Jerry stumbled out of Apparition cradling Yin Luo, his boots hitting the gravel outside the perimeter of the wizarding encampment.
The woman in his arms was burning scalding hot. The edges of the pale, ghastly sword wound on Yin Luo's right shoulder were turning black; the sword-intent of the Qingming Realm was creeping steadily through the gash toward her heart, while the tips of her purple hair had lost all luster, as dry and withered as scorched grass.
One of Jerry's hands remained pressed firmly above her right breast, continuously channeling magic to suppress the sword-intent; unable to pause for the better part of a day, his magical reserves were severely depleted, and both his legs were trembling with fatigue.
Three flashes of light ignited along the camp's outer perimeter.
Three Stunning Spells lanced from different angles, their violet beams arcing sharply through the darkness.
Jerry twisted his body to dodge two, while the third grazed past his left shoulder, singeing the hem of his grey robe.
He raised his right hand, pointing his wand straight toward the sky to discharge a Hogwarts recognition spell.
A golden lion crest burst from the wand tip—the distinctive identifying sigil of those serving under Professor McGonagall.
"Friendly," his voice was hoarse.
Three patrol wizards stepped out from behind the thickets, wands still leveled, expressions rife with suspicion. The short wizard leading them scanned him up and down.
"Password."
"Bloody Mary."
The short wizard lowered his wand. The other two followed suit.
A witch leaped down from the watchtower.
When she landed, her stocking-clad calves struck the gravel with a sharp, crisp clack, her stiletto heels planting into the stones without wobbling in the slightest. She wore dark green frontline combat robes with two wands strapped to her hip, her tunic buttoned only to mid-chest, revealing her collarbones and the red dragon scale pendant resting against her skin.
Black stockings extended from beneath her hem down to her ankles, sculpting the sleek contours of her thighs and calves.
Vera glanced at Yin Luo in Jerry's arms, then looked up at Jerry. Holstering her wand at her waist, she crossed her arms, a smirk curling at the corner of her lips.
"Well, well, is our esteemed Mr. Jerry finally willing to return?" Her voice was crisp and icy, like crushed ice. "I thought you were living the high life in the cultivation realm and had no intention of coming back. What happened, did someone hack you to pieces and chase you home? Who's that in your arms? A new lover?"
"Save her first."
Jerry ignored her mockery. "I'm containing it with magic; the sword-intent hasn't anchored into her heart vessels yet, but in another hour, all bets are off. You should be able to freeze foreign energy with your Dragon-Blood arts."
Vera's gaze lingered on the wound across Yin Luo's right shoulder for a moment.
Half the mockery faded from her face.
She reached out, pressing a hand against Yin Luo's collarbone.
"What on earth is this? It doesn't look like a curse wound from our side, nor a hex. It's a conscious residual construct made of pure energy." Vera's brow furrowed. "It's moving on its own."
"Which is why I brought her to you."
"Weren't you supposed to be all-powerful? You fooled around over there for so long, why didn't you treat her yourself?"
Jerry's magical output into Yin Luo's wound hitched; his arms were trembling.
Vera shoved his hand aside from Yin Luo's chest and pressed her own right palm over the wound, red dragon blood-essence replacing Jerry's magic to envelop the invading sword-intent anew.
"Go sit in the tent," Vera gestured with her chin toward the medical tent deep in the encampment. "I'll carry her over. I can keep her stable for a day."
She lifted Yin Luo from Jerry's arms. Carrying the weight of an adult woman was trivial to her; the raw physical strength of her dragon bloodline vastly eclipsed that of ordinary wizards. She turned and strode toward the medical tent, her heels clicking across the gravel as her stockings caught faint gleams in the dark.
Jerry didn't head to the medical tent. He walked toward the command pavilion.
When he pulled back the flap of the command tent, the oil lanterns inside were glowing. Professor McGonagall stood before the strategic combat map, clutching a blood-stained rag as she cleaned a laceration on her forearm. The enemy ambushes had stretched the front lines thin, forcing her to stand vigil for days on end. Her tactical combat jacket was draped over the back of a chair; she wore only a black athletic tank top underneath, her bared arms crisscrossed with fresh cuts layered over old battle scars.
Her hair was pinned loosely behind her head with a hairpin, stray strands falling around her cheeks. The contours of her heavy breasts were pulled taut against the black tank top, the muscles of her back and waist coiled and lean, instantly marking her as a veteran forged through endless warfare.
Hearing the tent flap part, McGonagall turned around.
Then she slammed the rag down onto the desk.
"Jerry."
Her heavy, furious strides sounded like beats upon a war drum.
Before Jerry could utter half a syllable, her blood-streaked hand seized his collar in an iron grip, twisting the fabric of his grey robe and inner tunic into a tight knot.
Then her arm hoisted upward.
Jerry was lifted clean off his feet.
His back slammed into the tent's main support pole with a dull thud, shaking loose dust from the canvas above. His feet dangled, unable to reach the floor even on tiptoes. McGonagall shoved her face directly into his.
The muscles in her arm strained, veins bulging beneath her skin, pinning the teenage boy against the wooden pillar with one hand without budging a millimeter.
"You think you're quite something, don't you?" Her voice wasn't loud, but every word burned with fury. "Strutting into the cultivation realm alone without sending back a single damn letter of safety. Do you have any idea how many people died on the front lines because of you?!"
"I..."
"Shut up. I haven't finished asking." McGonagall tightened her grip on his collar, shoving his spine harder against the pole. "Mad-Eye Moody ran. After dueling me in Diagon Alley, he escaped using a Portkey. Before running, he revealed something to me. I was so frantic over here I nearly led a strike team to blast open a planar rift just to drag you back... and look at you, waltzing back as if nothing happened! Bringing back an unidentified woman, no less!"
"She saved my life. She's critically wounded."
"You dare preach about being saved?!" McGonagall's free left hand slammed a heavy fist into his chest with a dull thud. "If you had sent a signal earlier, I could have dispatched an entire squad to extract you! But no, you insisted on shouldering it alone, playing the lone hero among a horde of cultivators! Do you even know who you're at war with?! They could squash you like a bug with a single finger... You only lived this long on dumb luck!"
Finishing her tirade, her hand jerked downward.
The collar of his grey robe ripped open with a loud tear.
The fabric tore from Jerry's collarbone straight down to his chest, exposing his lean, defined torso beneath.
His skin was remarkably pale from weeks of subterranean confinement, his chest and abdominal muscles lean yet chiseled.
McGonagall's palm flattened against his chest, five spread fingers digging her nails into his flesh, clawing five red welts into his skin.
"Now I settle my tab with you."
Her other hand unbuckled Jerry's belt with a sharp metallic snap. His trousers loosened around his waist, pooling at his ankles.
That monstrous cock sprang free from his waistband, rock-hard and unyielding, clear pre-cum already beading at the swollen coronal slit.
McGonagall glanced down.
"Battered half to death, and you still haven't forgotten how to get hard."
"I wasn't wounded there. It was hard before you grabbed—mmph."
McGonagall gave him no chance to finish.
She clamped her hand around the base of the thick shaft, curling her thumb and index finger into a ring, squeezing with enough force to make Jerry suck in a sharp breath.
Her palm was rough, calluses earned from decades of wandwork scraping across his sensitive skin, jerking Jerry's hips forward.
"Don't move."
McGonagall ground her thumb over the swollen head, smearing the pre-cum across her pad until it glistened wetly in the lantern light.
Her strokes were rough and commanding; after pumping him a few times, she yanked her black athletic tank top up from her waist, revealing a black demi-cup bra and her taut, sculpted abdomen.
She stripped off the tank top and bra entirely.
Her tactical trousers dropped to her knees.
McGonagall hauled Jerry down from the wooden post and threw him onto the floor.
The floor was carpeted in coarse canvas, scratching against his bare back. Straddling him, her long legs parted on either side of his hips, knees planted into the canvas.
Her inner thighs, sheathed in sheer stockings, brushed along his flanks, the matte nylon sending an electric jolt through his skin.
The crotch of her silk panties was already soaked through, the fabric darkened and semi-transparent from her accumulating arousal, the swollen contour of her labia bulging against the cloth.
Her hands pinned Jerry's chest, nailing him to the floor.
"I am warning you," McGonagall's nails dug into the hollow between his collarbones. "If you dare run off to the cultivation realm alone again, I will chain you to the cellar floor with iron shackles. I keep my word."
"You'd still have to feed me if I'm chained up."
"You can figure that out yourself."
McGonagall yanked the crotch of her panties to the side, spread her dripping cunt lips with her fingers, and dropped her hips squarely onto that rock-hard rod.
As the colossal head forced its way through her tight vaginal entrance, both uttered sounds simultaneously.
McGonagall's was a guttural groan wrenched from deep within her throat, lips pressed tight, bottling the sound in her chest.
Jerry's was a sharp, hissing intake of air, his fingers clutching the coarse canvas, wrenching deep wrinkles into the floor cloth.
"This monster of yours..." McGonagall's breathing turned ragged. "It's thicker than last time. What on earth did you eat over there?"
"Cultivator spirit pills. Built-in aphrodisiac enhancements."
Jerry bucked his hips upward, his coronal head grinding in a circle against the sensitive flesh deep within her walls, making McGonagall's upper body sway violently.
She slapped a firm palm against his chest.
"Did I give you permission to move?" Her tone was an absolute command, yet the trailing syllable cracked with breathless pleasure. "Today I am settling accounts. Not giving you pleasure."
McGonagall began riding him herself. Her hips pumped up and down in deep, rapid plunges.
Lubricating juices accumulated swiftly where they joined, white froth clinging to the base of Jerry's shaft and the rim of McGonagall's pussy, squelching wetly with every rise and fall.
The lantern flame flickered with the violence of their bouncing bodies.
McGonagall's scolding never ceased for a second.
"You reckless fool..." She lifted her hips, pulling out until only his swollen crown remained trapped in her opening, juices dripping onto Jerry's abdomen. "Brainless brat... charging into such lethal territory all by yourself..."
McGonagall pinned Jerry against the canvas, slamming her hips down, her tight canal clamping down as she swallowed the entire shaft to the hilt.
Pelvis slammed against pelvis with a loud smack, intimate fluids spraying from their seam onto the rough fabric.
"Running off to the cultivation realm all alone."
McGonagall clamped his chest, her thumb digging into his collarbone, her nails leaving deep red indentations. "You think you're immortal, don't you? Talk. Start from the beginning, and explain every single detail to me."
She raised her hips, sliding most of his cock out of her pussy, the shaft dripping with foamy nectar.
Her swollen inner lips clung to the sides of his shaft, the delicate pink flesh quivering as his bulging veins dragged across them during withdrawal.
"The moment I fell through, the Heavenly Secrets Pavilion hunted me down," Jerry bucked his hips trying to bury himself back inside, but McGonagall slapped his lower belly, pinning him down.
Her palm pressed firmly above his pubic bone, fingers splayed, pressing hard enough to leave a palm-shaped indentation in his abdominal muscles.
"Hold still. Speak."
"I was picked up by Yin Luo. The woman currently lying in the medical tent."
Jerry's fingers gripped the outside of McGonagall's thighs, her stocking-clad muscles tensing and flexing beneath his palms.
His thumbs traced inward along her thighs, digging into the soft flesh encased in nylon, shoving one of her legs wider. Her cunt gaped wider before his eyes, the half of his shaft still lodged inside bulging with thick veins, ringed in white froth.
"What did she pick you up for?"
"To raise as a disciple," Jerry hissed through his teeth.
McGonagall slammed her hips down again. She swallowed the entire rod back inside, his head bottoming out dead-center against her cervix, stretching her canal half an inch deeper. A ragged moan squeezed through her teeth, muffled in her throat as if she were biting down on something. A fresh wave of scalding nectar surged from her cervix, bathing his head and running down his shaft onto his balls.
"So you shacked up in a demonic sect's lair for months. A wizard, hiding out among a nest of cultivators, playing house quite comfortably."
McGonagall pressed her upper body flat against his chest, her soft, voluptuous breasts mashing into his torso, her hardened nipples scraping across his skin. "And then? What was that Alliance Summit about?"
"The Heavenly Secrets Pavilion made contact with Mad-Eye Moody."
McGonagall's hips froze. Her cunt was still impaled upon his cock, but her inner walls clamped down in a violent clench at the name 'Moody,' making Jerry gasp.
"Moody. Are you certain?"
"Certain. A Heavenly Secrets Pavilion cultivator confessed it himself. Moody has been teaching them magic for three years, supplying Ollivanders wands in bulk. The twenty-eight wands planted beneath the summit were placed by the Pavilion on Moody's direct orders."
McGonagall's hand moved from his chest to wrap around his throat. She didn't choke him, merely encircling his neck; Jerry could feel the rapid pulse pounding in her palm, beating considerably faster than normal.
"Keep talking," her voice dropped low, carrying a dark, turbulent gravity. She resumed grinding her hips, her pace far slower than before, sliding his cock out and burying it back in with deliberate, heavy strokes, as though turning over a grim realization in her mind.
"I exposed my identity at the summit. I blew up the Heavenly Secrets Pavilion's mountain gate and deflected the Taixu Sword Sect Master. Then, before every sect, I revealed the bombs beneath the dais and demanded they cooperate with me to defuse them."
"They believed you?"
"A woman named Xuan Shuang dueled me, then backed me up afterward. Things went sideways during defusal—a traitor intentionally overloaded his energy, detonating four wands. I shielded the blast, so barely anyone died. Then I Apparated back to Yin Luo, hid beneath her skirts to evade the search, and we were ambushed on the flight back by Heavenly Secrets Pavilion cultivators and Qingming Realm forces."
McGonagall paused. Without a word, she pulled her hand from his throat, bracing both palms against his chest. Her cunt clamped down on his shaft, her walls fluttering on the verge of orgasm, but she forced herself to hold it back, steering the subject back on course.
"Yin Luo was wounded by Qingming sword-intent."
"Yes. The sword-intent migrates toward the heart; I suppressed it with magic for most of the day, returning only when I could no longer hold it."
"You were right to come back," McGonagall's fingertips slid from his collarbone to his shoulder, lingering where his robe was torn. "Moody escaped. I fought him in Diagon Alley, but he fled via Portkey. Before vanishing, he said something to me."
"What did he say?"
"He said your death would ignite total war. That your life is the fuse." McGonagall's fingers tightened, digging into the flesh of his shoulder. "He wants you dead. He has been targeting you from the very day you fell into the cultivation realm. The Heavenly Secrets Pavilion hunting you, the summit bombs, the Qingming ambush—he orchestrated it all."
She began riding him again, her movements turning violent. Her hips plunged up and down with wild abandon; each time she slammed down to the hilt, their pubic bones collided with bruising force, the wet claps shifting into heavy, squelching thuds as froth coated his balls. Her moans tore from the depths of her throat, no longer restrained, every impact dragging out a ragged groan.
"You have no idea what has happened in the wizarding world over this past half-month," McGonagall panted between frantic thrusts. "The Order of the Phoenix has dropped all pretenses."
"What do you mean?"
"After your disappearance, the Order stepped into the open. Previously they operated as an undercurrent—planting moles among Wizengamot members, bribing Daily Prophet editors, infiltrating Hogwarts. Now they've discarded the shadows. They hung their banner out for all to see."
"What banner?"
"Total war against the cultivation realm. Complete annihilation. Fighting until the last cultivator is wiped from existence." McGonagall slammed her ass down completely, her cervix caving around his head, her moans finally unleashing into unbridled cries. "They are lobbying openly in the Ministry, seizing seats in the Cabinet. Worse still, half the combat brigades on the frontline now answer directly to them! I've been holding this front for two weeks, and our supply lines were severed twice—both times because Order intelligence leaked to the other side, cleanly bypassing our outposts on the western waste!"
"The Order is stabbing you in the back?"
"Stabbing us in broad daylight," McGonagall ground her hips in a tight circle, his thick cock churning through her soaked canal with squelching friction. "I refused to believe Dumbledore had a hand in this. When I resigned from the Order, I told him plainly: I will not support armed conquest of other worlds, nor will I feed our students' lives into foreign battlefields. He merely sighed, murmured, 'Perhaps you are right,' and did not stop me."
"And now?"
"Now, I am no longer certain," McGonagall murmured between wanton whimpers, her voice carrying a gravity unsuited for bed. "Two weeks ago, a reporter cornered Dumbledore outside the Hogwarts gates, asking his stance on the Order's current platform. How would he have answered in the past? He would have said, 'I do not condone this,' or 'It is merely a misunderstanding.' Yet facing the camera, he offered only seven words."
Jerry didn't ask which words. He waited.
McGonagall's hips stopped. Keeping his entire shaft buried deep within her canal, she leaned down, resting her lips against Jerry's chest, her breath hot against his skin.
"'War possesses its own internal logic.'"
The moment she spoke those words, the orgasm she had suppressed finally detonated. Her inner walls clamped down in violent convulsions three, four times in succession, her cunt contracting like a cracked whip, erupting a torrential flood of hot nectar straight over his head. Clamped in that vice-like spasm, Jerry nearly came on the spot, his abs tensing hard to fight it down.
McGonagall collapsed against his chest, panting heavily, her heavy breasts flattened against his ribs, sweat streaming between her shoulder blades onto his skin. The canvas floor beneath them was soaked in their mingled juices, stamping a dark, wet silhouette onto the cloth.
"So you believe he is complicit," Jerry reached up to stroke the nape of McGonagall's neck, threading his fingers through her disheveled hair.
"There is no direct evidence tying him to it," McGonagall panted, her voice raspy. "But look at it from another angle. For the Order to infiltrate half the Ministry, command half the frontline forces, and monopolize media discourse in just two weeks—how many years of groundwork did that require? Dumbledore is the supreme head of the Order. If he claims he was oblivious, do you believe him?"
"Not for a second."
"Neither do I," McGonagall pushed herself up from his chest, grabbing his hips and rolling him over onto his hands and knees. The moment Jerry's chest hit the canvas, she mounted him from behind, parting his ass cheeks with her hands, aligning his stiff rod with her dripping entrance, though she didn't sit down immediately.
"Dumbledore has been hunting for something," McGonagall's fingers traced circles around the base of Jerry's balls. "Not within our wizarding world, but inside the cultivation realms you spoke of. Yet even if one captures the planar coordinates, the interior of a cultivation realm is extraordinarily complex; physical intrusion is impossible. We cannot simply rip open a rift and march in flesh and blood."
"Why can't he enter with his physical body?" Jerry countered.
"The flow of time in the cultivation realm operates on a different axis. Fixed spatial rifts are unstable; stepping through causes one to drift along the timeline. You enter today, and you might emerge a decade later. Ten years ago, the Order was secretly researching methods to stabilize temporal drift. At the time, I assumed it was purely theoretical research. Now it seems they were preparing to unearth something from another world."
"What thing?"
"I do not know," McGonagall sank her hips down, taking his entire length to the hilt, her pelvis grinding against his thighs. "I only know he requires a stabilized conduit to synchronize the timelines of both worlds simultaneously. War is the ultimate smokescreen. In wartime, everyone rushes to the front; no one notices uncatalogued supplies moving through logistics, nor does anyone audit convoys that belong to no registered brigade."
She resumed her furious bouncing. Her tight cunt devoured his cock up and down, wet squelching filling the tent in rapid succession. Jerry gripped her hips from beneath, his fingers digging into the stocking-clad flesh of her waist; with every plunge she made, he forced her knees wider apart, steepening their angle of penetration, driving his crown deeper into her cervix.
"Meaning Dumbledore is using this entire war as a diversion."
"Yes," McGonagall's wanton cries broke free once more, every deep impalement dragging out a breathy whimper. "He uses war to stifle dissent, uses the Order to manipulate public opinion, uses this frontline stalemate to bleed everyone dry, all while hiding behind the curtain digging his tunnel!" Her hips pumped faster, churning her juices into frothy white cream that spilled from her lips, streaming down her inner thighs to leave dark streaks across her stockings.
"What does he need that tunnel for?"
"You hit the nail on the head!" McGonagall braced her hands against Jerry's back, slamming down with a final, devastating plunge; her canal spasmed with even greater violence, clamping his shaft in a vice from base to tip, milking his crown relentlessly. Her cries fractured into wild shrieks: "He never... never tells anyone... his true designs... He confides... only in himself...!"
Climaxing violently, she collapsed across his back, her hands clawing into the shredded cloth of his grey robe, her stocking-clad thighs quivering against his flanks. Her cunt continued to twitch, a deluge of scalding nectar gushing out to drench their groins.
Jerry bucked his hips in a final, savage thrust. His coronal head rammed past her cervix into her deepest recess, unloading copious ropes of hot cum dead-center into her womb. His volume was immense; the first jet hitting her cervix made McGonagall shudder violently, while the subsequent surges filled her canal to bursting, cream overflowing from her dripping lips.
Their heavy, tangled breaths mingled on the canvas floor for a long time before they slowly separated. The oil lamp's flame had tilted from their frantic thrashing, guttering down to the size of a pea.
McGonagall rolled off him, sprawling onto the canvas beside him, staring silently up at the ceiling of the tent for a good while.
"Jerry."
"Yeah."
"You are the sole individual who has operated across both worlds. Moody wants to murder you to detonate total war, while Dumbledore needs the war to conceal his grand scheme. You are currently standing upon two live fuses."
"And so?"
McGonagall turned her head, sweat plastering stray hairs to her cheek, her lips pulling into a grimace that looked less like a smile and more like gritted teeth.
"And so: you must act as bait in the cultivation realm, and you must act as bait here in the wizarding world. From the day you fell through that rift, you were never destined to be the one who gets to run."
"I'm the designated bait."
"Yes," McGonagall grabbed his torn collar, pulling his face inches from her nose, her hot breath still laced with the musky afterglow of her climax. "But while you are here with me, you answer to me. You are forbidden from venturing into the cultivation realm alone ever again. If you go, I go with you. If you fight, I fight beside you. If you dare vanish from my sight for half a month again, I will dig up every disciplinary record you have at Hogwarts and plaster them across the entire frontline encampment."
"Professor, this isn't appropriate..."
"What, do you have another lover waiting over there?"