Dragged to Another World… and I Took the Goddess with me!-Chapter 67: A True Fool

Finn slowly began to stir.

No sunlight greeted him. No sleepy girls. No warm blankets brushing against his cheek.

Just... darkness.

’The hell?’

His thoughts flickered in confusion. Had he died again? Did Majestria smother him with divine ego in his sleep?

He tried to move—but there was resistance. A soft, plush pressure enveloped his head. Something was squishing his face.

And it was... oddly hard to breathe.

Panic bubbled up, but he forced himself to stay calm.

’Okay, okay—remember what Grandma said. Don’t panic in enclosed spaces. That’s how you die faster. And I’ve already got one punch card left on death.’

He slowed his breathing, keeping his oxygen use to a minimum. Wherever he was, it wasn’t a coffin.

His back felt comfy, like he was still in bed. He reached behind, hand brushing against something cool and smooth—scales. Then hair. Then more scales.

’That’s Chestelle,’ Finn realized with a sigh of relief. ’I’m still in the room. Thank God.’

But that still didn’t explain what the hell was pressing down on his head like a weighted marshmallow of doom.

He sniffed. Instinctively.

And immediately regretted it.

Because what hit his nose was divine.

A thick, buttery sweetness—hot caramel drizzled on sin. Warm, soft vanilla—not the artificial kind, but that temple incense, slow-burning, sensual vanilla. And underneath it all, something yeasty, comforting, almost sacred...

Like freshly baked bread in a cathedral run by pastry nuns.

Finn’s brain short-circuited.

’This is the greatest thing I’ve ever smelled in my entire nineteen years of failure and puberty.’

He took another breath.

Then another.

And another.

He was drowning in smell. High on it. Enchanted.

Lost in the sauce.

Deep in the sauce.

But then, sanity returned—just barely.

’Wait... what is this thing on my face?’

He blinked inside the darkness, trying to feel it out. The warmth. The shape. The weight.

And then a horrifying, glorious realization began to set in.

No...

No way.

No goddamn way.

He was going to need answers. Immediately.

to be sure—painfully sure—Finn needed to confirm what was smothering his soul.

He slowly raised his hands.

Carefully, reverently, like an archaeologist brushing dust off a cursed relic.

His fingers landed on it.

Soft. Smooth. Impossibly plush.

Curves.

Elegant, sinful curves.

’My goddess...’ he thought in awe, brain short-circuiting.

He slid his hands down the sides—flesh so divine it probably had a hymn written about it somewhere.

Then—

Squish. Squish.

Finn froze.

There was no mistaking it now.

Majestria’s ass was planted directly on his face like a celestial throne crushing the last neuron in his brain.

His thoughts evaporated. His pride died. And his hands?

His hands decided to live out their final moments like champions.

He squeezed.

He caressed.

He rubbed like a man possessed. A man who had already accepted damnation. Like he had dignity to spare—which he didn’t.

’Why is she even sitting on me?!’ he thought, somewhere deep in the few remaining corners of his sanity.

’Was this some divine power move? Some "I sit on your face to remind you who’s in charge" type bullshit?’

Whatever her reasoning, Finn no longer cared. Because his hands were busy kneading divinity.

Majestria shifted in her sleep. A rustle. A wiggle.

Then—a sleepy whimper.

And then—realization.

Her eyes shot open. She looked down, blinking at the indecent situation below.

Her legs were parted, one on each side of Finn’s head, and her entire ass was parked on his face like some unholy beanbag chair.

"W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" she screamed, full panic.

Finn gave no reply.

Just heavy, reverent breathing straight into her ass, which sent a shiver down her spine.

She jolted up, scrambling off of him like she’d just sat on a landmine.

The bed rustled violently, bothering Chestelle, who was still half-asleep and mumbling something about marshmallows.

Majestria stared at Finn, horrified. "You degenerate human filth!"

And then she began stomping his face with her divine, clean, goddess-tier feet like she was trying to erase him from existence.

And Finn?

Finn moaned.

He whimpered. He giggled like a hentai goblin.

The man was in full-blown climaxed lunatic mode—high off feet and divinity.

Majestria froze, disgusted. "Oh HELL no."

The stomping wasn’t working. If anything, it was making him worse.

So she pulled back her fist—glowing with divine wrath—ready to smite this horny cockroach off the face of the earth.

Finn instantly raised both hands in surrender like a guy being arrested on Live PD.

"WAIT! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!! Don’t send me to another world again, PLEASE!!"

She narrowed her eyes.

"...Get. Off. The. Bed."

He didn’t even hesitate. He scrambled off like a whipped dog, flopping onto the floor.

Majestria climbed into the bed, reclaiming the warm spot with smug satisfaction, still glaring down at him.

Chestelle blinked awake, clearly shaken. She crawled to the edge, looking down at Finn with worried eyes, ready to panic.

Meanwhile, Lickthorn—head dangling off the desk like a corpse—opened her eyes, drool dripping onto the floor. When she saw the chaos, she lit up like a child on Christmas morning. Her tail wagged. Her back arched.

She was ready to play.

And just like that, the room was spiraling into total chaos—all because of one single grope and a squeeze.

Majestria’s face was red with rage.

Chestelle was fully awake now, hugging a pillow like it was her emotional support hamster.

Lickthorn had stopped wiggling mid-air, confused and visibly disappointed. Visibly disappointed in what Finn would probably do next.

Finn.

Finn stood up.

Slowly.

Like a man possessed by a sudden, unearned sense of purpose.

Something inside him... snapped.

His goofy, perverted expression vanished.

His posture straightened.

His eyes sharpened with fake wisdom.

"Get. Back. Down." Majestria’s voice was sharp and laced with divine fury.

But Finn ignored her.

He walked toward the coat hanger in dead silence. Grabbed the Cool Wizard Hat. And flipped it onto his head with the dramatic flair of a low-budget cowboy in a student film.

Even Lickthorn’s excitement started to fade, blinking at him like, "What the hell is happening?"

Majestria crossed her arms. "Where do you think you’re going?"

Finn tugged the rim of his wizard hat down slightly, casting a shadow over his eyes like he was about to deliver a one-liner that would haunt the ages.

He spoke with the gravitas of a man who’d seen one too many spaghetti westerns.

"A true Fool," he said, voice dripping with fake depth, "doesn’t waste his time with the tragic nonsense of bitter women."

Majestria blinked. "You what?"

"I walk... my own path now."

Chestelle gasped. Lickthorn whispered, "Whoa..." and licked the table.

Finn turned his back on them, stepping toward the door like some kind of mythic moron with a dream.

Majestria clenched her fists, fuming. "Get your idiot ass back here right now."

But Finn didn’t even flinch.

He kept walking like he was in a slow-motion ending of a Jetflixers show that got canceled after one season.

Majestria’s eye twitched.

"Oh hell no."

She launched herself at him.

Once again.