He Who Struts, Unlocks

Henry remained in his heroic squat.

The floor beneath him groaned like a forbidden scroll being opened in slow motion. It wasn't pain—it was anticipation. The marble cheeks beneath his feet jiggled slightly, as if encouraging him to go deeper. His towel fluttered in dramatic slo-mo, held up only by divine plot armor and unspoken anime physics.

"Hold strong, Henry," Vebrissima whispered. "Your thighs speak the language of legends."

"Speak louder," Climaxa whispered beside her, sketching him with sparkles in her eyes. "I'm trying to subtitle it in my journal."

Mistress Humida raised a hand. Instantly, the room darkened.

Spotlights of soft, misty light emerged from the steamy heavens above. They circled Henry like he was a main character in a downbad stage play about to enter his final form.

A soft sensual voice echoed from nowhere, followed by the pluck of a harp made entirely of wet noodles:

> "Let the Trials… of Moisture… begin."