As the airship vanished toward the horizon, Erica's excitement faded. She remembered her house—or rather, the hole in the ground where it used to be—and slumped her shoulders like a pony caught in the rain.
"Ugh, I have nowhere to sleep tonight..." she grumbled, kicking a loose stone in frustration.
Li watched her quietly before speaking. "Come to my place." She then turned to Jerry, her gaze calm. "It's not big, but I can clear out a guest room. You can stay with me until Erica's house is repaired."
Erica's face instantly brightened. "Really, Li? You're a lifesaver!"
"You're sleeping on the living room floor," Li clarified. "My room is too small for you. And I am definitely not sleeping in the same bed as you again. Last time, you almost crushed me. You're a restless sleeper."
"Aw, fine!"
Li's home wasn't in the chaotic Lower District or the overpriced Upper District. It was in a quiet residential area known as "Gear Street," not far from the Centaur Quarter. The buildings here were mostly three or four-story stone structures. While still covered in steam pipes and mechanical contraptions, the layout was orderly and the streets were clean. This was the Elven enclave.
Li's home was a small attic apartment on the top floor. When she opened the brass lock, a scent of fresh greenery mixed with engine oil wafted out. Unlike Erica's messy "stable" filled with weapons and gym gear, Li's home was tiny, exquisite, and meticulously tidy.
The open-plan living room, kitchen, and desk area were cleverly arranged. The most striking features were the potted plants on every windowsill and corner. In a city of steel and steam, such lush greenery was a luxury. Vines climbed over exposed steam pipes, creating a strange harmony between cold metal and living nature.
Erica's massive centaur frame made the apartment feel cramped. She had to tilt her body to get through the door, and her hooves made a heavy, muffled thud on the wooden floor, as if she feared stepping right through the boards. But as a war orphan, she wasn't one to complain. She marched into the tiny bathroom, and soon the sound of splashing water and her satisfied humming filled the air.
A while later, the bathroom door swung open, releasing a cloud of steam and soap scent. Erica emerged with a towel wrapped around her wet chestnut hair, wearing a pair of pajamas Li had lent her.
It was a set of pink, fluffy flannel pajamas printed with cute blue cats—the "Jerry" she kept mentioning. Designed for Li, the top was hilariously tight on Erica's muscular frame. The fabric was strained to its limit by her heavy, rounded breasts and broad shoulders. Her twin globes were clearly outlined, jiggling slightly with every movement. The contrast between the "cute" style and her powerful, athletic body was provocative.
Stranger still was the bottom half. She had managed to get her two front horse-legs into the pajama pants, leaving her hind legs and muscular underbelly bare as she trotted into the living room.
Li had already laid out a thick mattress on the floor. Without a word, Erica flopped onto it. The mattress groaned under her weight. She stretched her upper body forward, then rolled onto her back, limbs sprawled out. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with her deep breaths.
"Ah—much better!" she sighed.
Li shook her head at her friend's lack of modesty, grabbed her own clothes, and headed into the steaming bathroom. Soon, the water was running again. Jerry sat on a wooden chair, quietly watching Erica.
Erica sensed his gaze. Without opening her eyes, she drawled, "What are you staring at? Never seen a centaur in pajamas before?"
"I just feel like... you don't seem to have any worries," Jerry said calmly.
"Ha! Of course I don't." Erica opened one eye and smirked. "Orphans like us, living at the bottom... if we couldn't handle a little setback, the bugs would've gnawed our bones clean long ago."
She propped herself up on her elbows. The movement caused the tight pajama top to ride up, exposing her flat, toned stomach and the clear lines of muscle that disappeared where her human torso met the equine body.
"Actually, Li and I are both war orphans," Erica said, her tone as flat as if she were talking about someone else. "My parents, her parents... all died outside the walls fighting the Hive. Blackiron is full of kids like us."
She paused, reminiscing. "The city's welfare isn't bad for orphans of the fallen. We get a monthly stipend—not much, but enough to survive if you're careful. It lasts until we're adults and can join the Garrison. Oh, right—Elves get it until they're eighteen. Since they live for centuries, 'adulthood' takes forever... they live longer than turtles."
"I can hear you!" Li's muffled voice drifted from the bathroom.
Erica stuck out her tongue and sighed. "I had a lot of money saved up under my floorboards. I was going to buy my own Steam Augments when I came of age... then you smashed it all into the dirt. Tomorrow I have to hire a crew to see if they can dig my treasures out."
As she spoke, she unconsciously scratched her thigh, her body twisting slightly. Beneath the open collar, her snow-white, plump breasts were squeezed together, revealing a deep cleavage full of youthful, vibrant sex appeal.
Jerry shifted his position, crossing his legs to hide the prominent bulge beneath his robes.
The water stopped. Li emerged wearing a modest, moon-white flannel set. It covered her neck but traced the elegant lines of her body. She was drying her silver hair with a towel when she noticed Jerry. "Jerry, do you want to wash up too?"
Jerry nodded and stood, sliding the heavy mage robes off his shoulders. The thick fabric pooled on the floor, leaving him in just his thin shirt and trousers. His frame was lean but not weak; the fabric clung to his budding chest and narrow waist.
"Wait a sec!" Erica's eyes widened. She lunged forward like a curious puppy. She had seen Jerry pull things out of that robe—gold boxes, coins—but hadn't seen any pockets. She leaned in close, her bright brown eyes searching the fabric.
"I kept seeing you pull stuff out of here, but I don't see any pockets!" she muttered, her rear end sticking high in the air as she even sniffed the fabric.
Jerry was about to explain the Undetectable Extension Charm—a spell that folded space inside the lining. But before he could speak, Erica's hand, encased in her fluffy pink sleeve, reached toward his waist. Her fingers brushed the edge of his trousers and, out of pure curiosity, flicked a cold metal buckle.
"This looks so... intricate!"
Click.
The sound was sharp. Because of the high gravity, clothing in this world was fastened much tighter than Jerry was used to. With the buckle released, the unsupported trousers slid down instantly, pooling at his ankles.
With his trousers gone, the "secret" Jerry had been hiding was revealed without obstruction.
Unbound by fabric, his cock—thick, dark, and pulsing—snapped downward with the weight of the gravity, then recoiled upward like a released spring. The tip of it traveled through the air with a meaty thwack, striking Erica right across her cheek!
Erica froze. Her eyes went dinner-plate wide.
The object carried the searing heat of a youth who had never fully vented his lust. The sensation on her skin was hard yet velvety, smelling of masculine musk and salt. Her mouth, slightly open in shock, was perfectly positioned to feel the flared ridge of the glans. She could even feel a tiny drop of hot, salty pre-cum leaking from the slit, smearing onto her lower lip.
The size was monstrous. The length and girth were completely beyond the realm of a human boy. It stood proud and turgid, a siege engine of flesh vibrating from the impact. A wet, glistening streak remained on Erica's face where it had slapped her.
For a moment, the world stopped.
Erica was the first to react. The sensation was too vivid—the pulsing warmth, the incredible hardness. "AH! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!"
She shrieked, recoiling like a spooked horse and covering her eyes with both hands. But her hands couldn't block the image burned into her mind—the giant, throbbing pillar of meat that seemed to belong to a giant, not a boy. Despite her apologies, she couldn't help but part her fingers slightly, her curious and terrified gaze peeking through the gaps at the terrifying source.
Li, standing by the bathroom, was a half-beat slower but saw everything. A deep crimson flushed her cheeks, and her calm eyes filled with panic. She spun around, back to them, frantically rubbing her hair with the towel to hide her shock.
In the silence of the room, only Erica's ragged breathing and the sound of Jerry's own quickened breath remained.
In that awkward dead air, both Erica and Li suddenly had the same realization. They remembered Romor, the slutty Flower-kin from earlier that afternoon. They remembered how she had looked completely dazed and lust-crazed after "examining" him.
It wasn't just Romor being her usual provocative self. From an angle the girls hadn't seen, she had glimpsed the hidden "weapon" beneath the boy's robes—a piece of biological artillery that would make any female lose her mind.
Erica's face burned hotter. The spot where she'd been slapped felt like it was on fire. She could still taste the faint, salty smear on her lip, making her skin prickle with a strange electricity.
Jerry feigned frantic embarrassment, stooping down to grab his robes and clumsily covering his lower body. "Uh... I'll go wash up now!" he stammered, clutching his clothes and bolting into the bathroom.
Slam. The door shut, and the water started running.
In the living room, Erica finally lowered her hands, though her fingers remained near her face. Her voice was shaky and breathless. "Li... Li... did you see that? What... what was that?"
Li remained turned away, her silver hair a mess from her frantic towel-rubbing. She let out a small "Mm," her voice tight and strained, as if squeezed through her teeth. Her pointed ears were so red they looked ready to bleed.
"No wonder that Flower-kin... no wonder Romor lost her damn mind!" Erica whispered, her tone a mix of epiphany and disbelief. "I thought she was just being a bitch... My god! That thing... it slapped me so hard my face is numb!"
Li stayed frozen, her fingers gripping her towel until her knuckles turned white. "It was... highly unusual," she whispered, her throat dry.
Erica sat back, her eyes shining with a new, dangerous light. Her bravado returned, fueled by an intense, huntress-like curiosity. "Is that his 'talent'?" she wondered aloud. She crawled closer to Li, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you think a person can really hide something that big in such a small body? Li, you're the smart one—is it possible that thing can actually... you know... fit?"
"ERICA! What are you talking about?!" Li snapped, her voice a mix of fury and suppressed agitation.
Then, Li suddenly stiffened, her eyes widening in horror as a realization hit her. She spun around, her face completely scarlet. "Wait! My... my underwear..."
She pointed a trembling finger toward the bathroom. "My laundry! My private things... they're hanging on the rack in the bathroom!"
Erica froze, her eyes bulging. Her mind immediately flashed to Jerry's incredible size. And her underwear was in there too! The image of Jerry handling her intimate garments with that monstrous thing throbbing between his legs made her feel like all the blood in her body had rushed to her head.
"He... he wouldn't..." Erica stammered, but even she didn't sound convinced.
Their eyes were drawn uncontrollably toward the closed bathroom door. The distinct sound of splashing water possessed a strange, hypnotic magic at that moment, constantly plucking at a forbidden chord deep within their hearts.
Driven by a near-obsessive impulse, the two women locked eyes. They saw the same reflection in each other: curiosity, anxiety, excitement, and an indescribable, secret arousal.
Erica's massive body slid off the mattress with uncanny grace, making almost no sound. She and Li crouched low, like two cats preparing to pounce, and crept toward the bathroom. Li's home was an old building; the wooden door had warped over time, leaving a narrow vertical gap between the frame and the panel.
Erica pressed her chest—the fluffy flannel of her pajamas soft against the wood—against the door. She squinted one eye against the crack, then nudged Li with her elbow, signaling her to join. Li's face was beet-red, and she struggled with her conscience for a second, but curiosity won out. She leaned in from the other side of the gap, peering into the steam-filled room.
The bathroom was thick with mist, illuminated by a dim, amber steam-lamp that cast a hazy, erotic glow over everything. Jerry's silhouette was barely visible through the fog. He wasn't bathing yet. He stood in the center of the small room, his back to them.
One of his arms—slender but surprisingly corded with muscle—was reaching straight down between his legs. His body was slightly hunched, his head bowed. His hair, dampened by the steam, clung to his cheeks and hid his expression.
In that swirling mist, under the gaze of two pairs of voyeuristic eyes, he held that staggering, proud spear in his hand. He was stroking it—slowly, rhythmically, and with agonizing deliberateness.
Under the control of Jerry's slender fingers, the turgid cock seemed to grow even larger. The flared head was a deep, angry crimson, like a mushroom cap bursting with life, the slit at the tip swollen and prominent. In the steam, it caught the faint light with every tug and squeeze, a silent testament to the raw, surging energy contained within.
Jerry was utterly focused, lost in his own world, completely unaware of the two pairs of eyes burning with complex emotions outside. His breathing grew ragged—a youth's suppressed, gravelly panting that mingled with the splash of the water to create a primal, heart-pounding symphony. Every stroke seemed to carry a silent invitation, causing the hearts of the two onlookers to throb in sync with his movements.
Erica's breath became heavy. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a wild colt. She felt the blood rushing south, a tingle of electricity spreading from her lower abdomen that made her horse-legs feel weak. She unconsciously parted her lips, a faint, guttural moan of hidden longing escaping her throat.
Li, meanwhile, looked like a ripe apple. The scalding steam of the room seemed to have reached her skin through the door. She wanted to close her eyes, to run away, but she was pinned there by an invisible force, her eyes wide and unable to look away.
Inside, the gasps became harsher. The two women held their breath, watching through the crack as Jerry's body began to tremble. His hand moved faster, a low growl of mingled pain and ecstasy vibrating in his throat.
A second later, a thick, hot jet of pearly-white semen erupted from the massive tip. The viscous fluid shot forth with incredible force, tracing a clear arc across the bathroom before landing with pinpoint accuracy on Li's pale-white panties hanging on the rack. The small, delicate cotton garment was instantly soaked by the scalding fluid, becoming heavy and sodden. The white cream seeped into the fabric, and because of the sheer volume, it began to drip from the edges... landing directly onto Erica's much larger, pink bra below.
After he finished, Jerry leaned against the wall, chest heaving as he caught his breath. The monstrous organ, so terrifyingly rigid moments ago, softened slightly, hanging limp but still formidable between his thighs, glistening with stray droplets of spent seed.
Jerry seemed to notice his "masterwork." Looking at the soiled lingerie, a flicker of guilt and apology crossed his face. Without hesitation, he walked over, took the warm garments down, and turned on the tap to begin clumsily scrubbing them. As he washed them, he turned on the showerhead to rinse his own body.
Outside, Erica and Li's brains had ceased to function. They stood paralyzed, nailed to the spot by the impact of what they had seen.
Then, the unexpected happened.
Clack.
The water in the shower cut off abruptly. The amber steam-lamp flickered twice and died. The scene before them vanished into pitch blackness. Before they could react, the lights in the living room died as well. Outside, the once-bright Gear Street plunged into darkness. A shadow swallowed Blackiron Stronghold.
Wooo! Wooo! Wooo!
A piercing, shrill siren wailed from the city center, tearing through the dead night. It was the sound only heard during a Grade-A emergency: the Hive Alarm.
The siren shattered the silence and acted like a bucket of ice water, snapping Erica and Li out of their shameful, erotic trance. The gap in the door was now a void of black. From inside, Jerry's voice drifted out, muffled and confused.
"Uh... the water stopped. I'm still covered in soap. What should I do?"
The awkward question pulled Li back from her terror. Her cheeks were still burning, but as the host, she had to respond. "There... there's a new green towel on the rack. No one has used it. You can... use that to dry off." Her voice was thin, trembling slightly. She tried to sound normal, but the image of Jerry's naked, pulsing body made her mind a chaotic mess.
She bit her lip and added in a whisper so low it was almost inaudible, "Leave... leave your dirty clothes in the basin. When the water comes back, I'll... I'll wash them."
The words "I'll wash them" made her tongue feel like a knot. It meant she would have to touch her own panties, soaked in his hot seed. The thought made her knees buckle.
"Oh... okay," Jerry replied.
On the other side, Erica had recovered more quickly. In Blackiron, sirens were the background music of her life. She took a deep breath, her chest heaving, and explained in a forced, calm tone: "It's normal. The bugs love the night. Once they start an assault, the city diverts all steam power to the defense systems."
Erica groped her way to the window and pulled the curtain back. Near the distant walls, massive searchlights cut through the sky, turning the clouds a sickly white. "All steam goes to the Great Ballistas, the defense towers, and the emergency rail-trains."
The bathroom door opened. Jerry emerged, dressed in his shirt and trousers, clutching his robe. His hair was dripping. Li, fighting her inner turmoil, led him to a small side room.
"This was my parents' room," she said softly, a trace of grief in her voice. "No one has lived here for years, but I keep it clean. You can stay here tonight."
Jerry thanked her and entered. Li didn't linger; she shut the door quickly. The room was simple—a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk covered in dust sheets. The air smelled of old wood and Li's floral scent. Soon, the rhythmic, heavy snoring of Erica drifted through the walls. The centaur girl could sleep through anything.
Jerry lay on the bed, hands behind his head, watching the twisted steam pipes on the ceiling. In the dark, they looked like the veins of a sleeping titan. He raised a finger, and a spark of light like a firefly illuminated his pale knuckles.
He began to summarize his findings. First: the elemental concentration here was immense—purer even than the Wizarding World. This was a goldmine for a wizard. His spells would be amplified here.
However, the gravity was a headache. He could feel it pressing on every cell, pinning him to the mattress. For a wizard, this meant constant mana consumption just to stay mobile. A long-duration battle would drain an average wizard's stamina quickly.
But the world was a prize worth the cost. It was rich, primal, and full of untapped value. Especially the "Combat Qi." It was a crude, inefficient system compared to magic, but its high accessibility was fascinating. He could already imagine a "Combat Qi" elective at Hogwarts.
He dimmed the light.
The world wasn't defenseless. Li's magic was a raw, unrefined affinity for nature—valuable but primitive. Then there were the "Steam Augments." Erica worshiped them. Based on his mental scans earlier, they were physical masterpieces of steel and steam. He hadn't seen them in action yet. Were they mere brute force, or did they house energy cores? How would they fare against evocations?
But the Tyranids... that name carried a foul stench. Erica said they had high magic resistance. This was the greatest threat. A magic-resistant enemy required a total shift in strategy—physical-manifestation spells, alchemical poisons, or internal curses. And their sheer numbers and cloaking abilities made them more than beasts—they were a rival civilization.
Jerry's curiosity burned. Was their resistance biological or an energy field? Was their cloaking optical or spatial? Did they have a "Hive Queen"?
And, of course, there was his mission: establishing a trans-planar gateway. On the way to the restaurant, Jerry had been using a "Spatial Resonance Crystal" hidden in his sleeve. The results were grim. The spatial density here was terrifyingly high—like trying to carve a diamond instead of glass. Tearing a rift stable enough for a legion would require an astronomical amount of energy. One mistake would result in the army being scattered into the void.
Finally, there was the System task.
[Task Chain: 'Embers of the Hive'] [First Ring: Survivors Under the Steel] Goal: Protect Blackiron Stronghold and assist in repelling the Tyranid invasion. Description: You have landed in the Upper District, which will soon become a combat zone. Your flesh is like paper to the Hive. Find allies, arm yourself, and survive. Reward: Based on contribution. Failure: Death. Your consciousness will be consumed by the 'Hive Mind,' becoming its eternal slave.
"Slave to a Hive Mind? Hah. No one slaves me," Jerry cold-snorted.
The sirens outside grew more frantic, almost painful to the ear. Yet, Erica's snoring grew louder, and he could sense Li's steady, sleeping heartbeat. They were used to this.
Jerry couldn't sleep. The alarm sparked a strange clarity and a thirst for the unknown. What did Steam Augments and Tyranids look like in the flesh?
He decided to go to the city's edge. He rose silently, took a piece of charcoal from his robe, and sketched a tiny, coin-sized rune on the floorboards. A spark of mana sank into the wood, locking the coordinates. It was a safety measure—a beacon for a quick return if he got lost in the dark streets of this metal fortress.
Once the rune was complete, Jerry's slight frame became like a ghost merging into the night. He vanished into the shadows, making no sound to alert the sleeping centaur and elf in the next rooms.
Jerry navigated the narrow corridors of the attic with fluid grace, dodging cluttered furniture and junk. The wooden floorboards remained silent beneath his light tread. He moved like a river of shadow, precisely bypassing every obstacle, slipping out and heading along the edge of the streets toward the source of the sirens.
The entirety of Blackiron Stronghold seemed to have been switched off. The steam lamps along the streets were dead. Aside from the distant white searchlights atop the great walls, the rest of the city was swallowed by a deep, suffocating darkness. Occasionally, a stray breeze kicked up dust with a dry rustle, but otherwise, there was only the sound of Jerry's careful footsteps and the growing stench in the air—a heavy, metallic rot mixed with the scent of something biological and decaying.
Jerry quickened his pace. Despite the crushing gravity, he maintained a preternatural agility. Curiosity and the thrill of danger pushed him toward the city's edge like two invisible hands.
When he reached the perimeter, Jerry's pupils contracted. He stood on the roof of a massive warehouse near the outer shell, with a hundred-meter drop of jagged steel below him. Before him rose a gargantuan wall, a mountain of iron covered in a labyrinth of pipes and turrets, separating the city from the black wilderness beyond.
On those plains, a massacre was unfolding.
Colossal searchlights from the wall illuminated the killing fields below, turning the night into a garish, strobe-lit day. Within those beams, a black tide was crashing against the foundation of the wall. This was the "Hive"—a swarm composed of countless grotesque creatures. They possessed slick, oily carapaces in shades of obsidian and deep purple. Some resembled giant spiders, their eight legs scuttling up the vertical iron plating. Others were like mantises, wielding scythe-like forelimbs that could cleave boulders. Further back, massive beetles acted as mobile artillery, spitting streams of emerald acid that hissed as they dissolved the steel fortifications.
Defending the wall were the warriors of Blackiron. At the front were the "Steam-Augmented" soldiers Erica had mentioned. They weren't just wearing armor; the machinery looked like it had sprouted from their very flesh.
Every soldier was a hulking giant. Their arms, backs, and legs were deeply integrated with brass pipes, pistons, and gears. On their backs sat boiler-cores, venting plumes of scalding white steam. With every breath they took, a sharp psshhh! of pressure release echoed. They didn't carry swords; they wielded nightmare tools—high-speed chain-swords, hydraulic hammers that fired steam blasts on impact, and mechanical arms converted into armor-piercing drills.
Behind them were strange casters. Unlike wizards who meticulously constructed complex spell models, their magic was raw. One raised a staff and vines erupted from the scorched earth to tangle the bugs; another channeled soft green light to knit the shredded flesh of the front-line soldiers back together.
Jerry narrowed his eyes, sending out a ripple of mental energy to probe a nearby Steam Warrior. A flood of data rushed into his mind.
He "saw" the truth beneath the skin. The man's muscles had been laced with metallic fibers; his bones replaced with alloy. This wasn't "gear"—it was a brutal, extreme alchemical surgery that fused cold machinery with living meat. The "Combat Qi" flowed from the warrior's heart not into an attack, but into the back-mounted core.
The core acted as a bio-mass converter. The Qi was ignited by a catalyst array, compressed, and mixed with a high-energy liquid to generate immense steam pressure in milliseconds. This pressure drove the pistons, giving the warriors strength and speed far beyond human limits. It was a beautiful, twisted marriage of biology and industry.
But as Jerry analyzed this power, a chilling realization struck him.
He noticed an anomaly. The roaring warriors—whether they were dwarves, orcs, humans, or elves—and the swarming, monstrous Tyranids... on a deep, non-energetic level, they felt similar. It wasn't their behavior or their energy; it was their "essence." It was as if they were all sculpted from the same clay into different, horrific shapes. Their underlying logic pointed toward a single, terrifying source.
This was impossible.
Just as Jerry tried to delve deeper into this connection, a sharp, powerful mental wave swept across the roof! It was cold and precise, locking onto him like a spotlight.
Jerry stiffened and moved to retreat into the dark, but he was too late.
Zing!
An arrow of burning, pale-white arcane energy tore through the night, striking the spot where Jerry had just been. It punched through the inch-thick steel roofing, melting a perfectly smooth hole. Jerry reappeared on the opposite side of the roof, looking coldly toward the source.
Above the wall, a figure ascended.
She was... difficult to describe. She looked like a Harpy from a dark bestiary. She had the flawless upper body of a woman, her skin so pale it was almost translucent, her features cold and sharp. Her long black hair whipped in the wind. She wore a daring combat suit of black leather and silver metal that clung to her like a second skin. Her breasts were staggeringly large, their heavy curves straining against the leather, nearly bursting free with every breath. The suit ended high on her waist, exposing a flat, toned belly and long, lethal legs.
But her beauty was inhuman. Below the shins, she had no feet, but instead a pair of massive, metallic talons. From her back, a pair of black-feathered wings spanned outward, their edges gleaming with brass gears and steam vents.
One of her arms was human, holding a staff of crystal and metal. The other was a mechanical prosthetic ending in a three-barreled arcane repeater. Her icy blue eyes locked onto Jerry from hundreds of meters away. Her lips curled into a cold, provocative, and somewhat slutty smirk.
"Little mouse... sneaking around a war zone. What are we doing up here?" Her voice was like ice clinking in a glass—clear and melodious, but dripping with condescension. "Are you a scout for the Hive, or just a spy looking for a peek at our secrets?"
Jerry didn't answer. He sensed she was more than just an augment; she was a high-tier mage. Mental power, mana, and steam-drive were perfectly fused within her.
The Harpy moved. Her mechanical wings snapped, and she dived toward the roof like a bolt of black lightning. Her staff flared, raining dozens of needle-thin arcane bolts down like a storm. Jerry became a blur, weaving through the fire as the roof behind him was shredded into sparks.
"Oh? You've got some moves," she taunted, her voice a sultry purr.
She dived faster, her massive talons spreading wide to crush Jerry's skull. Jerry didn't dodge this time. He stopped, raised a single slender finger, and pointed at the incoming claws.
"Force Deflection."
An invisible, warped field expanded. Her talons hit the field with a screech of grinding metal, her momentum sliding uselessly to the side. She lost her balance, tilting mid-air.
In that split second, Jerry lunged. Like a lithe cat, he closed the distance. A ball of highly compressed, pitch-black shadow energy gathered in his palm.
"Corrosive Touch!"
He slammed his palm toward her flat, exposed stomach. The Harpy's eyes widened. She twisted her waist at an impossible angle, barely dodging the lethal strike. But Jerry's hand grazed the edge of her combat suit.
Sizzle!
The reinforced leather dissolved instantly upon contact with the shadow energy, melting away to reveal a hand-sized patch of her porcelain-white skin.
The Harpy let out a sharp, angry gasp. Her steam-cores flared, blasting her backward to create distance. She looked down at the ruined fabric over her belly, then back at Jerry. The playful smirk was gone, replaced by bone-chilling murder.
"Not just a little mouse, then..."
Jerry had no intention of a long fight. That brief exchange confirmed she was far stronger than his current state could handle. Standing his ground was suicide.
Jerry's silhouette began to fade like a drop of ink in water.
"Goodbye, milady. Shadow Jump!"
By the time the Harpy locked onto the area again, the roof was empty. The boy's scent had vanished into the labyrinthine shadows of Blackiron.
She hovered in the air, the cold wind biting at the bare skin of her stomach where Jerry had touched her. She reached out a slender finger, touching the melted edge of her suit, feeling the lingering trace of that pure, malevolent shadow.