CHAPTER 46: CLOCK MAGIC, CURSED YOGA, AND THE RISE OF HORNY MONKS

Ezgar stood at the shattered doorway, hunched over and seething, one clawed hand on his spine like a three-hundred-year-old chiropractor just told him "it’s arthritis again."

But then—

The silhouette behind him grew.

Ezgar’s eyes widened.

Finn’s mind completely flatlined.

Because flying above, wings flapping with divine majesty, was...

a pig.

Not a monster pig. Not a demon pig.

A normal-ass farm pig—except with pure white, feathery angel wings.

It glowed softly, radiating holiness like a bacon-scented angel.

"Oh my spells... it’s a Porkthriel!" one of the wizards cried, dropping to his knees.

’WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!’ Finn screamed internally, eyes darting between everyone like they were all in on a joke he’d never get.

The pig latched onto Ezgar with shocking force.

"Get off me, you disgusting sky-rat!" Ezgar shrieked, flailing as the pig hurled him into the air like a squealing sack of demonic laundry. "HELP! SOMEONE—AAAGHHHHHH—"

And just like that, he was gone.

Carried off into the heavens by a damn flying pig.

Finn stared into the sky, his face twitching. This world had broken him.

"I’m in a coma," he muttered.

"This is a fever dream. I’m in a hospital. That explains everything." He began laughing. Slowly. Then louder. A dead, defeated laugh. The kind that said: Reality? Never heard of her.

Tap. Tap.

A hand touched his shoulder. Finn turned.

Of course.

Arsenio.

Still calm. Still unfazed. Still looking like this was all a normal thing.

"Ah," Arsenio nodded, "you’ve never seen one before. They’re quite rare. Porkthriels only appear when someone is consumed by anger. But even then they don’t always appear."

Finn blinked slowly. "...Right."

Arsenio smiled warmly, like a professor dropping pure madness into a lesson.

"Legend says a great wizard, known as Wizbert the Desperate, was once denied sex by his wife. She told him, ’not until pigs fly.’" Arsenio motioned to the clouds. "So he made them fly."

Finn stood there, slack-jawed.

"What the fuuuuck..." he whispered, as the last bit of his sanity packed its bags and left the building.

And yet—

Something inside him respected it.

He clenched his fist, looked up at the sky with misty eyes. ’I respect the grind, bro.’

A tear slipped down his cheek.

"Soon," Finn whispered. "Soon I’ll clap her too."

A radiant smile bloomed across his face like God had just revealed itself to him. He would win Seraphina. Or at least a busty elf girl with soft thighs, big boobs, and good standards.

Sure, there was already an elf girl clearly into him...

But:

One—she was flatter than a cursed cutting board.

Two—she was mentally unhinged.

Three—she probably spread her legs for compliments. Or wind. Or him. Definitely him.

And Finn wasn’t desperate.

...Yet.

That’s what Finn told himself.

At least... he hoped that’s what he believed.

Because when comparing Seraphina to Majestria—Seraphina actually seemed like a goddess. Beautiful. Pure. Glowy in all the right places.

Unlike Majestria, who gave off more of a "sarcastic OnlyGods mod turned divine" vibe.

Sure, Seraphina was clearly head-over-heels for Ardin. Bastard.

But that was fine. Finn could wait.

Like a very horny monk with patience.

At least they didn’t have to worry about Ezgar anymore. Poor bastard was probably either dead... or being molested by a pig. Last scenario was the worse fate.

"Poor soul," one wizard muttered solemnly. "He should’ve just died. Now he’s gonna be molested by the pig..."

Finn teared up. "Never mind. May God have mercy on your soul..." he sniffled.

"Well then," Arsenio clapped his hands, breaking the mood like a substitute teacher with a bell. "Let’s go deliver that head, yeah? You must be exhausted."

"Y-Yeah..." Finn muttered.

Sure, he was tired. That was easy. Sleep fixed that. But what he saw?

What he heard?

That was brain-deep trauma.

First the giant flaming chicken.

Now a flying pig.

What was next?

A flying uterus?

Just thinking it made his spine itch.

"Arsenio!" one wizard called. "Please! Ezan’s completely messed up!"

He pointed.

Finn looked over.

My God.

He was messed up.

Ezan’s body looked like a cursed yoga pose. His head was somehow under his crotch, back bent like a bridge from hell. It was like if gymnastics were a sin against God.

And yet... the man was alive.

Barely.

Arsenio stepped forward calmly, eyes soft. He stood over Ezan and raised his staff.

Finn narrowed his eyes. Finally. Let’s see what Grandpa Staff is really packing.

Arsenio twirled the staff around Ezan.

A golden outline traced in the air, following its motion.

His lips parted. He spoke with reverence:

"O sacred Clock, turn thy hand and mend this meat sack. Let time weep and walk backwards."

And then—

A golden projection of a clock appeared beneath Ezan. Its second hand twitched, then began spinning backward with a faint whirr. The minute hand followed, ticking slowly in reverse. A soft tick-tick-tick echoed in the air. As the hands rewound time itself, Ezan’s body began to rewind—bones popping, spine un-snapping, everything reverting to normal.

The man groaned in relief as his legs and head returned to their original locations.

Finn stood dumbfounded.

And then the glow faded. The clock vanished. Like it had never even been there.

The other wizards burst into cheers, praising Arsenio like a magical chiropractor god.

Finn, however... was seething.

Where the hell was that back in the mimic room?! Or in the library where they stood now when the giant chicken had attacked everyone?!

The man had these spell the whole time?!

And never thought once of using them to help out?

Finn gritted his teeth so hard it echoed in his skull.

"Do you think he can use that on a dick?" A whisper hit his ear.

It was Lickthorn.

Of course it was.

"...for a 100th round?" She asked like a curious perverted scholar.

Finn didn’t even flinch. "I don’t know. Do you think it can reverse whatever brain damage you’ve got rattling in your skull?"

Lickthorn whimpered.

Finn turned to look—Only to see her rubbing her thighs together, eyes glassy with lust.

"Would you talk to me like that in bed...?" she breathed.

Finn just stood there. Empty.

His soul? Gone.

His mind? Broken.

He wanted to scream.

But his brain just said:

Nope. That’s enough today.

But then... one of the wizards called to him — with a gift.

Offering a gift that would change everything.