Finn held onto Majestria like she was the last scrap of pizza in a frat house.
He wrapped his arms around her stomach, keeping her close, shielding her as the mimic chests rattled hungrily around them. So even moaned.
Majestria squird deeper into his grip, her voice shrill with panic.
"GET THEM AWAY FROM !"
"I’M TRYING, DAMMIT!"
Finn jerked to the side as one mimic lunged at them. Another chest tried nibbling his elbow.
He glanced across the room—
Only to see Lickthorn.
Still grinding against a chest.
Still being rejected by inanimate objects.
She was crying.
Not tears of sadness.
Tears of sheer erotic despair.
And then...
A plan ford.
A genius, deranged, desperate plan.
Finn’s eyes sparkled. It was so stupid it had to work.
"Lickthorn!" he shouted. "Please! Help us!"
Her head whipped around.
She saw it all: Finn, cradling Majestria, skin-on-skin, tangled on the floor, surrounded by horny furniture. The chests, ignoring her entirely.
Her heart shattered like a dropped porcelain dildo.
The mimics had rejected her.
Even the box containing Beard Man was being molested—and he was screaming in horror.
But her?
Nothing.
"No..." Lickthorn gasped. "No one wants ..."
She covered her face, trembling.
"Not even a mimic... not even a chest wants to violate sexually...!" she scread in raw sha.
It was the worst day of her life.
And possibly the best day of Finn’s—if he could survive.
"HELP , FINN!" Majestria gasped, as a mimic licked her foot.
Her eyes glowed. Her voice dropped six octaves.
"DON’T TOUCH MY FEET."
She kicked the chest so hard it flew across the room, hit the wall, and exploded into splinters and moaning woodchips.
Another mimic grazed Finn’s arm.
He shuddered violently. "I am so not into this!"
Everything was going to hell.
Lickthorn was losing her mind.
Majestria was going feral.
The beard-box was being violated.
Finn’s soul was cracking.
He looked to the ceiling and scread, "WHO THE HELL DESIGNED THIS ROOM?!"
Then, with no other choice...
He turned back to the elf.
His voice was trembling. Eyes desperate.
"Lickthorn!" he shouted. "If you help us... I’ll—I’ll let you do anything you want to !"
Silence.
Then her eyes widened.
A blush exploded across her face.
Her lips quivered.
And then she sprinted.
Lickthorn ca charging like a pervert possessed.
Arsenio—useless as ever—just sat in the background like he was watching Shakespeare in the Park: Chest Orgy Edition.
She leapt over the mimics like a damn goat ninja, pirouetting off lid corners, flipping over gnashing boxes, grinding on one mid-air for extra speed. This wasn’t just parkour—this was hornkour.
And then, finally, she landed—right in front of Finn and Majestria.
The chests stopped dead.
So shook. One mimicked a whimper and backed off.
Finn exhaled in relief. "Thank God... We’re saved."
Well, except for Beard Man, who was still sowhere nearby, screaming bloody murder as two mimics tried to fuck the box he was in.
Majestria looked up at Lickthorn like she was inspecting a filthy wall.
"How kind of you," she said smugly. "But you need to move. You’re standing way too close to my feet. Understand the importance of their divinity."
Finn instinctively cocked his hand back to slap so humility into her, but he froze when—
Squish.
Sothing wet wrapped around his arm.
He turned slowly.
One of the mimics was snuggling his bicep like it was cuddling a teddy bear. Finn’s soul left his body.
"G-GET OFF !" he shrieked, flailing.
And then—
SPLOOSH!
A sudden white blast slamd the mimic off his arm, sending it flying across the room like it got hit with divine mayonnaise from heaven.
Finn blinked in horror.
His eyes locked on Lickthorn.
Her wand—no, her dildo wand—was glowing. The tip glistened with a white magical aura.
Finn’s jaw dropped. "Wh... what the actual fu—"
"Do not touch my man!" Lickthorn shouted proudly.
Then she twirled her dildo like it was a lightsaber from the wrong website, spinning it over her head. White energy gathered at the tip again.
"By the hidden arts of the knob, I command you to RELEASE THE SPURGE!"
She blasted another mimic, coating it in magical gunk and knocking three more over like gross bowling pins.
Finn stared, absolutely mortified.
His brain had entered "safe mode."
He was watching a manic elf spray cum spells from a wooden sex toy while a goddess praised her like it was a podcast.
"YEAH! That’s right! Keep hitting them!" Majestria clapped like a cheerleader at a kink convention.
Finn couldn’t even cheer.
He couldn’t even process.
Because every ti she cast that spell, it looked like she was shooting literal cum at the enemies.
"I hate this world," Finn muttered.
And yet...
It worked.
The mimics were retreating.
One even coughed.
"Stop! You can’t destroy all the chests!" Arsenio cried, flailing his arms like he was directing traffic at a nudist rave.
"Why the hell not?!" Lickthorn snapped, glowing wand still dripping magical spurge. "They touched my man, and he made a sacred promise to !"
Arsenio threw his hands up. "Because the wizards need these chests, alright?! Don’t ask why. Just—just don’t destroy all of them!"
’Of course these freaks keep cursed horny furniture around,’ Finn thought, disgusted. ’Probably for "research."’
Lickthorn scanned the battlefield. The surviving chests were trembling, retreating slowly... while a few bold ones were still trying to tongue their way into Beard Man’s box.
"Then what are we supposed to do?" she demanded.
Arsenio dramatically pointed to the back of the room. "You must touch... the one who has never been touched."
They all turned.
There, in the corner... was a chest.
Alone.
Quivering.
Whimpering softly like it just lost prom king to a nightstand.
"And be warned," Arsenio added. "This chest seeks the touch... of a man. A man’s gentle embrace. A man’s strong, confident—"
"We got it," Finn interrupted flatly.
’Of course it’s into guys. Because why wouldn’t this cursed sex box world force to emotionally connect with furniture...’
Finn looked down at Majestria and gently unwrapped his arms. "Hey, uh... can you get off ? I gotta go seduce a box or whatever."
She blinked. "Excuse ? You can’t just leave —push up, peasant. I’m not crawling."
Before she could finish her divine complaint, Finn shoved her off like a sack of potatoes and stood up.
"I hate this," he muttered, brushing off his shirt. "I hate this so much."
He turned toward the corner chest like a man walking to his own funeral. Or worse—his ex’s wedding. With a chair.
Lickthorn watched him go, hearts practically in her eyes. "He’s so brave..."
Finn grumbled, stepping closer.
The chest quivered. Its latch jiggled.
"Alright, let’s finish this..." Finn sighed.
And with the weight of the world—and regret—on his shoulders...
He prepared to flirt with a chest.
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