Dragged to Another World… and I Took the Goddess with me!

The tension was heavy. The air was… breathing. And Finn was scared shitless.

He clung to the demon chicken's leg as it flapped through the sky, his body swinging below like a poorly made plushie in a tornado.

Finn squeezed his eyes shut, took a shaky breath, then opened them and started climbing.

Every movement was pure terror. But he pushed forward anyway.

He didn't survive this far just to give up now—not after Chestelle offering to finger his urethra, getting molested by mimic chests, emotionally wrecked by a grandma forcing him to admit his embarrassing moments, mentally derailed by his past, groped by a horny elf, and dragged around by a goddess who weighed like three sins and a side of trauma.

No. Finn was not about to let some oversized satanic poultry fly off with the damn head.

Fueled by spite and emotional damage, he started climbing faster up the piss-colored leg.

As he got higher, he began to hear bickering from above—until one very familiar, very pissed-off voice cut through the wind.

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU PENIS HORNS!"

Finn grinned. Beard Man. Still alive and still screaming profanity like a old pissed grumpy grandpa.

It filled him with determination.

He grabbed a fistful of Celemothy's tail feathers and pulled himself higher—only to be greeted by an immediate, soul-scarring horror:

The chicken's butthole.

Right there. Inches from his face. Wide, puckered, and glistening with demonic poultry tension.

Finn recoiled. Hard.

He shimmied sideways, just in time—because the cloaca opened like a cursed portal and—

BRRRTT!

Exploded in a machine-gun burst of high-velocity demon turds.

Each one launched like a bullet, whistling through the air with unnatural force. One even shot through a passing cloud, cleanly cutting it in half.

Finn gagged.

Then dry-heaved.

Then full-on vomited.

And because the universe hated him personally, the puke flew forward—caught a gust of wind—and slapped back into his own face.

Splurt.

Right in the mouth.

Finn screamed into the void, snot and bile running down his chin. "WHY IS THIS MY LIFE?!"

But there was no time to cry or die or curl into the fetal position.

Above, the squabbling continued.

Ezgar yelled. Beard Man cursed. Demons argued.

And below them all, Finn wiped the puke from his face and climbed faster.

Toward revenge.

Toward redemption.

Toward whatever dumbass stunt he was about to pull next.

"I'm supposed to take you people seriously?!" Beard Man spat, dangling upside down by his beard. "You red freaks look like period blood, and the blue ones look like someone microwaved a blue waffle. And don't even get me started on your cosplay-tier armor!"

"Shut up before I start hitting you," Ezgar growled, gripping the beard like it was a handle on a rage toy.

"Then at least have the decency to wear better armor. Or, I don't know—carry me like a dignified hostage, you crusty raisin."

Ezgar groaned and flipped him over, now holding Beard Man by the head instead. "Is this better?"

"Yes, it most certainly is. My neck was developing scoliosis."

"Good. Then maybe you can stop—"

Screams.

Ezgar's words were cut off as one of the demons was suddenly flung from the chicken's back, spiraling through the air like a cursed bowling pin.

Ezgar's eyes snapped toward the sound, trying to figure out what the hell just happened—

And then he saw him.

Finn.

Grinning. Climbing up from the back of the chicken like a gremlin from hell.

"Yo!" Finn called. "Long time no see, ya crusty tampon!"

Ezgar stared in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me…"

Around him, the demons froze—staring at Finn with a mix of rage, confusion, and mild existential dread.

"I'm so, so serious," Finn said, his grin widening. "Miss me, dicknuts?"

Ezgar's eye twitched. "Are you serious…"

Finn stood tall—arms out like he was in his final battle. "I am so, so serious!"

Ezgar clutched Beard Man tighter and raised his sword, pointing it at Finn like an angry gym teacher. "What are you idiots waiting for?! Get him off the chicken!"

Beard Man added helpfully, "Surprised to see you here, piss boy."

Finn burst into mad laughter—fully unhinged, the kind of laugh that says therapy won't work anymore. He threw his arm out like he was flinging a booger and—

Trip.

One of the demons yelped as their foot caught thin air and they were launched off the chicken, disappearing into the clouds below with a Doppler fading scream.

The other demons froze, watching their comrade vanish like a rejected Muppet. Their horror lasted exactly two seconds—before it turned into blind rage.

"GET HIM!"

They all charged at once.

But Finn just kept laughing. A man who had completely lost it, flailing his arm like a conductor of tripping doom.

Trip. Trip. Trip.

Demons screamed as they face-planted, rolled, or slipped clean off the back of Celemothy like clumsy toddlers on an oil slide.

Ezgar watched in growing horror as Finn turned the top of the chicken into a slapstick massacre. It was chaos. Pure, undiluted, divine-buffoon chaos.

And Finn was loving every second of it.

Before long, Finn had tripped the last standing demon. Now it was just him and Ezgar facing each other on the back of the massive airborne chicken.

A few demons still clung to Celemothy's feathers like soggy clothes on a laundry line, dangling helplessly and screaming into the wind.

Ezgar snarled. "You cheap bastard!" He swung his sword wildly, his ego freshly bruised. "I, Ezgar, will make you rew this day—"

Trip.

Ezgar immediately faceplanted with a squawk of frustration, his body slapping against the chicken's back like a poorly cooked pancake.

He groaned and pushed himself up, shocked he hadn't fallen off. His face was red with rage. And confusion.

[Ding!]

Finn's smile grew so wide it looked medically concerning.

[User: Finn has successfully tripped ten enemies. Power Upgrade: You can now trip larger targets.]

Finn threw his head back and laughed like a madman—one part anime villain, two parts sleep-deprived college student. Ezgar watched in horror. Beard Man just slowly nodded like yeah, he's gone.

"You could've just made me fall off!" Ezgar yelled, spittle flying. "Why didn't you?!"

Finn stopped laughing, a menacing glint in his eyes. "Because now I can do this…"

He stretched his arm out. Pulled it back slowly like he was winding up for a god-tier slap.

Ezgar's eyes widened in sheer terror.

And then—

Celemothy the giant chicken tripped. In midair.