“Finally!… green shit!”

It took me another nine days of relentless flying and multiple self-pleasuring sessions before I finally saw it. A thin, dark line on the horizon.

The Elven Forest.

I was not impressed.

It looked like every other forest I’d ever seen. Trees. Lots of them. All green and leafy and standing there, doing tree things.

But it was far better than plain golden grass and dirt that stretched endlessly with no pussy to fuck.

Sigh… don’t let me start on the loneliness. Even Herma went silent after my fifth “special brew” session. I guess she couldn’t take my moaning and lewd fantasies anymore.

It was understandable; I mean, the last type of self-pleasuring session was something… stupid? But efficient? I called it the “Cum-shot Rain,” where I kept jerking myself as I was flying, letting my seed rain down below as a “divine blessing.”

See? I’m a nice goddess. I bless the land with my holy seed.

“About damn time,” I muttered, cracking my neck with a loud pop. “Nine days of flying and stroking myself raw. If I don’t get to bury my ‘holy spear’ in something soon, I’m gonna start humping the trees. And trust me, these elves don’t want their sacred forest defiled by a horny goddess in heat.”

I circled above the treeline, scanning for any signs of a path, a road, or even a lone elf wandering about so I could “interrogate” them. The forest was dense, a canopy of emerald so thick it blocked most of the light from reaching the forest floor below.

“Alright, Herma, are you still sulking in there?” I called out mentally, smirking as I descended toward the forest’s edge. “Or did my ‘Cum-shot Rain’ finally break your circuits? Come on, admit it, that was creative as fuck. Blessing the plains with my divine load? Pure genius.”

[Your ‘creative efforts’ have been noted, Morgana.] Herma’s dry voice finally chimed in, sounding as unimpressed as ever. [However, I recommend focusing on the task at hand. We are approaching elven territory. And they are not as forgiving as grass.]

“Tch, always the buzzkill,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes, landing silently in a clearing just inside the forest. The air here was different—cool, damp, and heavy with the scent of moss, earth, and a faint sweetness that tickled my nose. “Fine, fine. Let’s find some pointy-eared pretties to play with. Gotta get that Old World Tree essence, and I ain’t leaving without a few ‘heirs’ to remember me by.”

I took a moment to survey my surroundings. The forest was dense, ancient trees towering overhead with bark that looked like it had seen centuries of bullshit. Vines hung like natural curtains, and the undergrowth was thick with ferns and glowing little flowers that probably did magic shit or whatever.

Not my concern. My real concern was finding the elven capital—or at least a patrol to “charm” into giving me directions.

“Let’s do a few adjustments to my look,” I mused, using my transformation skill to change the shape of my ears into those of an elf, long and pointed. “Perfect. Now I look like one of them. A very, very sexy one.”

Sigh… If I had the elven form, that would have been great, but to unlock it, I need some “effort” and “help” from our dear pointy-eared friends.

My dick twitched at the thought of the “effort” it would take.

“Mmm, much better.” I reached up and flicked my new, sensitive ears. “Now I just need a green outfit and a stick up my ass, and I’ll fit right in.”

[The transformation is aesthetically convincing, Morgana,] Herma noted. [However, your ‘holy spear’ is still creating a significant anatomical anomaly that most elves would find… distracting. Or alarming.]

“Distracting is the point, Herma! I want them looking down. It makes it easier to hit them high,” I chuckled, adjusting the leather of my pants again. The friction was starting to drive me insane. “Besides, elves choose their queen based on the size of their cock. So I’m just showing them I’m a top candidate.”

I adjusted the tight leather outfit hugging my curves, making sure my massive tits were practically spilling out, and the bulge in my pants was impossible to miss. Looking like one of them was step one. Getting them to trust me—or at least get horny enough to spill their secrets—was step two. And step three? Well, that involved a lot of moaning and a sticky mess.

Fuck… just thinking about it made me so horny.

I started walking, my hips swaying in that rhythmic, predatory way that always felt natural. The forest seemed to react to my presence; the glowing flowers pulsed a bit brighter as I passed, almost as if the local mana was confused by the sheer amount of divine, horny energy radiating off me.

I double-checked the Mask of Silence just to be on the safe side. The last thing I wanted was for Uriel and the demon gods to notice my presence.

As for that third part that was invading my world—the black one—after reclaiming my memories as the High Queen of the Unspoken Realm, I realized what it was.

It was the Void.

How did that happen? No clue. But a Void rift had opened somewhere. Something… or someone had managed to punch a hole between the Void Realm and my world.

Uriel the holy pigeon is the primary suspect.

Fortunately, the Void rift was extremely small and remote, and it hadn’t attracted attention yet. I was able to sense it because I fought the Void before. I know it’s “smell.”

Anyway, that Void rift is a ticking time bomb—another reason to get stronger faster.

I pushed the thoughts of the Void and the gods aside. They were a problem for later. Right now, the only thing I cared about was finding an elven settlement—any settlement—and starting my grand seduction tour.

An hour of walking later, and I hadn’t seen so much as a squirrel. Not even a talking, quest-giving squirrel. This forest was disappointingly non-interactive.

“Boring. Boring. Boring,” I grumbled, kicking a glowing mushroom. It squeaked. “Slightly less boring,” I amended.

“Fuck, it’s quiet,” I muttered, stepping forward, my boots crunching against unseen twigs. “Too quiet. Where’s the welcoming committee? I’m a goddess, damn it. They should be rolling out the red carpet—or at least some virgins to sacrifice to my cock.”

[I must remind you, Morgana, that you are currently disguised as a potentially hostile, perverted elf with a suspiciously large bulge in her trousers. A welcoming committee would be… unusual.]

“Fuck off, Herma,” I shot back, though without any real heat.

“You’re just jealous you don’t get to appreciate this masterpiece,” I said, giving my dick a firm pat. “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to give you a physical form so I can breed the shit out of you.”

“…”

[I… I will… humbly decline your… generous offer, Morgana.] Herma stammered. It was the most emotion I’d ever heard from her, and it was fucking delicious.

“Hahaha!~ Got you!” I cackled, the sound echoing through the silent trees. “Kidding! Or am I?”

I kept walking, my footsteps muffled by the thick moss covering the forest floor. The air grew cooler, the light dimmer as the canopy overhead became even denser. I could feel the forest’s ancient mana swirling around me, a palpable presence that felt both curious and wary.

Based on Herma’s calculations, I still needed a few days to reach the capital, which was deep in the heart of the forest, but I was hoping to find a smaller settlement on the way. Maybe a village or a border outpost. Anything with elves. And hopefully, elves with loose morals.

Crack!

“!!!” I immediately stopped, my head snapping in the direction of the sound. My senses, honed by centuries of battle both in bed and on the battlefield, went on high alert. My playful mood vanished in an instant, replaced by the cold, familiar calm of a predator.

I slowly crouched, melting into the shadows of a large, ancient oak tree. My crimson eyes scanned the forest, searching for the source of the noise.

Thud! Thud!

Heavy footsteps. Multiple. And not light, graceful elven footsteps. These were heavier, more brutal, accompanied by low, guttural grunts of something that wasn’t speaking any language I recognized.

“What is that?!” I whispered to myself, my nose twitching. A foul stench—a mix of rot and burnt hair—reached me. “Ugh, smells like a goblin’s armpit after a sex marathon.”

“Herma, can you scan the area?” I asked, my mental voice now sharp and focused.

[Scanning… Life forms detected. Three hostiles. Approximately 200 meters to your northeast. They are not elves.]

“No shit, Sherlock,” I muttered, peering around the trunk of the tree. “What are they?”

Soon, my question was answered.

Three large, bulky figures emerged from the dense undergrowth. They were tall, easily over 2.5 meters, with light gray skin that looked like it was made of stone. They had no hair, two small, beady black eyes, and wide, gaping mouths filled with jagged, yellow teeth. They were wearing crude leather armor, and each one carried a massive, jagged axe.

“Ogres?” I mumbled, raising an eyebrow. “Shit!… I hate these guys!… they smell like shit.”

Ogres weren’t just strong—they were durable. And stupid. Very, very stupid. This made them unpredictable and dangerous. They could smash through a stone wall without realizing it, or they could get their own head stuck in a bucket for three days.

[Aren’t you going to breed with them?!] Herma’s dry, sarcastic tone echoed in my mind.

“Breed with them?!” I snorted. “I wouldn’t even fuck them with your dick, Herma. Let alone mine. That’s… a bridge too far, even for me. I have standards, you know.”

[What about your ultimate goal?]

“Ugh!….” I shuddered at the thought. “I… I can find another kind of ogres to breed with. Maybe the female ones, if they don’t look like a walking pile of rocks or smell like shit.”

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