing in all departments..." He side-eyed Majestria. "But she’s more of a bitch than anything." Then turned back to the priestess.
"She might actually be better than the goddess."
His brain went full NASA-calculation-mode. He was calculating bounce trajectory, mass displacement, cup-to-waist ratio, gravitational resistance—like he was plotting a rocket launch through breast-based physics.
A radiant voice sliced through his perversion like holy judgment.
"I never could have completed that quest without all of your support!"
His teeth sparkled. Literally. Audibly. Like a toothpaste ad sponsored by the gods.
Everyone praised him.
"Oh, Ardin~! Your righteousness is so... BIG—I mean, strong!"
Seraphina gasped, covering her lips with two dainty fingers like she just said the f-word in church.
His soul left his body.
He was spiritually neutered by their PG-rated flirting.
’I hate this punk already.’
Finn flinched, snapping out of his internal meltdown. He turned to see Majestria standing beside him, poking his shoulder like a confused boomer on Facebook.
"Um, Finn. Can you read this for me? I don’t know what it means."
"You’re a literal goddess. How do you not—"
"Just help me, okay?!" she hissed, cheeks slightly puffed in embarrassment.
"Alright, alright." He stepped over, leaned toward the scroll—
Only for a voice behind them to cut in like an unwanted anime rival reveal.
"Young lady! Is this man bothering you?"
He and Majestria turned in perfect sync.