The ceiling of the Hogwarts Great Hall reflected a mass of leaden, grey clouds.
Usually at this time, the four long tables would be a cacophony of chirping voices, cutlery clattering against plates, and the rustle of owl wings delivering the post.
But this morning, the entire Hall was so quiet you could hear the sound of pumpkin juice dripping from a spout into a cup.
Students ate with their heads down, or rather, pretended to eat.
Many plates were piled with untouched fried eggs and bacon.
Several younger girls had red-rimmed eyes, wiping their noses with their sleeves.
The professors at the High Table didn't look any better; Professor Sprout hadn't even noticed her hat was crooked.
Professor Flitwick sat atop his usual stack of thick books, one hand propping up his forehead, the other clutching today's Daily Prophet.
The front page featured a massive photograph of the smoking crater that had been Sector C.
The headline below the photo was in the largest bold font: Quidditch World Cup Suffers Terrorist Attack; Death Toll Exceeds Ten Thousand.
Jerry sat at the far end of the Slytherin table, a plate of toast and a bowl of porridge before him.
His height meant that when he sat on the bench, his chin barely cleared the tabletop.
To reach his plate properly, he had stacked three copies of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 beneath his seat.
With his left hand holding a piece of toast spread with marmalade and his right flipping through a palm-sized alchemical notebook, he ate in quiet contemplation.
"Jerry!"
A blonde head came charging from the other end of the Slytherin table.
Draco Malfoy ran until he was out of breath, his usually meticulous platinum-blonde hair disheveled, with several strands hanging over his forehead.
His school tie was skewed, and his shirt was partially untucked; he looked as if he had bolted straight from his bed to the Great Hall.
He flopped down next to Jerry, the bench rocking under his weight and nearly sending Jerry toppling off.
"Watch it," Jerry said, steadying himself and taking a bite of toast.
Malfoy didn't bother apologizing. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table and leaning into Jerry's ear.
His breathing hadn't settled yet, and he spoke in ragged gasps.
"Do you have a way to make severed limbs grow back?"
Jerry stopped chewing.
He turned his head to look at Malfoy.
His grey eyes met Malfoy's grey-blue ones at point-blank range for a second.
"Won't Skele-Gro do it?
Failing that, St. Mungo's has professional regeneration draughts. Regrowing a limb isn't exactly a rarity."
The corners of Malfoy's mouth pulled downward, an expression that looked particularly stark on his pointed face.
He pulled back slightly from Jerry's ear, sat up straight, and crossed his arms over his chest, his blonde hair partially obscuring one eyebrow.
"It's useless."
"What do you mean, 'useless'?"
"I mean exactly that. It doesn't work."
Malfoy's voice dropped to a whisper, glancing left and right to ensure no one was eavesdropping.
"Those damn terrorists... nobody knows what they used when they blew themselves up.
For some of the wounded, the severed limbs simply won't grow back.
The Healers at St. Mungo's have tried every known regeneration potion. All of them failed.
The wounds heal over, but new bone and muscle tissue simply refuse to grow."
Jerry set down his toast.
He closed his alchemical notebook and placed it beside his plate.
"Residual spiritual energy from a Nascent Soul detonation."
Jerry's speaking speed accelerated.
"A cultivator's Nascent Soul is essentially a highly condensed form of soul and spiritual power.
When it detonates, it releases more than just a physical shockwave; it releases a massive amount of residual spiritual fragments.
These fragments embed themselves into the tissue cells around the wound, jamming the cells' regeneration signals.
Ordinary magical regeneration potions only stimulate cell division, but they have no way to purge spiritual fragments embedded deep within the tissue."
Malfoy listened, looking utterly dazed, his platinum eyebrows knitting together.
"So, can it be cured?"
"Yes. But the residual fragments have to be purged from the tissue first before using a regeneration potion.
Purging them requires specialized alchemical tools. I have a prototype, but it's not mass-produced."
Jerry picked up his bowl of porridge and took a sip.
"Who's hurt?"
Malfoy's body language shifted abruptly.
His arms dropped from his chest to his knees, and his fingers began to unconsciously pluck at the fabric of his trousers.
His gaze drifted from Jerry's face to an untouched plate of bacon on the table.
His hair fell forward, shielding his expression.
"...My cousin."
Jerry's hand holding the porridge froze in mid-air.
He slowly set the bowl back onto the table.
Then, a very subtle expression crossed his face.
It was complex.
The corner of his mouth quirked about two millimeters to the side, his left eyebrow rose a millimeter higher than the right, and a light flashed in his grey eyes that said, 'I think I understand, but I'm not sure I like where this is going.'
Malfoy looked up, saw Jerry's expression, and his face instantly changed color.
"Where is your mind going?!"
"I'm not thinking of anything," Jerry said, his tone perfectly flat.
"That look says you're thinking exactly that!"
Malfoy's voice rose half an octave. A few nearby Slytherins turned to look at them curiously, forcing Malfoy to hiss under his breath.
"My relationship with her is strictly family! We grew up together!"
"Mmh," Jerry nodded, picking up the porridge again.
"What is that 'mmh' supposed to mean?"
"It means 'mmh'."
"..."
Malfoy took a deep breath and rubbed his hair forcefully, making the already messy style even worse.
Jerry took a sip of porridge, stirring the remaining oats with his spoon.
Marriage between close relatives within pure-blood families had been the norm for centuries.
The Blacks, the Malfoys, the Lestranges—the bloodlines of ancient families were intricately intertwined, and cases of cousins marrying were too many to count.
Wizards didn't fear physical deformities; magic could correct most genetic defects in the womb.
What they truly feared was something else.
Mental instability.
Voldemort's mother, Merope Gaunt, was the product of generations of inbreeding that had degraded the Gaunt bloodline to a repulsive degree.
Though Voldemort's own mental issues owed more to his environment than his genes, the Gaunt tragedy had served as a loud alarm for the pure-blood elite.
Since then, the trend of marrying close kin had notably receded.
However, looking at Malfoy's face, Jerry didn't think he was lying.
Even though this guy was only a first-year, his experience in male-female relationships was ridiculously extensive.
From what Jerry knew, he had already hooked up with at least four Asian exchange students, including a senior from a Japanese wizarding school.
With a "hunting range" that broad, he really didn't need to go after his own cousin.
"She's not just anyone," Malfoy finally calmed down, his voice returning to a normal volume.
"She's Aunt Vera's daughter. You should have met Aunt Vera."
Jerry's spoon stopped.
Vera.
The name activated a series of very specific, vivid images in his memory.
Red hair.
Not the orange-red of the Weasleys, but a more intense, deep crimson like burning lava.
That was a side effect of a Red Dragon bloodline transplant; the hair color permanently shifted to match the dragon species.
Her pupils were also red, vertical slits that emitted a faint red glow in dim light.
Her personality was just as wild as her hair.
Jerry pushed the memory back, his expression returning to normal.
"Vera? That woman with the Red Dragon bloodline, the red hair, and the look of a lunatic?"
"Yes, yes, that's her," Malfoy nodded like a woodpecker.
"She's a bit crazy, but she's always been good to me. Every family gathering when I was little, she'd bring me toys made of dragon teeth."
"Isn't she single? Where did the daughter come from?"
"Adopted," Malfoy scratched the back of his head, platinum strands slipping through his fingers.
"Aunt Vera had a very close friend who died in an accident a few years ago, leaving a daughter with no one to care for her. Aunt Vera took her in."
"What's her name?"
"Irene. Irene Delacour."
Jerry circled his spoon in the bowl.
Delacour. He recognized the surname; it was a branch of a French pure-blood family with deep ties to Beauxbatons Academy.
"How old is she?"
"Fifteen. She should be a fifth-year at Beauxbatons this year."
Malfoy's expression darkened again, his knuckles white as he gripped his trousers.
"She was at the World Cup with Aunt Vera. They were in Sector B.
During the second explosion, Aunt Vera shielded her with her own body, but Irene's left arm was still severed by a shard from the shockwave.
From below the elbow, the entire forearm is gone."
Malfoy's voice grew very soft on those last few words.
"And Vera?"
"Aunt Vera is fine. You know the physical resistance of the Red Dragon bloodline; a normal shockwave wouldn't do much to her.
But Irene is an ordinary witch with no bloodline enhancements."
Jerry finished his porridge and pushed the empty bowl aside.
He hopped down from the bench, his two feet landing with a soft thump-thump.
The top of his head was exactly level with the shoulder of the seated Malfoy.
"Where is she?"
"St. Mungo's. Aunt Vera is guarding the ward and refuses to leave."
"Take me to see her."
Malfoy's eyes lit up.
"You have a way?"
"I'll see when I get there. Purging residual spiritual fragments is no simple task.
It depends on the depth and density of the embedding.
If the fragments have spread into the tissue above the shoulder joint, it's not just a matter of regrowing a limb anymore."
Malfoy stood up, towering over Jerry. He looked down at his diminutive friend.
"Jerry."
"Mmh?"
"Thanks."
Jerry bent over and pulled the three copies of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 from under the bench, stuffing them into his bag.
"Don't thank me yet. Wait until she's cured. Let's go, before the first period starts."
The light in the corridors was dim, and the sky outside remained a mass of leaden clouds.
A few younger Hufflepuffs passed them, and seeing Malfoy and Jerry walking side-by-side, they quickly lowered their heads and hurried their pace.
"By the way," Malfoy said as they walked.
"You know Aunt Vera's temper; don't provoke her when you see her.
Last time, a trainee Healer at St. Mungo's accidentally brushed against Irene's wound, and Aunt Vera nearly breathed dragon fire in the ward to turn the poor bastard into charcoal."
Jerry's pace faltered for a moment.
Of course he knew Vera's temper.
He knew it far better than Malfoy ever would.
"Don't worry," Jerry caught up with Malfoy. "I'll be careful."
The fourth-floor corridor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was thick with the scent of disinfectant potions.
When Jerry and Malfoy stepped out from the Floo Network exit, the hallway was packed.
Wounded, families, Healers, orderlies—everyone was jogging, and every face wore the same expression.
The fourth floor was the "Spell Damage" ward, where most of the critically injured from the Quidditch World Cup bombing had been placed.
Crates of potion bottles and rolls of bandages were piled by the doors, with several trainee Healers squatting on the floor, frantically counting supplies.
Malfoy led the way, with Jerry jogging behind him.
At the very last ward at the end of the corridor stood two private guards in black robes, with the Malfoy family silver snake badge pinned to their chests.
Seeing Draco approach, the two wizards stepped aside simultaneously to clear the path.
Malfoy pushed open the door to the ward.
There was only one bed in the room.
A girl lay on it. Around fifteen years old, with pale blonde hair scattered over the pillow, her face so pale it nearly blended with the sheets.
Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow.
The covers were pulled up to her chest; beneath the quilt on the left side, the shape of the sleeve suddenly collapsed below the elbow, empty and hollow.
A woman sat in the chair beside the bed.
A mane of deep crimson hair cascaded over the back of the chair like a waterfall, the ends nearly dragging on the floor.
She wore a dark red leather tactical jacket, unzipped to the chest, revealing a vast expanse of fair skin and two full orbs squeezed into a deep cleavage by the leather.
Her lower half was clad in tight black leather pants that clung to her long, powerful legs, and she wore black boots with metal buckles.
Vera.
Her red vertical pupils snapped toward the door the moment it opened, her pupils constricting into two thin vertical lines.
The look held the specific aggression of the Red Dragon bloodline, like a disturbed mother dragon scrutinizing an intruder.
"Draco," her voice was hoarse, bearing the exhaustion of consecutive vigils. "Who have you brought?"
Malfoy stepped aside, revealing the small figure behind him who only reached his waist.
Vera's red vertical pupils landed on Jerry.
Her expression shifted.
That "mother dragon protecting its cub" aggression vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by an incredibly complex, subtle look mixing surprise, vigilance, and something she was desperately trying to hide.
Her thighs involuntarily clamped together, the leather fabric making a subtle rubbing sound between her legs.
"Rozier."
She used Jerry's surname.
"Vera." Jerry walked to the bedside, his grey eyes scanning the girl in the bed before looking at the empty left sleeve. "Let me see the wound."
Vera stood up, pulling back a corner of the quilt.
The girl's left arm had been severed three centimeters below the elbow joint.
The wound had been treated by Healers, covered in a layer of silver healing salve that obscured the flesh.
However, Jerry noticed the skin at the edges of the wound bore an abnormal dark gold hue—a color completely alien to a normal complexion.
Jerry pulled a palm-sized alchemical device from his pocket, its silver metal casing etched with microscopic runes.
He aimed the device at the wound and pressed a button on the side.
The device emitted a pale-blue scanning beam, passing over the surface of the wound three times.
A tiny crystal screen at the top of the device displayed the results.
Jerry looked at the data on the screen, his brow furrowing.
"Spiritual fragments embedded at a depth of 4.7mm, medium density.
The diffusion is limited to the residual tissue below the elbow; it hasn't spread upward."
He tucked the device back into his pocket.
"It can be cured. But the process will be painful. She needs to be awake and cooperative."
Vera's red vertical pupils stared at Jerry for two seconds.
"Are you certain?"
"Certain."
Vera leaned over, gently patting the girl's cheek.
"Irene. Wake up."
The girl's eyelids flickered several times before slowly opening.
They were pale blue eyes, the pupils somewhat dilated from the long lethargy.
She saw Vera's face, and her lips moved.
"Mama Vera..."
"Someone is here to help fix your arm. It will hurt a bit, just bear with it."
Jerry pulled a second alchemical tool from his bag.
This one was larger than the first, shaped like a thick metal pen with a thumb-sized ice-blue crystal for a tip.
He aimed the crystal tip at the stump of Irene's left arm and activated the device.
The crystal tip shot out an incredibly fine beam of ice-blue light, piercing through the layer of silver healing salve and skin, straight into the deep tissue.
"Ngh...!"
Irene's body tensed, and she bit her lower lip.
The ice-blue light began to work within her tissue.
Those dark-gold spiritual fragments embedded between the cells began to loosen, peel away, and were sucked out by the light one by one.
With every fragment extracted, Irene's stump gave a small twitch.
Vera held Irene's right hand, her red vertical pupils fixed on Jerry's every move without blinking.
Fifteen minutes later.
A small ball of dark-gold light had coalesced at the crystal tip—the collection of all the spiritual fragments extracted from Irene's tissue.
Jerry sealed the sphere into a portable alchemical container and tightened the lid.
"The fragments have been purged. Now, we can use the regeneration potion."
Draco Malfoy immediately called the healer on duty from outside the ward.
The healer brought a bottle of Skele-Gro and a bottle of high-concentration tissue regeneration potion.
Following Jerry's instructions, he mixed the two draughts and applied them to the stump of Irene's arm.
The moment the medicine contacted the tissue—now cleared of spiritual fragments—it began to take effect.
Faint "clicking" sounds echoed from beneath the skin of the stump; it was the sound of new bone growing.
White bone extended slowly from the cross-section, like a tree sprouting new branches.
After the bone came the muscle fibers; red muscle tissue wrapped around the bone's surface layer by layer.
Then came the blood vessels, nerves, subcutaneous fat, and finally, the skin.
The entire process lasted about forty minutes.
When the final layer of tender, newborn skin covered the wrist and fingers, Irene looked at her brand-new, perfectly intact left hand.
Tears surged from her pale blue eyes.
"Mama Vera... my hand... it's back..."
Vera pulled Irene into her embrace, her long red hair cascading down to cover the girl's shoulders.
Her red vertical pupils shimmered with moisture, but she did not cry; she only tightened her arms with force.
Malfoy stood at the ward door, his platinum hair obscuring half his face, a smirk on his lips.
Jerry packed away his alchemical tools and took a step back from the bed.
Vera released Irene, letting her lie back on the pillow to rest, and then she stood up to face Jerry.
Her red vertical pupils scrutinized the small boy—who only reached the level of her chest—from above.
"Follow me."
She didn't say another word, turning and walking out of the ward.
Jerry followed her.
Malfoy called out from behind, "Jerry, where are you going?"
But Jerry simply waved a hand, signaling him to stay in the ward with Irene.
Vera took large strides, her black boots making rapid tap-tap-tap sounds on the flagstone floor.
Jerry's short legs practically had to jog to keep up with her.
She crossed the corridor, turned two corners, and pushed open a door labeled "Staff Only," entering a private restroom.
Jerry followed her inside.
Vera closed the door behind her and twisted the lock with a sharp click.
The restroom was small: a sink, a mirror, and a toilet.
The lighting was a cold white, shining on Vera's deep crimson hair, making the red appear even more intense and piercing.
Vera turned around, leaning her back against the door, her red vertical pupils fixed on Jerry.
She said nothing.
She simply squatted down.
Her leather pants emitted a sharp creak as her knees bent.
Once she was down, her line of sight was finally level with Jerry's.
Red vertical pupils met grey circular pupils under the cold white light.
Vera's hand reached for Jerry's waistband.
Her fingers hooked the elastic of his sweatpants and yanked downward with force.
Zip.
The sweatpants fell to Jerry's ankles.
The thing was exposed under the cold white light.
Even in a completely flaccid state, its sheer dimensions made Vera's red pupils contract slightly.
The thick shaft hung between Jerry's legs, the outline of the head faintly visible beneath the prepuce.
Vera's right hand gripped the base of the shaft.
Her fingers were long, her nails painted with dark red polish, but even her slender fingers could not completely meet.
The thickness of the shaft exceeded the reach of a single hand; a gap of about two centimeters remained between her thumb and middle finger.
She began to stroke.
Her palm pushed forward from the base.
When she reached the head, she enveloped the entire glans with her palm, twisting and kneading it once before retreating to the base.
Every stroke carried a measured force, neither too light nor too heavy, with a steady rhythm.
The object rapidly engorged with blood in her hand.
Thirty seconds later, it was fully erect.
The thick shaft stood ramrod straight between Jerry's legs, blue veins snaking and bulging beneath the skin.
The head emerged completely from the prepuce, presenting a deep red hue, its surface shimmering with the wet sheen of pre-cum.
Vera opened her mouth.
Her lips enveloped the head.
"Mmh."
The size of the head filled her oral cavity completely.
Her cheeks bulged, and the corners of her mouth were stretched to their limit.
Saliva immediately overflowed from the corners of her lips, trailing down the shaft.
Slurp.
She began to suck.
Her tongue swirled inside her mouth, the flat of it rubbing back and forth against the underside of the glans.
The tip of her tongue poked at the indentation of the meatus.
Her head moved back and forth, pulling the head in and out of her mouth; every deep plunge forced another section of the shaft inside.
Slurp. Squelch. Slurp.
The wet sounds were amplified several times over in the cramped restroom, echoing against the tiled walls.
Vera's left hand wasn't idle either.
Her fingers gripped the section of the shaft exposed outside her mouth, stroking up and down in sync with her oral rhythm.
The mixture of pre-cum and saliva between her palm and the shaft made every stroke produce a wet squish-squish sound.
Jerry leaned his back against the edge of the sink, his small hands bracing against the counter.
His breathing grew heavy, his grey eyes half-closed as he looked down at Vera's crimson head moving rhythmically between his thighs.
Vera suddenly pulled her mouth away from the meat-root.
Pop.
A loud sound of suction breaking echoed as a thick string of saliva and pre-cum stretched between her lips and his tip, snapping and hanging from her chin.
She stood up, her leather pants creaking again.
She turned around, facing the door, and braced both hands against the wood.
Then she bent over, arching her buttocks back and aiming them directly at Jerry.
Her right hand reached behind her, pulling down the zipper of her leather pants.
Zzzzt.
The rear waistband of the black leather pants opened in a V-shape, revealing a dark red G-string underneath.
The thin strap was embedded deep between her two firm, plump butt-cheeks.
The triangular patch in front was pressed tight against her cunt, and a dark wet stain had already appeared on the fabric.
Vera used her fingers to hook the thin strap of the G-string to one side.
"Come in."
Her voice was hoarse, carrying the deep resonance unique to the Red Dragon bloodline when ignited by desire—as if something were vibrating deep in her throat.
Jerry walked up behind her.
His height made this posture exceptionally unique.
The height of Vera's bent-over, jutting buttocks was perfectly aligned with Jerry's crotch while he stood.
He didn't need to stand on his tiptoes or bend over; he only needed to step forward to enter directly.
Vera's hands clenched the door panel, her nails carving five shallow grooves into the wood.
The Red Dragon bloodline granted her physical strength and endurance far beyond a normal human, but the thickness of that thing still triggered a violent reaction in her body.
Jerry pushed his waist forward.
Squish... squish... squish...
He sank in inch by inch.
Plip. Plop.
The sound of liquid dripping onto the floor.
When Jerry's crotch finally pressed against Vera's butt-flesh, the meat-root was entirely buried within her.
Vera's waist slumped, her spine curving into an exaggerated bow, her red hair sliding from her shoulders to drape over the door.
"Move," Vera squeezed the word through her teeth.
Jerry's hands gripped Vera's waist.
His palms were laughably small compared to an adult woman's waistline; his ten fingers couldn't even cover half of her circumference.
However, his fingers dug into the exposed skin at the zipper opening, tightening with force.
Vera released her right hand from the door and reached into the inner pocket of her leather jacket.
She pulled out a small glass vial.
Inside was a dark green liquid with tiny golden particles floating on the surface.
Beastial Elixir.
The weakened version.
Vera bit the cork open and spat it onto the floor with a pop.
She brought the vial to her lips, took a small sip, and handed the remaining majority behind her.
"Drink."
Jerry's assault did not stop.
He freed one hand to take the bottle, tilted his head back, and drained the remaining dark green liquid into his mouth.
The moment the elixir hit his throat, a scalding sensation radiated from his stomach to his entire body.
Jerry's pupils transformed from circles into vertical slits within two seconds.
A faint ring of golden light flared around the edges of his grey irises.
His breathing became even heavier, and a low, animalistic growl rumbled from his chest.
And the meat-root inside her began to change.
The shaft swelled another size larger within Vera's tunnel; the already massive dimensions increased by another twenty percent.
Vera's canal was stretched to a brand-new limit, every fold of her inner walls crushed completely flat.
More terrifyingly, fine barbs began to grow along the edge of the coronal sulcus and the upper section of the shaft.
Those barbs were only two or three millimeters long, with a texture between cartilage and hard flesh, arranged in rings covering about a third of the front section.
The barbs pointed backward; they offered little resistance during insertion, but during withdrawal, every single barb scraped across the mucous membrane of the inner walls.
This produced an incredibly intense stimulation between pain and absolute ecstasy.
The effect of the weakened elixir would only last a few hours, after which the barbs would recede and the cock would return to its original size.
But during these hours...
"AAAAHHHHH!"
Vera's scream exploded in the restroom.
When Jerry pulled out with the barbs for the first time, those tiny fleshy spikes raked across every inch of her vaginal lining.
The sensation made her brain go white for half a second.
Her legs went weak, her knees nearly hitting the floor; she only stayed upright by bracing her hands desperately against the door.
Golden light flashed in Jerry's vertical pupils.
The primal instincts triggered by the Beastial Elixir made his movements more brutal and unreasonable.
His hands pinched Vera's waist, his fingertips sinking into her skin and leaving deep marks, his hips swinging back and forth with a near-crazed frequency.
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK...
With every plunge, the swollen meat-root pushed Vera's tunnel to its physical limit.
With every pull, the barbs raked the internal membranes, dragging out massive amounts of fluid and screams that grew higher with every strike.
"Enough... enough... it's going to break..."
Vera's voice had completely changed pitch—hoarse, shattered, and tearful.
The super-endurance granted by her dragon bloodline began to show cracks before the elixir-boosted Jerry.
Jerry did not stop.
Under the control of the elixir, his rational thought was shoved into a corner; the pure predator instinct took dominance.
His vertical pupils stared at Vera's arched back and thrashing red hair.
A low roar escaped his throat as the frequency of his thrusts increased rather than slowed.
SMACK-SMACK-SMACK-SMACK-SMACK—
Vera's legs finally gave out.
Her knees buckled, and she slid down the door, kneeling on the tiled floor.
Jerry adjusted his posture with her movement, his hands moving from her waist to her buttocks.
He gripped the two firm cheeks encased in leather and continued to pound her from behind.
The kneeling posture changed the angle of entry; the barbs on his tip began to scrape the most sensitive area of her upper vaginal wall.
Jerry's growls grew even lower.
He delivered a few final, violent thrusts, then pressed his entire body against Vera's back, burying his meat-root into her absolute depths.
Ssssshh!
Scalding bodily fluids erupted from the meatus, flooding Vera's core.
The barbs swelled slightly during the ejaculation, locking his tip firmly deep within her canal, ensuring every drop was injected into her.
"Ah!"
Vera's body convulsed again as the fluids flooded in.
A second wave of orgasm crashed in immediately after the first, and her consciousness turned hazy in that moment.
The two remained in this posture, kneeling on the tiled floor of the restroom, gasping for breath.
After about a minute, the barbs began to slowly retract.
Jerry's meat-root slid slowly out of Vera's body, dragging out a massive amount of mixed fluids.
Vera lay prone on the floor, her red hair sprawled across the tiles, her breathing rapid and disordered.
Vera propped her upper body up from the floor.
Her red hair was wet and plastered to her cheeks and neck.
The zipper of her leather jacket had completely burst during the violent exertion; two heavy white orbs were fully exposed through the gap in the leather.
Her nipples were erect, presenting a deep engorged pink.
Her leather pants were still hanging at her thighs, her G-string skewed to the side.
Her privates and inner thighs were smeared with the mixed fluids, reflecting the lewd shimmer of moisture under the cold white light.
She turned around to face Jerry.
The red vertical pupils hadn't fully refocused in the afterglow of her climax; a ring of dark red light glowed around the edges of her pupils.
This was the outward manifestation of the Red Dragon bloodline in a state of extreme excitement; the dragon magic was boiling in her veins.
She reached out her right hand and grabbed Jerry's left wrist.
Jerry's vertical pupils watched her actions.
The residual effects of the elixir made his reactions half a beat slower than usual, the golden light still slowly receding from the edges of his grey irises.
Vera flipped Jerry's left hand over, palm up.
She lowered her head and opened her mouth, taking the inner side of Jerry's wrist into her mouth.
"Mmh."
Jerry felt Vera's tongue press against the thin, tender skin on the inside of his wrist.
The flat of her tongue was scalding, her temperature far exceeding that of a normal human—the heat of the dragon blood burning within.
Her tongue-tip moved slowly across his wrist, as if drawing something.
Every stroke carried a stinging, burning sensation.
Sizzle.
An incredibly faint sound, like a hot iron touching skin.
Jerry looked down.
Vera's tongue-tip was leaving a design on the inside of his wrist.
The pattern was dark red, like a tattoo, but not one made with ink seeping into the skin.
Instead, it pulsed from within, as if the blood vessels themselves had rearranged beneath the surface to form the image.
A dragon.
A coiled Red Dragon with its wings spread.
The dragon's body curled into a circle, its tail biting its front claw.
The wings were spread to either side, the patterns on the wing membranes clearly visible.
The dragon's eyes were two microscopic red dots, exceptionally striking amidst the dark red design.
The Crimson Dragon Sigil.
Vera's mouth pulled away from Jerry's wrist, a string of saliva stretching between her lips and his skin before snapping and clinging to her chin.
"What is this?"
Jerry looked at the dark red dragon pattern on his wrist.
The elixir's effects were fading rapidly; his grey vertical pupils had begun to return to circles, and rational thought resumed dominance.
"The Crimson Dragon Sigil," Vera's voice was hoarse to the extreme, every word sounding as if ground from sandpaper.
"The things in my bloodline can only be given to one person."
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly what I said."
Vera wiped the residual saliva from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, her red pupils staring straight at Jerry.
"The mark of the Red Dragon bloodline can only be given once in a lifetime. Once given, it cannot be taken back."
Jerry's grey eyes stared at the pattern on his wrist for three seconds.
The tiny dark red dragon felt slightly warm beneath his skin, as if a small cluster of fire were burning under the surface.
"What is its use?"
"When you suffer a fatal wound, the Sigil will activate automatically, releasing the regenerative power of the Red Dragon bloodline. It's equivalent to an extra life."
Vera pulled the zipper of her leather jacket back up, stuffing the two orbs back into the restraint of the leather.
"It can only be used once. Once used, it's gone."
Jerry's fingers traced the surface of the mark.
The texture was indistinguishable from the surrounding skin, but his fingertips could feel a weak flow of heat circulating through the lines of the design.
"You gave it away just like that?"
"Just like that?"
Vera stood up, zipping her leather pants back up and adjusting her G-string to its proper position.
"I've been preparing for three years. I've been cultivating this mark since the day I transplanted the bloodline. Three years of dragon blood essence concentrated into this tiny pattern."
She bent over, picking up the empty elixir vial and tucking it back into the inner pocket of her jacket.
"You saved Irene's arm."
Her red vertical pupils looked at Jerry.
Her crazed aura had receded significantly, revealing something more grounded underneath.
"Irene is the most important person to me in this world. You saved her; I give you my most important thing. A fair trade."
Jerry pulled his sleeve down, covering the mark on his wrist.
Vera walked to the sink and turned on the faucet.
Cold water rushed out; she held both hands under the stream, washing away the residual fluids and sweat until they swirled down the drain.
She cupped some water and splashed it onto her face.
A few strands of her long red hair were soaked, clinging to her cheekbones.
Jerry walked to the sink as well.
He needed to stand on his tiptoes to reach the faucet.
Vera saw this and reached out to tilt the spout downward for him.
Jerry washed his hands and straightened his rumpled sweatpants.
The barbs on his meat-root had already begun to recede, the tiny fleshy spikes slowly sinking back into the skin of the shaft.
In another two or three hours, it would return completely to its normal state.
Vera watched Jerry adjust his clothes through the mirror above the sink.
The image in the mirror held a strange contrast: a tall, red-headed woman in a dark red leather jacket and a small boy in a grey hoodie, standing side-by-side.
The height difference was so great they looked like creatures of two entirely different species.
"How did the barbs feel?" Vera asked.
"Milder than last time. That dose was too strong; the barbs grew to five millimeters. It hurt for a whole day when they retracted."
"That's why I gave you the weakened version this time."
Vera wrung out her wet red hair, droplets falling into the sink.
"They'll be gone in three hours, with no side effects."
She looked at Jerry through the mirror, her red pupils holding the languor of satisfaction.
"When are you coming to see Irene next?"
"Tomorrow. I need to do a second scan for spiritual fragments to ensure nothing remains."
"Then I'll be waiting for you."
Vera unlocked the restroom door with a click.
She opened the door, and the smell of disinfectant potions rushed back in.
She paused before stepping through the threshold, turning her head.
Her red hair slid from her shoulder to hang over her chest.
Her red pupils looked over her shoulder at Jerry, who was still standing by the sink.
"Jerry."
"Mmh?"
"When the mark burns, it means I'm thinking of you."
She walked out, her black boots making tap-tap-tap sounds on the flagstones as she moved away.
Jerry stood in the restroom.
The Crimson Dragon Sigil on his left wrist, covered by his sleeve, was beginning to burn slightly.