Hermione's slender knuckles rapped against the heavy wooden door—three distinct, rhythmic knocks that sounded startlingly clear in the silent, nighttime corridor.
From inside the room, accompanied by a heavy thud, came the faint, rhythmic splashing of water, as if someone were pulling themselves out of a deep, wide container. The sound rippled in the air; it wasn't loud, but it made one's skin itch with a strange sensation, making the ears hyper-sensitive.
Hermione held her breath. After about seven or eight seconds, the heavy door was slowly pulled open from within.
Professor McGonagall appeared in the gap, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. Her face wasn't its usual stern, pale white, but carried a faint, rosy flush—as if she had just stepped away from a roaring fireplace or finished a glass of warming spirits. A few strands of hair, usually pinned with meticulous precision, now hung loosely and damply against her forehead, clinging to her reddened skin in soft, moist arcs.
A mist of warm vapor, smelling of spices and herbs, drifted out, carrying a subtle, elusive botanical fragrance. It wasn't sweet, but rather possessed a hint of ascetic chill that became incredibly intimate when wrapped in steam.
Hermione's nose twitched instinctively, trying to identify the scent. Her heart suddenly swelled with a strange, burgeoning curiosity.
Professor McGonagall's eyes were exceptionally bright in the dim light of the doorway, yet they held a lingering, hazy film. Her expression shifted from initial surprise to her habitual sternness, though that sternness was now tinged with a self-conscious, sluggish delay.
"Is there... a problem, Miss Granger?"
McGonagall's voice was deeper and raspier than usual. Every word seemed coated in moisture, swirling in her throat before being slowly exhaled. She stepped to the side, not fully opening the door, but making a slightly cramped gesture for Hermione to enter.
Her deep green robes sat loose and slightly askew on her shoulders, as if thrown on in a hurry. In the gap of the collar, Hermione caught a glimpse of pale, glistening skin, where one or two crystal-clear water droplets reflected the weak light of the corridor lamps.
As McGonagall turned, more of the room was revealed. A thick, almost visible cloud of steam billowed out, carrying that unique aroma. In the center of the room, a large magical-weave rug had been carelessly rolled aside, exposing the polished, gleaming stone floor beneath.
In the corner stood a massive wooden tub, usually reserved for soaking ancient artifacts. Wisps of white mist rose from it. The floor around it was slick with water, reflecting an ambient, suggestive glow. From within the tub came the faint drip-drop of water hitting the bottom.
McGonagall's movements were unnatural, as if every step was calculated to be slow, or as if she were desperately suppressing an uncontrollable impulse.
Hermione followed McGonagall into the room, feeling stiff. McGonagall didn't close the door fully, leaving it slightly ajar—a gesture that signaled the visit should be brief.
"Professor, I'm sorry to bother you so late," Hermione whispered. "I... I can't find Catherine, so I wanted to ask if you've seen Jerry? He's been missing for days."
McGonagall was walking toward the fireplace to add some wood. At Hermione's question, her movements stiffened as she leaned over. She straightened up and turned to face Hermione, her usually severe face showing a complex mix of emotions.
She adjusted the collar of her robes, her fingers inadvertently brushing across that damp patch of skin, as if trying to hide something.
"Miss Granger!" she began, her voice steady, though her cheeks flushed a deeper red under the firelight. "Mr. Jerry... had an urgent matter at home. He has been granted a formal leave of absence."
As Minerva spoke, a sound entirely different from dripping water erupted from the massive wooden tub in the corner.
Whirrr... Buzz... Glug, glug...
It was a low, rhythmic vibration mixed with the churning of water. In the quiet room, it sounded incredibly abrupt and suggestive. It wasn't loud, but it crawled into Hermione's ear like a restless insect.
Hermione's eyes drifted toward the tub. It was high; she could only see a few damp, dark green towels hanging haphazardly over the rim. But the sound grew clearer—the splat, splat of water being struck rapidly, as if something were spinning at high speed beneath the surface, whipping up ripples.
What was that? A cleaning charm gone wrong? An alchemical device? Or was Jerry hiding in there?
Hermione's curiosity flared. While pretending to listen to McGonagall, she shifted her position slightly, trying to find an angle to see into the tub.
Professor McGonagall seemed to completely ignore the sound—or rather, she was pointedly neglecting it. She continued, "His family situation is... unique. He left in a hurry. He should be back... perhaps by Halloween."
As McGonagall spoke, her gaze drifted past Hermione's shoulder into the darkness of the room. Her lips pursed slightly, as if she were lost in a secret, lingering memory mixed with faint worry.
Whirrr—Glug, glug... Splat... The sound continued.
Finally, Hermione found the perfect angle. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze darting over McGonagall's shoulder and into the steaming water.
There, floating in the center of the swirling, herb-strewn water, was a pinkish-purple, strangely shaped rod-like object vibrating violently. It spun madly in the water like an electrified eel, its tail end thumping against the wooden wall with a muffled thud, thud. The body was smooth, the front end slightly curved with a rounded head that quivered at an incredible frequency, kicking up countless tiny bubbles and expanding ripples.
Hermione's pupils dilated instantly. That thing looked so familiar... she had seen it before!
Wasn't that... Jerry's dick-mold toy?
Hermione's face exploded into a brilliant red, heat rushing from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. Her heart skipped a beat before hammering against her ribs.
Professor McGonagall... was actually...
"Miss Granger?"
McGonagall finally noticed Hermione's shock. She snapped her gaze back to the girl's face. Seeing Hermione's terrified, scarlet-faced expression, she followed the girl's line of sight and realized the truth had been exposed.
"Ah!"
"Professor!"
Hermione opened her mouth to speak—perhaps to apologize, or explain, or just scream. But before she could utter a single syllable, McGonagall reacted with terrifying speed.
The Professor lunged toward Hermione, her usually elegant and composed frame exploding with power. Without a wand or a spell, she grabbed Hermione's arm and pushed her toward the door with irresistible force. Minerva's hand was hot and damp; even through Hermione's sleeve, the heat felt like it would sear her skin.
"He will be back!" McGonagall's voice was suddenly sharp and urgent, drowning out whatever Hermione tried to say. "By Halloween! Now, go back to your dormitory immediately, Miss Granger! Or I shall be forced to deduct points!"
BANG!
Before Hermione could even find her footing, she was shoved out. The heavy door slammed shut and the lock engaged with a sharp click.
Hermione stood alone in the empty corridor, feeling the lingering heat of McGonagall's hand on her arm. Her mind replayed the image of that madly vibrating purple cock in the water, and McGonagall's face—a mixture of shame, panic, and the lingering flush of an unfinished climax.
"Jerry must have given that gift to the Professor!"
"I... I want one too!"
"Achoo!"
A sudden sneeze echoed through the silent, fleshy tunnel. Jerry rubbed his itchy nose, his eyes showing a trace of unease as he scanned the alien environment. The pervasive sense of being watched from the walls wrapped around his mind like a sticky cobweb.
Erica had slowed her gallop to a cautious trot. She had to; the guiding dragon fire was gone. That foolishly powerful black lizard had vanished from their senses. It was as if a crucial NPC had been despawned by the system. The golden flame that had been their beacon had flickered and vanished into a strange distortion.
When the light died, Erica had initially kept her momentum and slammed into a slick, chitinous wall.
Thud!
Thanks to Jerry's mana shield, the impact was absorbed, and Erica wasn't dazed, but she was now completely lost. Her powerful hooves pawed the ground anxiously, her amber eyes reflecting pure darkness.
Kaelia, still recovering from the psychic shriek, looked up weakly at the suffocating darkness and rotting air, her wings twitching. They were lost in the gut of a living labyrinth. Strangely, there were no bugs here—not even a drone. The silence was terrifying, broken only by their breathing and the squelch of hooves on fungal carpet.
Jerry didn't speak; he just patted Erica's back, signaling her to pick a direction. In a place like this, standing still was far more dangerous than moving aimlessly.
They walked for what felt like minutes or hours. The tunnel eventually widened, and at the end of the darkness, a vast space glowing with a pale, sickly light appeared.
They stopped. It was a massive cavern—or rather, a living "ovary chamber."
The ceiling, walls, and floor were encrusted with thousands of giant, white egg sacs. Each cocoon was over two meters tall, with a semi-transparent, silky texture. Purple veins pulsed across their surfaces, emitting a cold, cadaverous luminescence. Through the thin walls, they could see various humanoid figures curled inside.
Sturdy dwarves, long-limbed humans, even sharp-eared elves. They all slept peacefully, suspended in thick, transparent fluid. It looked like a giant pantry, and these cocoons were the stored food.
Erica's face twisted in disgust and pity. Jerry, however, narrowed his eyes. The feeling of being watched reached a peak here. It felt as though thousands of eyes were staring at them from inside the cocoons.
"What... is this place..." Kaelia whispered, her feathers standing on end. Her sharp harpy eyes scanned the room until they locked onto a specific cocoon hanging from the wall.
Kaelia froze. Her breath stopped. "No... it can't be..."
She pointed a trembling wing. Jerry and Erica looked. Inside the semi-transparent cocoon, a noble and majestic female harpy slept. She had hair like obsidian and a face of regal beauty. Even in sleep, she carried the air of a Queen.
Tears welled in Kaelia's eyes. "Mother..."
The figure in the cocoon was the previous Lord of Ironforge—Kaelia's mother, who was supposed to have died in battle years ago. "Mother... why are you here?"
Kaelia broke from Erica's grasp and stumbled toward the cocoon. Before she could let out a soul-shattering cry, Jerry's cold voice rang out: "Erica, hold her."
Erica instinctively tightened her grip, pinning the hysterical Kaelia against her muscular body. Jerry didn't look at the grieving harpy; his gaze fell on the nearest cocoon.
He didn't walk over. He simply raised his hand and made a grasping motion. An invisible hand of mana tore the cocoon and its connecting fleshy tubes from the wall, dragging it before him. The dwarf inside was breathing steadily. Jerry pressed his pale hand against the dwarf's forehead through the silk and closed his eyes.
A moment later, he opened them. As he suspected, the dwarf was in a deep sleep, his soul intact, dreaming of ale and smithing. But his intrusion tripped a hive-wide alarm.
Whooom!
A low resonance vibrated through the hive. Every cocoon in the cavern began to throb violently. The purple veins glowed with an eerie light. Then, the massive glowing organ on the ceiling flickered and died.
The cavern plunged into absolute, pitch-black night.
"Quick! Hold onto me!" Erica cried out in terror, hugging Kaelia tighter while reaching for Jerry.
Squelch... slither...
The sound of thousands of cocoons being dragged backward echoed in the dark. One by one, they were pulled into the walls and ceiling by unseen forces. It sounded like thousands of pythons retreating into their burrows. Within ten seconds, the thousands of sleepers and their cocoons were gone.
Jerry's hands moved without hesitation. With every wave, fine, glowing blue arcane runes shot into the darkness. They attached themselves like tracking devices to the retreating cocoons as they vanished into the meat walls.
In an instant, the vast cavern was "healed" shut. The walls, floor, and ceiling were now solid, dark-red biological tissue, pulsing with a low-frequency rhythm. The air became thick, and the vibration of a massive circulatory system could be felt.
In Jerry's mental world, the runes provided a map. As the cocoons retreated deeper into the hive, they outlined a massive, 3D biological network. Every tunnel, every chamber, and the location of every cocoon was mapped in his mind. The hive wasn't a building; it was a giant, living organ.
"This way!" Jerry pointed his slender finger toward a pulsing meat wall on the left.
Erica didn't think. She pivoted her powerful centaur body and galloped toward the wall. Just as she was about to hit, the meat wall sensed Jerry's presence and peeled back, revealing a deep, dark tunnel. Jerry flicked his fingers, sending out balls of soft white light that flew ahead like fireflies.
The interior of this tunnel was even more horrific—deep red, semi-transparent muscle tissue covered in a web of throbbing veins. Thick, sweet-smelling fluid dripped from the ceiling. When Jerry's light orbs touched the walls, they were devoured by the tissue. But Jerry's fingers were an inexhaustible source, launching ball after ball to maintain their path.
They were like foreign cells racing through a giant artery toward the heart.
Suddenly, they hit a dead end. Not a meat wall, but a cold, hard, pitch-black wall that blocked the entire passage. It looked like compressed black metal, smooth and light-absorbing—totally alien to the fleshy environment. When a light orb hit it, it shattered into sparks.
Erica skidded to a halt. Jerry didn't hesitate. He launched a wave of corrosive acid at the black wall.
Sizzle!
A piercing, psychic howl echoed in their minds, as if a massive consciousness was in agony. The black wall began to dissolve into a thick, oil-like liquid smelling of burnt protein. But the "dead" wall began to heal itself, black matter writhing to fill the gap.
Behind them, the fleshy tunnel began to constrict like a python. Meat nodules on the walls split open, releasing crimson tentacles with suckers that reached for them.
"Erica, get ready," Jerry said, his voice void of emotion. He raised his hand, palm open. He didn't use acid this time. He pushed a purple energy orb forward.
Time seemed to freeze. There was no explosion. Instead, the black wall simply began to disintegrate into nothingness. A five-meter hole was "erased" from existence.
Beyond the hole was a space as vast as a stadium.
"Go!"
Erica let out a scream of exertion. The tentacles were inches from her rump. She exploded with power, launching herself through the gap just as the tunnel behind them was crushed shut.
Jerry's mana shield vanished the instant the tunnel walls crushed shut. Erica's heavy iron hooves struck the solid, cold black floor with a sharp clack-clack.
In the dead center of the cavern suspended an unnameable leviathan. It looked like a gargantuan, skinless black heart, hundreds of meters in diameter, pulsating with a slow, heavy rhythm. Countless thick, artery-like fleshy pipes extended from its base, connecting to the walls and ceiling like a massive artificial organ pumping energy and life through the entire hive.
Across the surface of this beating heart hung thousands of white egg cocoons—larger and more mature than those seen before—glowing with a sickly, phosphorescent light like a sky full of diseased stars.
"Mother!"
Kaelia's scream shattered the silence. She scrambled out of Erica's arms and sprinted toward the nearest cluster of cocoons. Jerry didn't stop her. He simply raised his hand, palm up, as a complex pale-gold magic circle spun into existence. A moment later, the circle erupted, sending out thousands of soft golden light blades like dandelion seeds.
Squelch, squelch...
With the sound of tearing wet silk, hundreds of cocoons detached from the "Mother Heart" and fell to the floor. Without their energy supply, the walls became brittle and dry. One by one, slime-covered, bewildered "captives" tore their way out.
They were a motley crew—scruffy dwarves, tall elves, muscular orcs, and many human soldiers. They looked as though they had just woken from a long, draining nightmare. Their eyes were vacant, their movements stiff. Many didn't even recognize their own hands, staring at their bodies as if they were strangers.
"Mother! Where are you?" Kaelia searched frantically through the crowd, grabbing every harpy-like woman, only to push them away in despair upon seeing their unfamiliar faces. Hope was being ground into dust with every disappointment. Her mother was not among them.
Meanwhile, more survivors were freed. The vast black cavern was soon filled with thousands of numb, confused people. As Kaelia sank into despair, an elven man stepped silently toward Jerry. He was old, with long silver hair tied back and a face lined like parchment, but his pale violet eyes were clear and wise. His once-regal robes were tattered and covered in slime, yet he radiated a dense, pure elemental aura. He was a powerful mage, and his strong mental fortitude allowed him to be the first to shake off the confusion.
He approached Erica's flank, keeping a polite, cautious distance, his gaze shifting between the pulsating heart and Jerry.
"Where... are we?" he asked, his voice carrying the melodic rhythm of the elven tongue.
"The Hive," Jerry replied tersely, his eyes scanning the distance where the chittering of the insect army grew louder.
The old elf froze. Memory fragments seemed to snap back into place. He looked at Jerry with a mixture of shock and gratitude. "So... it was you who saved us?"
Jerry didn't acknowledge the thanks. He simply asked, "How did you get here?"
The elf furrowed his white brows. "The details are blurry. I remember leading the Seventh Mage Regiment of Silvermoon City alongside a coalition to attack a hive in the Swamp of Sorrows... but we were ambushed. The insects... they were strange. They didn't tear us apart. They sprayed a green, sweet-smelling mist. I lost consciousness... and woke up here."
The survivors nearby began to crowd around, chiming in.
"That's right! Same here!" a dwarf warrior shouted, slamming his breastplate. "We were the Gryphon Riders of Ironforge! We got knocked down by a bug spitting smoke, then that green mist took us!"
"We were just civilians from Stormwind," a young woman sobbed, clutching her knees. "The bugs raided our village and took everyone..."
The stories were identical. They had been captured at different times and places, but none were killed. They were drugged and brought here. Jerry listened calmly, his expression unchanged.
"Where is the Swamp of Sorrows?" Jerry asked, his voice low but piercing. "Where is Ironforge? Where is Stormwind?"
The simple questions struck like a drumbeat. Everyone froze, looks of confusion spreading across their faces.
The old elf spoke first. "The Swamp of Sorrows is south of Eversong Woods in eastern Kalimdor. Ironforge is deep in the Khaz Mountains of Lordaeron. And Stormwind is the capital of the human kingdom in Elwynn Forest on the Eastern Kingdoms..."
"What the hell is Kalimdor?" a dwarf warrior interrupted, his face flushing. "Ironforge is in the Ironcast Mountains at the edge of the world, the heart of the Audax Empire! And Stormwind? That's the Skyforge that floats in the void from the age of the Old Gods!"
"Stormwind is on the fourth planet of the Emora System," the young woman added shakily. "It's the last bastion of the Resistance..."
A massive orc roared in anger. "Lies! The Swamp of Sorrows is in Faerûn! It's the battlefield of the Horde and the Alliance! Ironforge is nothing! Stormwind is—"
Pandemonium erupted. Hundreds of people began arguing, each certain of their own geography, yet their words described entirely different, contradictory worlds. They spoke of the same names, but those names belonged to different universes and parallel planes.
Kaelia stopped her frantic search, staring in shock at the chaos. Erica shifted her hooves uneasily, sensing the terrifying displacement of reality. Jerry's gray eyes grew deeper. A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk played at the corner of his mouth.
In the midst of this existential noise, Erica's eyes locked onto a cocoon hanging near the central heart. She stiffened. She reached out and touched Jerry's back.
Jerry followed her gaze. In a cocoon larger than the rest, much closer to the black heart, a figure was curled up. Despite the membrane, the hair, the skin tone, and the jawline were identical to the Jerry standing right next to her.
Without a word, Jerry walked toward it. He thrust his fingers into the tough wall, tearing the cocoon open with a wet, sickening sound. Slime poured out, and the figure tumbled to the floor.
The moment he hit the ground, his eyes snapped open. They were the same eyes—no confusion, only cold, lethal alertness. With a soft pop of displaced air, he vanished and reappeared dozens of meters away. Dripping with slime and naked, he locked eyes with his double standing by Erica.
"Who are you?" the new Jerry demanded, his voice a perfect replica. "Erica, get over here! He's a fake!"
The Jerry by Erica didn't answer. Instead, he began to clap. The rhythmic sound echoed through the cavern, eerie and mocking.
Erica was lost. She looked at the calm, clapping Jerry, then at the murderous, naked Jerry. Her brain couldn't process this. She stepped closer to the clapping Jerry to protect him, but her eyes darted back and forth between them.
Kaelia dove down from the air, landing on Erica's other side. Jerry stopped clapping and ignored everyone. A translucent mana shield enveloped him. He looked up at the pulsating black heart.
"Is this fun for you?" Jerry whispered, as if talking to an old friend. There was no reply, only the chittering of approaching bugs.
"Jerry... why are there two of you?" Erica asked, her voice trembling.
Jerry didn't look at her. He turned to Kaelia. The harpy looked back with misery and confusion. At that moment, Jerry broke into a brilliant, almost innocent smile. He reached into the air, and a thumb-sized, delicate pink button appeared in his palm.
"Sing a song for me!" he chirped and pressed the button.
Bzzzzzt!
A high-frequency vibration, almost inaudible, filled the air. Kaelia stiffened. It was as if she'd been struck by invisible lightning. Her body began to shudder uncontrollably. Her legs gave way, her wings flopped open, and she fell to her knees on the cold floor.
She clutched her lower abdomen, her fingers digging into the muscle as if a runaway top was spinning madly inside her womb. Her face flushed a deep crimson, her eyes wide with shame, terror, and a surging, unwanted wave of pleasure.
"Ah... nngh... Forward... march!"
From her trembling lips came a distorted, moaning melody. It was the "Marseillaise," the revolutionary anthem, but sung with heavy nasal whimpers and lewd groans.
The madness spread. A dwarf warrior began to shake like a leaf. He dropped his axe and fell to his knees, clutching his crotch with both hands. "Ye sons... of France... awake... to glory!" he wailed through tears.
Then came the old elf. His elegant form collapsed like a broken swan. He curled on the floor, clutching his stomach, twitching violently while singing the same anthem in Elvish, every syllable dripping with an uncontrollable vibrato.
Humans, orcs, elves—every survivor freed from the cocoons burst into the same symptoms at once. Thousands of people, male and female, knelt or curled on the ground, hands pressed firmly to their crotches, wailing the anthem in a discordant, massive choir of agony and ecstasy.
"To arms... citizens... form... your battalions..."
The sight of thousands of people singing while in the throes of forced, vibrator-induced orgasms was beyond horrific. Even the "New Jerry" in the distance froze, his body beginning to twitch as the cold mask on his face broke into terror.
Erica watched, her brain completely stalled. But then, her own body bucked. A strange, powerful vibration erupted from the deepest part of her equine half.
"Ah... Je... Jerry..." She looked at the boy in the shield, but her mouth was no longer her own. "Against us... tyranny's... bloody banner... is raised!"
The massive centaur sank to her knees, her forelegs splaying out. Her head tossed back as her voice joined the absurd, thousand-man choir.
At the peak of this madness, Erica's eyes cleared for a split second. Using every ounce of her remaining willpower, she didn't try to break the control—she lunged and slammed her shoulder into Jerry!
Thud!
Jerry was knocked back a step. At that exact moment, a black shadow with razor-sharp talons slammed into the spot where he had just been standing.
It was Kaelia. Her eyes were blood-red, burning with pure, unadulterated murderous intent. She was no longer singing or shaking. She was a fury from hell.
And she wasn't alone. Every "survivor" stopped singing. They stood up, their eyes turning blood-red, their faces becoming blank, puppet-like masks.
"Kill... kill... kill..."
They charged Jerry from all directions. The dwarf roared, axe in hand. The elf mage conjured searing fireballs. Even the young human girl picked up a jagged stone and ran at him.
"No! What are you doing!" Erica cried out. She tried to move, but Jerry pointed a finger at her.
"Hold."
A gray light enveloped Erica. Her massive frame and panicked expression were instantly turned to stone—a perfect, lifelike statue. A soft mana barrier wrapped around her to keep her safe.
Jerry stood still, letting the attacks of thousands rain down on his thin shield. Fire, ice, axes, claws—the onslaught buried him. Even the "Clone Jerry" joined in, weaving complex high-tier spells: lashes of black lightning, serpents of writhing acid, and gray beams of annihilation.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The cavern lit up like high noon. Jerry's shield rippled violently, but he didn't move an inch. He actually yawned.
"Is that all?" Jerry smirked and tore off his robe, tossing it aside.
Beneath the robe, he didn't have a body of flesh. He wore a "suit of armor" made entirely of magical jewelry.
Dozens of necklaces made of multi-colored gemstones hung from his neck, each pulsing with massive mana. His wrists and ankles were stacked with runed metal bracelets. Every single one of his ten fingers was covered from base to tip in magical rings. Even his chest and back were covered in thin, scale-like magical talismans. These treasures formed a near-perfect, self-sustaining energy system.
"You find it strange, don't you?" Jerry looked past the mob at his clone. "Why is there such a gap between us, even though you copied me 1:1?"
Jerry stretched, the necklaces clinking musically. "Because, you bastard, I'm using a cheat!"
He moved. No incantations, no seals. He just took one step and stomped his right foot.
WHOOM!
A destructive shockwave expanded from him in a ring. The dozens of warriors in the front row—dwarf and orc alike—exploded into a mist of blood the moment the wave touched them. The old elf mage was decomposed into raw elemental particles before his fireball could leave his hand. Every mage met the same fate.
Then, Jerry raised his left hand toward the harpies preparing to dive and snapped his fingers.
Snap.
Every harpy in the air was instantly engulfed in a pale blue flame. It didn't feel hot, but it incinerated their flesh, bone, feathers, and souls in a heartbeat, leaving only falling blue dust.
A stomp and a snap. In two seconds, the thousands of controlled survivors were half-gone.
The clone Jerry's face was a mask of pure terror. He turned to flee.
"Trying to run?" Jerry smiled. He didn't chase. He just reached out his right hand toward the retreating back and closed his fist.
Crack.
The clone was frozen in mid-air, as if grabbed by a titan's hand. The space around him shattered like glass. He struggled, but no spell could break a power from a higher dimension.
"Shatter."
The clone and the broken space around him disintegrated into glittering geometric shards before vanishing into nothingness.
The ground beneath Jerry's feet exploded as a terrifying, house-sized dragon head burst forth. The massive jaws, filled with serrated teeth, snapped toward him with a gale of foul breath.
It was the missing Black Dragon. But she was no longer a dragon. Her golden eyes were cloudy and dull, just like the puppets. Her black scales had been replaced by a bumpy, metallic-green chitin covered in purple veins. Her horns were twisted into insectoid antennae, and from her back grew pairs of translucent, spiny appendages.
Her insectification was 100%. She had become a sickening, stitched-together monstrosity of dragon and bug.