Majestria turned to Arsenio, who smiled at her—a smile that, to her, looked uncomfortably evil.
She huffed. "This trial will be easy. You'll watch me glide through it." She ground her heel into Finn's chest with a smug twist. "Unlike this loser. I actually have the spine to face my fears."
Arsenio chuckled. "I like your confidence. Let's see if it survives the first sixty seconds."
Majestria removed her foot from Finn and strutted toward the center of the room. "Let's go already. I don't have all century."
The elf girl immediately knelt beside Finn, her choker pulsing faintly with concern. "Are you okay…?"
Finn gave a pervy grin. "Hehe… yeah." He groaned as he pushed himself up. "Worth it."
"Hurry it up!" Majestria barked from across the room, arms folded. "I'm not dying of old age in here!"
"Okay, okay…" Finn grumbled, grabbing the box as he followed Arsenio and the elf onto the floating balcony.
The three of them now stood above, looking down at Majestria—alone, proud, and clearly enjoying the attention.
"Come on already!" she shouted. "Close the wall and start the trial! I've got better things to do—like win."
Arsenio gave a polite nod. "Very well. Best of luck."
"Good luck," Finn added with a smug grin.
"I believe in you," the elf said sweetly.
"Yeah, yeah. Just do it already."
The stone wall began to rumble, slowly sealing shut with a click, cutting off the light—and the rest of the world—from Majestria. She was now alone.
She yawned dramatically, daintily covering her soft honey-colored lips. "This is already boring."
Suddenly, the room began to glow—blindingly bright.
"Ugh! What now?" She hissed, shielding her eyes.
Then the light faded.
And the trial… had officially begun.
SNAP!
The world blinked, and suddenly Majestria stood backstage.
She looked around, confused and mildly offended.
Around her were tall, perfect-bodied people in tight, trendy clothes. Hair braided, glossy lips pursed, practicing their poses like they were about to seduce a camera or cry on TikTok. The floor was slick grey, the air thick with perfume and ego, and from beyond the curtain ahead came waves of screaming fans.
She was at a fashion show.
Majestria narrowed her eyes. "What the hell is this? A peasant mating ritual?"
"Face forward," a girl behind her snapped. "No one wants to stare at your back fat forever."
Majestria almost turned and sent her flying into the sun, but instead gritted her teeth and stepped forward. She wanted to know what this "trial" was.
A voice boomed from the comms:
"Next up—Lily Marrou!"
A new round of screaming. Cameras flashing. Heels clicking. Majestria's expression twisted.
"Ugh. She looks like a human Q-tip in a wedding dress," she muttered.
Finally, the line moved. One model came strutting back from the stage, head high, silver hair flowing—she glanced at Majestria and visibly gagged.
The girls behind her gave her the same look people reserve for moldy leftovers.
Majestria snarled under her breath. "Jealous skanks. Can't handle my divine aura."
"And now… Majestria!"
She smiled and stepped out onto the runway like a goddess returning to Earth. Hips swaying. Legs gliding. Every step a power move.
The audience?
Silent.
Not a cheer. Not a clap. Just the sound of judgment.
The spotlight followed her as she reached the end of the runway. She struck a dramatic pose, running her hand slowly up her thigh and body before letting it fall—posing like a seductive empress in a shampoo commercial.
She turned, walking back with confidence.
That's when it came.
"Stop," said a voice.
She turned. One of the judges—a smug man in a black suit, flanked by two stone-faced girls—leaned forward.
"Come back."
Majestria raised a brow, sauntering over. "You're about to worship me, aren't you?"
The man stared. "No… you look ratchet. And your personality gives me the ick."
The girls nodded in perfect harmony.
"She's like… not even that hot."
"Feels like she smells like entitlement."
Majestria blinked. "Ex—cuse me?"
Then the crowd erupted.
"Overrated!"
"Her boobs are fake!"
"She walks like she's holding in a shit!"
Backstage voices piled in too.
"She's probably one of those girls who fakes allergies for attention!"
Majestria's hands flew to her chest. "THEY'RE REAL!!" she screamed, squeezing her own boobs like she was defending them in court.
Her breath came fast. Eyes wide. Brows twitching.
And then—
BAM!
The judge dropped like a sack of flour.
Screams. Chaos.
Majestria punched the two girls beside him, sending them flying like ragdolls. The audience panicked.
"NO ONE LIES ABOUT MY BEAUTY!!!"
She leapt off the stage and started swinging like it was a Mortals Combat bonus level. Models tripped over stilettos. Someone screamed. Someone peed. It was fashion week meets No Russian.
Majestria chased down every insult with righteous fury.
And just as she wound up for another punch—
SNAP!
Everything disappeared.
She stood alone in the darkness. Chest heaving. Hair wild. Knuckles red.
Her trial was over.
"Where did those little shits go?!" Majestria barked, spinning in the dark like she was ready to suplex someone in bare feet.
The wall opened with a hiss. Finn, Lickthorn, and Arsenio stood on the other side, bathed in light, all staring at her like she was a high-school reject that had just stormed out of prom.
The elf looked horrified. Arsenio shook his head like a disappointed guidance counselor. Finn?
Finn giggled. "You started attacking everyone."
"You failed the trial, unfortunately," Arsenio said, sounding like he'd emotionally checked out halfway through that sentence.
"What?! Those assholes mocked me!" Majestria snapped. "I was gracious! Radiant! And they said my boobs were fake!"
She stormed toward Finn. His face went pale.
"F-Finn!"
"Y-Yes?" he blinked, heart pounding.
"Touch my boob."
Finn froze like someone just offered him free lifetime Wi-Fi and a harem of elf girls. "A—Absolutely."
He reached forward. A holy softness greeted his palm. He might've heard an angelic choir.
SMACK!
Majestria slapped him across the face with divine fury. "You touched them for too long."
Finn clutched his cheek. "Ow! That hurt!"
She leaned in, eyes burning. "Are. They. Real?"
"Yes! Yes, they're very real!" Finn said quickly, rubbing his face.
"Good. Now praise me."
Without hesitation, Finn launched into a stream of exaggerated compliments. "You're gorgeous. Stunning. A divine masterpiece sculpted by fate itself—"
Majestria purred like a smug cat being brushed by adoration. "Mmm, yes, more."
The elf stared in jealous silence, clutching her choker, watching as Finn continued to shower Majestria with praise like a simping sprinkler. Arsenio looked physically ill.
"I… I'll let you pass the trial," he sighed, "purely out of—"
"I knew you'd come to your senses," Majestria interrupted, already turning back to Finn with a smug grin. "Tell me about my hips again."
Arsenio stared into the abyss and muttered, "This world is cursed."
He turned toward the elf. "Your turn. And what did you say your name was again?"
"Lickthor—"
"Cool, anyway. Let's get this over with." He brushed past her, clearly choosing violence by ignoring her name entirely.
Majestria followed, basking in Finn's nonstop worship. Finn followed right behind, still praising every curve like it was a rare artifact.
The elf blinked in confusion, standing alone.
Then—click. The wall shut behind them.
Darkness returned. Her trial had begun.