Chapter 176: Chapter 176: There’s No Need to Negotiate Like This!
Hera embraced Jerry from behind.
The movement came without warning, without any transition.
One second she had been standing in front of Jerry, her palm pressed against his crotch; the next second, she had circled behind him. That Ancient Greek robe, interwoven with peacock blue and gold, pressed against Jerry’s back. That pair of breasts—presenting perfect curves due to divine power, as full as two clouds wrapped in silk—pressed heavily between the youth’s broad yet slightly thin shoulder blades.
Squish.
That was the extremely erotic sound produced as the breasts were squeezed and deformed.
The size of Hera’s breasts was perfectly hidden beneath that seemingly loose robe, but at this moment, as she pressed her entire upper body against Jerry’s firm back, that astonishing softness and volume was faithfully transmitted through the fabric.
Jerry could feel two scalding orbs of flesh slowly pushing outward along his spine, completely enveloping his back in a patch of divine warmth.
Hera’s arms passed under Jerry’s armpits, crossing in an embrace in front of his chest. Her chin rested on top of Jerry’s head.
"Do you know what divine authority is?"
Hera’s voice fell from above, mixing with the vibration of her chest cavity, passing through those two soft conductors pressed tightly against Jerry’s back, turning into a highly hypnotic, low-frequency resonance.
Jerry did not speak. His breathing was a bit unsteady.
Hera’s arms wrapped around his chest were not idle; those long fingers, bearing a faint golden luster, were slowly roaming over his chest, tracing his ribs one by one through the silk fabric of his shirt.
"The ’Gods’ that most wizards understand are nothing more than higher-level magical creatures. Monsters that have lived too long and accumulated too much magic."
Hera’s tone sounded like she was giving an extracurricular extension class to Hogwarts students, but her right hand had already slid from Jerry’s chest down to his lower abdomen.
"But that is wrong."
Her fingertip drew a circle on the surface of that patch of firm muscle on Jerry’s abdomen.
"The power of a deity does not come from themselves. At least, not entirely from themselves."
Her hand continued to slide downward.
Sizzle...
Her fingertip brushed past the edge of his belt; that extremely subtle friction was exceptionally clear in the quiet room completely locked down by runes.
"Faith."
Hera spat out these two words.
"Every deity, regardless of strength, possesses their own believers. It might be a hundred, it might be a million, or it might be the living beings of an entire world. These believers don’t need to do anything—they only need to believe. Believe in a certain name, believe in a certain power, believe that a certain existence is watching them from somewhere."
Hera’s palm pressed once again against that giant object of Jerry’s—its thickness like an arm clearly palpable even through the trousers.
This time, she didn’t knead roughly like before, but used a slow, almost gentle pressure, covering her entire palm over the middle section of that purplish-black outline, feeling its temperature and pulse.
"This ’belief’ is the Power of Faith. It travels across space, across dimensions, continuously flowing into the core of a deity’s Divine Persona. Like a river that will never dry up; as long as someone is believing, the river water will not stop."
Thump-thump... thump-thump...
That giant object covered by Hera’s palm was currently throbbing inside the trouser leg with a steady and powerful rhythm. Every throb would push Hera’s palm up slightly; that sense of pulsation from the inside out, full of primal power, made Hera’s fingertips involuntarily tighten a fraction.
"So Demigods can resurrect." Jerry’s voice was a bit hoarse.
"More than just resurrect."
Hera moved her chin away from the top of Jerry’s head, turning her head, her lips pressing against his auricle.
"The things the Power of Faith can do go far beyond resurrecting soldiers. It can reshape flesh, twist cause and effect, rewrite history, and even create entirely new laws of physics. A deity possessing enough faith can theoretically do anything within their own domain."
When her tongue-tip said the word "anything," it gently touched Jerry’s earlobe.
Sizzle.
That faint magical exchange sound, produced when a deity’s saliva contacted human skin, rang out again. Jerry’s body visibly shuddered; that giant object held down by Hera’s palm violently bounced upward a notch.
Smack.
A muffled sound of flesh hitting fabric.
The center of Hera’s palm was pushed heavily by that surging power, and she gave a soft chuckle—that laugh contained a certain aftertaste that did not belong to humans, carrying a divine echo.
"This thing of yours truly isn’t honest."
Her finger lightly flicked that throbbing giant object, then she withdrew her hand, wrapping it around Jerry’s chest again.
"Alright, back to business."
Hera took a deep breath. Those golden-irised eyes became somewhat distant, as if recalling a certain extremely ancient past.
Right at this moment, the air in front of Jerry suddenly began to distort.
A mass of warm yellow light emerged from the void, condensing into a fire about thirty centimeters above the floorboards.
Not a real fire. That was a phantom projected by Hera using memories—a primal bonfire encircled by rough stones without any trace of processing.
The flames danced, emitting fine crackle-pop sounds. That sound was surprisingly real, even carrying a hint of the pine resin scent unique to burning firewood.
The warm yellow light shone on Hera’s face, bringing a very rare, soft expression to that perfect face sculpted by divinity, carrying nostalgia and a certain faint sorrow.
"At the first gathering, there weren’t many deities who came."
Hera’s voice changed. That coldness, that sharpness belonging to a politician and conspirator disappeared, replaced by a softer, somewhat girlish tone that was closer to "Hera" herself... rather than "Hera, Queen of the Gods."
"Probably only... seven? Eight? I can’t quite remember. Back then, even the name ’Pantheon’ didn’t exist, nor were there any council halls or thrones. We were like a group of savages, sitting around a fire."
The phantom of the bonfire expanded slightly in front of Jerry. Within the firelight, several blurred humanoid silhouettes faintly surfaced—those silhouettes had no faces, no details, only the most basic sitting postures and body types, yet exuded distinctly different divine auras belonging to different worlds.
"That fire was a real fire. Not some divine spell or illusion, just found a few pieces of wood and lit them. We sat by the fire, sharing with each other the things we had seen—in whose world flying fish had appeared, whose believers had invented a new musical instrument, who had discovered a void on the edge of a dimension where no one had ever been..."
As Hera spoke to this point, the arms wrapped around Jerry’s chest tightened slightly. That pair of divine breasts pressing against his back produced a deeper deformation due to this tightening action, almost completely swallowing Jerry’s shoulder blades.
Squish...
An extremely concealed, wet sound produced by the squeezing of flesh.
Among those Goddesses in the flowerpots, two had a subtle change in their eyes the instant they saw that bonfire phantom.
The Goddess with the vine hairstyle suddenly stopped the swaying of her long hair blooming with smoky-purple small flowers, and her entire person went quiet.
And that lignified Goddess leaning against the bookshelf, those roots of hers pierced into the floorboards began to emit an extremely subtle, rhythmic tremor, like some ancient dirge.
They also remembered that fire.
"But this situation didn’t last very long."
Hera’s tone took a turn, that softness rapidly replaced by a sharper dryness carrying a sarcastic implication.
The phantom of the bonfire began to change. Those rough stones turned into exquisitely carved marble bases. The crude firewood was replaced by some eternal-burning divine fire. Around the flames, pillars cast from pure gold and silver rose from the ground; the vaulted ceiling extended upward, turning into a majestic, breathtaking hall.
"We built gorgeous decorations, majestic halls. Every brick was condensed using the Power of Faith, every pillar carved full of praising inscriptions."
Hera’s voice turned cold.
"But..."
She paused for a moment.
"The feeling from the very beginning was gone forever."
The phantom of the bonfire dissipated. The gorgeous hall also dissipated with it. Only that faint, illusory scent of pine resin remained in the air.
Hera released the arms embracing Jerry, but did not walk away. She stepped to Jerry’s side, one hand extremely naturally resting on his shoulder, her fingertips carelessly hooking and playing at the collar of his shirt.
"The Pantheon—this name only came later. ’Pan’ [All] doesn’t mean ten thousand; it’s just a collective term. The actual number is much larger than that."
Her fingers slid down from Jerry’s collar, trailing all the way down his chest.
"After those first few gatherings, the news slowly spread. More and more deities rushed over from their respective worlds, wanting to join this circle. Some out of curiosity, some out of loneliness—do you know, when a deity stays in their own world for millions of years, with no existence of the same level to talk to, that kind of loneliness will drive a person mad."
Her fingers reached Jerry’s belt, paused for a moment, and then, as if having made a certain decision, reached directly inside.
"Hiss..."
Jerry sucked in another breath of cold air. Hera’s icy fingertips, through that thin layer of silk lining, pressed against that taut muscle on his lower abdomen. That icy touch unique to a deity, lower than human body temperature, produced a temperature-difference stimulation that gave him goosebumps all over when it contacted the skin of his lower abdomen, which had become scorching hot due to continuous engorgement.
"But the problems started from that time."
Hera’s fingers continued exploring downward, her pads accurately and slowly sliding along the edge of the base of that purplish-black giant beast.
"Different deities have vastly different numbers of believers. Some gods rule worlds with billions of people, possessing more Power of Faith than they can use; some gods only have one village on a remote, small world. When these existences with disparate power sit at the same table, guess what happens?"
Her fingers touched the shaft of that giant object.
Squish.
"The strong begin to make the rules."
Hera’s tone grew colder and colder. Her fingers slowly slid back and forth over that giant object; her pads felt those ferocious, throbbing veins due to engorgement, as well as that terrifying texture belonging to the Rozier bloodline, hard as an iron rod.
"Those few deities with the largest amount of faith... Zeus and I are both among them—we began to establish a hierarchical system within the Pantheon. Dividing all the deities into different circles: Major Gods, Minor Gods, Subordinate Gods, Attendant Gods... every tier has corresponding privileges and obligations."
"Obligations?"
Jerry’s voice carried a pant. Hera’s fingers were slowly drawing circles along the edge of the coronal head of that giant object in an extremely wicked manner.
Sizzle... sizzle...
The friction sound produced when her fingertips scraped across that ring of fleshy ridges—curled open due to excessive engorgement—was infinitely amplified in the quiet room.
"Faith Tax."
The corners of Hera’s mouth pulled into a mocking arc.
"Every deity who joins the Pantheon must extract a portion of the Power of Faith provided by their believers and hand it over to the Pantheon’s Central Faith Pool. The ratio gradually rose from the initial ten percent to thirty percent, forty percent. Weak deities have no right to choose; either pay the tax and stay to enjoy the Pantheon’s ’protection,’ or be driven out to face the various dangers in the dimensional wilderness alone."
"Protection money," Jerry said.
"In essence, it is protection money." Hera let out a laugh, a laugh that was dry and bitter. "Zeus packaged this system very beautifully—’for the common prosperity of all deities,’ ’to maintain the order of the world clusters’... but everyone knows where the energy in the Central Faith Pool ultimately flows."
Her fingers squeezed violently.
"Mmh..."
Jerry let out a muffled grunt, his waist involuntarily thrusting forward. That giant object held in a death grip by Hera throbbed violently inside the trouser leg; due to the excessive amplitude of the movement, that massive coronal head popped straight out from the edge of the waistband, exposing a small section of the purplish-black, oily-smooth shaft.
Hera looked down at it.
Hera had no intention of stuffing it back in. She merely pressed her fingers back onto that exposed, scalding flesh, using her pads to slowly stroke those ferocious vein patterns.
"You must know, outside our world and your world, there are countless other worlds."
Hera’s intonation underwent a very interesting shift here. That bitterness and sarcasm disappeared, replaced by something... lighting up. Like some long-suppressed adventurer’s soul awakening in an instant.
"Like countless bubbles piled together. Every bubble is an independent world cluster, with its own physical laws, its own life forms, its own flow of time. The gaps between the bubbles are the dimensional rifts—the place where we first gathered was at the intersection of a certain rift."
Her eyes lit up. Truly lit up. Those golden irises erupted with a blazing light at this moment, almost like the light of a young girl describing her first time seeing a meteor shower.
"No one knows where the boundaries of these bubbles are. I once walked along a dimensional rift for thirty thousand years—thirty thousand years, Jerry—I walked to a place the Pantheon’s recording system couldn’t even track, and saw things Zeus couldn’t imagine even in his dreams."
Her voice became rapid here; that excitement belonging to an adventurer made her breathing speed up. That pair of full breasts pressed against Jerry’s back produced even more obvious heaving due to the accelerated breathing.
"There is a world where all life is composed of sound—no physical bodies, no shapes, only vibrations of different frequencies intertwining in the void. There is also a world where time flows backward—life starts from death and lives all the way to birth. I even discovered a blank bubble at the end of a certain rift—completely blank, nothing at all, no matter, no energy, no laws, like a blank sheet of paper waiting to be written on."
As Hera spoke to this point, the movements of her fingers on Jerry’s giant object also ceased to be deliberate teasing, but a subconscious fondling accompanying the rhythm of her storytelling. She didn’t even much care what her hand was doing—her attention was completely occupied by those memories.
"But Zeus doesn’t care about these things."
The light of excitement extinguished. Like someone pouring a basin of cold water onto that bonfire.
"Apollo doesn’t care either. The vast majority of the deities have already lost the desire to expand outward. They only care if their faith pool is big enough, if their seat in the Pantheon is high enough, if the world they rule is stable enough. They have become..."
Hera fell silent for a second.
"Bored."
These two words, spoken from the mouth of a Queen of the Gods, carried a heart-palpitating truth.
Those Goddesses in the flowerpots had different reactions. The Goddess with the vine hairstyle kept her head down, that layer of green tear-mist not yet completely dissipated. The moss-armored Goddess held her head high, her amber eyes flashing with the same adventurer’s resonance as Hera.
"This war..."
Hera re-tightened the arms embracing Jerry; that pair of breasts squeezed out a burst of squish-squish sounds against his back.
"If it weren’t for the wizarding world being overly strong, the Pantheon wouldn’t have lightly started a war."
She withdrew her fingers from Jerry’s giant object, turning to gently pat his abdomen.
"Your world is too special, Jerry. Wizards’ magic does not rely on faith—it comes from bloodlines, from the earth, from a certain primal energy of the world itself that appeared even earlier than the deities. This power system is a massive threat to the Pantheon, because it proves one thing..."
"One can possess power without needing gods."
Jerry picked up the conversation.
"Smart."
When Hera spat out these two words by his ear, the warm breath brushed past Jerry’s auricle, causing a fine layer of goosebumps to rise on the skin there.
"If this concept spreads, if believers in other worlds know that ’one can gain power without needing to believe in deities’... cracks will appear in the Pantheon’s faith pool, the income of the Central Faith Pool will decrease, and those Major Gods who rely on the Faith Tax to maintain their rule will..."
"Go bankrupt."
"Pretty much."
Hera smiled again. This time, the smile carried a bit of genuine amusement, as if she had found some dark humor in this cruel game.
"So they must destroy you. Not conquer, not rule—it is to completely erase the proof of existence for the concept that ’one can possess power without needing faith.’ The twelve Towers of Faith Annihilation in the City of the Sky were the last straw that triggered this war. Those towers not only cut off faith connections within a localized area, but more importantly—they proved that wizards possess the technology to counter the faith system. This is the first time in the history of the Pantheon."
Hera’s gaze swept over the Goddesses in those flowerpots.
"The reason they are standing here is because they, like me, are tired of the Pantheon’s system."
The Goddess with the vine hairstyle raised her head and said something in that ancient language.
Hera translated: "She says that in her world, there is a forest that has slumbered for a million years. She wants to know what is hidden in that forest’s dreams. But the Pantheon does not allow her to leave her jurisdiction."
The moss-armored Goddess also spoke, her voice deep like the rumble before an earthquake.
"She says she smelled a scent she had never smelled before at the edge of a dimensional rift, like some entirely new element. She wants to pursue it, but Zeus’s informants are everywhere."
Hera’s fingers slid back to Jerry’s crotch. This time, she didn’t do it through the trousers, but reached her hand directly into the gap between the waistband and his abdomen; her fingertips pressed against the scalding, exposed shaft of that purplish-black giant object.
Squish...
The water sound of her fingers contacting the scorching flesh appeared so insignificant yet so real amidst this grand narrative about worldviews and destiny.
"We deviants," Hera said softly while slowly tracing the patterns of those thick veins with her finger pads, "all share only one common wish..."
She buried her face in the crook of Jerry’s neck and took a deep breath. That scent—a mixture of the youth’s sweat and the musky aroma unique to the Rozier family—caused her pupils to dilate slightly.
"To break the boundaries of the bubbles. To go see what else is out there."
The office was quiet for a long time. There was only the faint buzzing of the runes deep within the walls, and the continuous, sticky squish-squish water sounds produced by Hera’s fingers at Jerry’s crotch.
Jerry looked down at Hera. In those pitch-black eyes, there was no trace of being moved by that romantically colored speech she had just given. On the contrary, what lay within was calm, cold, and precise calculation.
"Don’t make yourself sound so noble, Hera."
His voice was calm, even somewhat lazy.
Hera’s fingers were still resting against that scalding shaft inside his waistband; her finger pad was making slow, circular motions over a certain thick vein. She looked up, her golden irises meeting Jerry’s bottomless black pupils.
"The deal you and Aurora made was nothing more than wanting to gain true control over the Pantheon."
This sentence was like a needle, accurately piercing the veil of warmth Hera had just woven using the bonfire and adventure stories.
In the office, those Goddesses in the flowerpots almost simultaneously produced a subtle commotion. The smoky-purple flowers of the Goddess with the vine hairstyle, which had just closed due to being moved, reopened several petals upon hearing Jerry’s sentence—carrying the awkwardness of "being hit right on the mark."
Jerry continued.
"You might be more merciful than Zeus."
He paused for a moment.
"But perhaps you will be more vicious than him. Even more severe in your exploitation."
Hera’s fingers stopped. That one-second stall was more honest than any verbal denial.
Then she moved.
Hera’s body slid downward in an extremely fluid motion, like pouring quicksilver. Her Ancient Greek robe, interwoven with peacock blue and gold, emitted a silk-like friction sound during her descent. That golden crown inlaid with peacock feather eyes tilted slightly when she lowered her head; several strands of long, dark brown hair slipped from the confines of the crown, hanging on either side of her cheeks.
The Queen of the Olympian Gods. Knelt down.
Not that symbolic, distance-keeping posture. Her knees solidly touched the cold flagstone floor of Professor McGonagall’s office, her hands bracing on either side of Jerry’s feet, which were still wearing black leather shoes.
She looked up.
Looking up from this angle, Jerry’s body—which, although approaching an adult’s height, still maintained the narrow waist and tight lines unique to a youth—cast a condescending shadow in Hera’s field of vision. And at the very core of that shadow, that purplish-black behemoth, having already poked more than half its shaft out from the edge of the waistband, was hanging before her in a posture full of oppression.
Hera reached out both hands. Those long fingers bearing a faint golden luster hooked onto Jerry’s belt buckle and gave a crisp, clean yank.
Click.
The mithril clasp popped open again. The black python-skin trousers lost their final restraint, sliding down Jerry’s firm thighs to the crooks of his knees.
That purplish-black giant beast, having been confined for too long, sprang out violently with an almost enraged power. The heavy shaft drew an arc in the air, slapping straight against Hera’s left cheek.
Smack!
A muffled, highly fleshy impact sound.
Hera’s head was pulled several degrees to the right by that staggering weight. The force with which that giant object slapped against her cheek even left a shallow red mark on that layer of perfect, marble-like skin maintained by divine power.
Hera did not dodge. She didn’t even frown. Those golden-irised eyes merely quietly watched from the side this purplish-black cylinder pressing against her cheek, radiating an astonishing heat.
Too big.
Even as a Queen of the Gods for ten thousand years, even having seen the extremes of countless life forms over long ages, Hera still felt oppression on a physiological level when facing this thing head-on at such close range. The diameter of that meat-pillar had already exceeded the limit her opened mouth could accommodate. The length from base to tip was enough to penetrate her entire oral cavity straight to the depths of her throat. Those thick veins coiling on the surface like old vines were frantically throbbing at a frequency visible to the naked eye; every throb caused the entire shaft to produce a faint, upward bounce. That massive coronal head at the very top presented a semi-transparent, deep red-purple color; that thick ring of fleshy ridges curled slightly upward due to extreme engorgement, and large amounts of thick, crystal-clear mucus were constantly overflowing from the urethral slit.
Hera opened her mouth.
That section of divine tongue bearing a faint golden luster poked out from between her lips and teeth. First, at the bottom edge of that massive coronal head, she slowly licked a circle along that curled ring of fleshy ridges.
Slurp...
When a deity’s saliva contacted the skin of a human—no, contacted the skin of the Rozier bloodline—it produced an extremely peculiar reaction. That liquid was thicker and slipperier than human saliva, and carried a faint, golden fluorescence. When it was smeared onto that purplish-black shaft, it was like pouring a layer of melted honey onto a red-hot iron rod.
Glug... sizzle...
The wet sounds echoed in the sealed office.
Those Goddesses in the flowerpots, the instant they saw Hera open her mouth, collectively let out various uncontrollable reactions. The smoky-purple small flowers of the Goddess with the vine hairstyle completely closed—not that slow, emotional closing from before, but an instinctive, violent contraction born of extreme shock. Her roots writhed violently in the flowerpot; the deep purple soil in the pot was churned and splattered everywhere. An expression that could almost be called "horror" surfaced on the dark face of the moss-armored Goddess. The green moss on her body went from deep ink-green to a nearly white, pale green within a second—that was the physiological reaction of rapid chlorophyll loss in plant-type deities when facing information they couldn’t process. The lignified Goddess leaning against the bookshelf violently contracted those roots of hers pierced into the floorboards; the force was so great it directly pried two stone bricks up from the floor, a crisp crack bursting in the room.
Toying is the boon of a superior to an inferior—"I permit you to touch my body." But fellatio, especially an existence at the level of a Queen of the Gods taking the initiative to use her mouth to service a mortal—that is submission. It is kneeling in prostration. It is completely crushing one’s own divine dignity and laying it at the other party’s feet as a carpet.
Hera didn’t care.
She opened her mouth to the absolute maximum. Even so, the instant that massive coronal head squeezed into her oral cavity, it stretched the corners of her mouth to the limit. Her lips were forcibly pulled to both sides by that terrifying diameter, producing a stinging pain at the corners of her mouth that felt like it was almost going to tear.
"Mmh..."
Hera let out a muffled grunt due to her oral cavity being completely filled. The sensation was too intense—the temperature and hardness of that coronal head, as well as that active texture constantly expanding and contracting with the pulse—caused her entire oral mucosa to frantically secrete saliva.
Squish... slurp... pfft...
The water sounds reached a blush-inducing, heart-racing level at this moment. Massive amounts of divine saliva, unable to be swallowed in time, constantly overflowed from the corners of Hera’s mouth stretched to the limit. It dripped down her chin onto the collar of that peacock-blue robe, leaving streaks of dark water stains.
Jerry looked down at this scene.
The Queen of the Olympian Gods knelt at his feet; that unbelievably perfect face currently presented an extremely twisted aesthetic due to containing that giant object that exceeded the common sense of humans—even deities. Her cheekbones became even more prominent due to the extreme expansion inside her oral cavity, both sides of her cheeks sinking in. The outline of that purplish-black shaft was even clearly visible through her cheeks.
This absurdity of "a small horse pulling a big cart" reached a new height at this moment—no longer a contrast between a mature woman and a teenage boy, but a contrast between a ten-thousand-year-old deity and a mortal youth. A supreme existence who ruled countless worlds and possessed endless faith was currently kneeling beneath the crotch of a human boy who was merely a teenager, using those lips that had once signed countless oracles to swallow and spit that purplish-black meat-iron.
Jerry reached out both hands. His fingers threaded into Hera’s dark brown long hair; his fingertips touched that askew golden crown.
He didn’t straighten it. He directly flicked it off.
Clink-clank...
The golden crown inlaid with peacock feather eyes rolled onto the flagstone floor, emitting a burst of crisp metallic collision sounds, finally stopping beside the nearest flowerpot.
Having lost the restraint of the crown, Hera’s hair cascaded down like a waterfall, covering her shoulders and back.
Jerry’s ten fingers sank deeply into those scattered strands of hair, gripping the back of Hera’s head, pressing down forcefully.
"Mmh-mmh!"
Hera let out a muffled cry due to being forcibly pushed in. Under the pressure of Jerry’s palm, that purplish-black giant object violently pushed a large section deeper toward her throat. That massive coronal head directly pushed past Hera’s soft palate, squeezing into her throat channel.
Gurgle-gurgle!
At Hera’s Adam’s apple, due to the presence of that giant object, a clearly visible protrusion unexpectedly bulged from the outer surface.
Hera did not resist. Those golden-irised eyes of hers looked up at Jerry from below; tears continuously welled up due to the intense gag reflex, leaving several glistening tear tracks on that perfect face. But there was no humiliation in those eyes. Only a calmness that said, "You are right, so what?"
She didn’t deny it. That was the best admission.
Jerry’s fingers tightened briefly in Hera’s hair, then released.
"There are two hidden trump cards inside the crystal golems."
He spoke. His voice carried a slight hoarseness born of pleasure, but was outrageously logical and clear—as if at this moment, he wasn’t standing in a rune-sealed office being serviced by the mouth of the Olympian Queen of the Gods, but sitting at an oval long table in some strategic conference room, giving a routine tactical briefing to a group of generals.
"The first one: Targeted Teleportation."
Hera’s mouth did not stop. Her tongue writhed frantically over that thick shaft completely stuffing her oral cavity; every time the flat of her tongue scraped across those bulging veins, it brought a burst of sticky squish-squish sounds. Her hands weren’t idle either—her ten fingers wrapped around that section of the base exposed outside, unable to be accommodated by her oral cavity, stroking up and down at an extremely forceful frequency.
Squish-squish... pfft...
"Within the core of every crystal golem, a specially made spatial anchor point is embedded. As long as I activate the master anchor, I can teleport any object—including myself—to the location of any golem within three seconds."
As Jerry spoke, he forcefully pressed Hera’s head toward his crotch.
Smack!
Hera’s nose bumped against Jerry’s firm lower abdomen; the entire giant object completely submerged into her oral cavity and throat in that instant.
"Mmh-mmh-mmh!"
Hera’s body shuddered violently. Her hands death-gripped Jerry’s thighs; her nails pinched several red marks into that fair skin. Massive amounts of saliva and mucus spurted from the corners of her mouth stretched to the limit, forming a ring of white foam at the junction of the two. That water sound was so loud that even the lockdown runes in the walls seemed to tremble briefly.
Professor McGonagall finally looked away. Extremely slowly, extremely deliberately, she raised her hand and pushed the glasses on the bridge of her nose with her index finger. She picked up the completely cold black tea and took a sip. Her expression did not waver in the slightest.
Jerry pulled out a bit.
Pfft... slurp.
When that purplish-black giant object slowly withdrew from the depths of Hera’s throat, it brought out a large gush of thick liquid mixing divine saliva and prostate fluid.
Hera coughed violently twice; that hoarse coughing sound produced by her throat being excessively expanded was exceptionally clear in the quiet room. But she didn’t back away. She merely tilted her head, letting that oily-smooth giant object still hanging before her rest against her cheek, and then continued using her tongue-tip to lick the overflowing mucus on the top of that massive coronal head.
Sizzle... sizzle... glug...
"The second hidden trump card."
Jerry’s voice produced an extremely subtle tremor the instant Hera’s tongue-tip scraped across his urethral slit, but he immediately suppressed it.
"Forbidden Spell Incarnation."
These words made Hera’s movements stall for zero point three seconds. Those Goddesses in the flowerpots also fell silent simultaneously.
"Among the twenty crystal golems, one is special."
Jerry’s fingers reinserted into Hera’s scattered long hair, his fingertips slowly stroking over her scalp.
That movement looked like a gentle caress, but in reality, his fingertips were sketching a certain miniature rune, recognizable only by the Rozier family, onto Hera’s scalp in an extremely covert manner.
"In the core of that golem, I hid over a hundred Forbidden Spells."
Hera’s mouth stopped.
She looked up; in those golden-irised eyes, something akin to fear surfaced for the first time.
Over a hundred Forbidden Spells.
That was not a simple number.
In the legal system of the wizarding world, the reason Forbidden Spells are called "Forbidden Spells" is because every single one of them possesses the power to destroy a city, or even a continent. A well-trained, advanced wizard exhausting all the magic in their body could at most only cast one or two Forbidden Spell-level magics. And Jerry said he stuffed over a hundred of these things into one crystal golem.
"When they erupt with full force."
Jerry looked down at the Queen of the Gods kneeling at his feet; those black eyes refracted a cold light belonging to a destroyer in the reflection of the moonstones.
"Let alone Apollo."
His fingers pulled out of Hera’s hair, instead pinching her chin, forcing her to look up, making her line of sight level with his own.
"Even Zeus couldn’t withstand it."
The instant this sentence landed, the soil in all the flowerpots vibrated. The flowers of the Goddess with the vine hairstyle all withered.
Those smoky-purple petals drifted down piece by piece onto the soil of the flowerpot, like a sudden shower of falling flowers born of shock.
The moss on the body of the moss-armored Goddess turned completely withered yellow within three seconds, and then turned green again within the next three seconds—that violent color switching made her look like an ancient tree undergoing a rapid rotation of the four seasons.
Professor McGonagall put down her teacup. This time, she turned her head, looking at Jerry again.
The look behind her lenses mixed a certain extremely complex emotion interwoven with pride and anxiety. She remembered that boy when he first walked through the gates of Hogwarts.
And now, that boy was pinching the chin of the Olympian Queen of the Gods, telling her that he possessed the power to kill the King of the Gods.
"Of course."
Jerry released Hera’s chin. His tone took a turn here, becoming calm and pragmatic.
"It’s best to face Zeus’s true body."
His fingers returned to Hera’s hair, this time a genuine caress carrying a bit of gentleness. But within that gentleness hid a blade.
"I know you can possess countless avatars. The Power of Faith allows you to exist in dozens of places simultaneously, every avatar possessing a corresponding proportion of the true body’s power. But there is only one true body."
His thumb brushed across Hera’s brow bone.
"If those over a hundred Forbidden Spells hit an avatar, Zeus at most loses a portion of his faith reserves, which can be recovered in a few years. But if they hit the true body..."
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Hera finished it for him. Kneeling on the floor, looking up, those golden-irised eyes burned with an ambition more blazing than any Forbidden Spell.
"Divine Persona collapses.
Faith backlash.
Eternal annihilation."
Twelve words.
This was the complete procedure for killing a Major God.
The office fell into a dead silence once again.
Hera slowly stood up. Her knees were slightly red due to kneeling on the cold flagstones for a long time; the collar of that peacock-blue robe had already been soaked by massive amounts of saliva and mucus.
A trace of silver liquid still lingered at the corner of her mouth—that was the special luster produced by the pre-cum overflowing from Jerry’s giant object mixing with her own divine saliva.
She didn’t wipe it away.
She merely stood there quietly, looking at this boy who was more than half a head shorter than her.
That boy’s trousers were still piled at his ankles; that purplish-black behemoth throbbed restlessly in the air, covered in a layer of saliva left by Hera’s oral cavity that shimmered with a faint golden fluorescence.
