Funatic
patreon
The Gamer Chapter 1452 – 27 Days of Preparation 6 – Divine Learning
🕑 Added 2023-06-06 09:21:25 +0000 UTCThere was a pecking order among gods.
Typically, this pecking order was related to their power. Their power was tied to the Faith generated by whatever they embodied. Not all Faith was equal, however, and so gods were put in various categories that made them more or less powerful.
Nathalia was the goddess of volcanoes. A goddess of destruction, as they called it. In her chest she carried the Gem of the End, as it was called. She was ancient, among the oldest surviving divine entities out there. This was not for a lack of facing danger or causing trouble. Nathalia was powerful. A living, fire breathing mountain range, capable of shaking cities until only rubble remained. When she felt like it, she could make the earth itself rise and explode – with cataclysmic consequences.
Nightingale was goddess of the night. A goddess of knowledge, as much as that label could apply to her. Chains of shadow were never beyond her reach and her feathers were prized artefacts. In ages past, she would have been a goddess of near unparalleled power and destructive capability. Humans feared few things more than the unknown in the dark. In the age of electricity, however, the night had ceased to be so scary. It was another time of day, one filled with mysteries and little activity, with lulls and secrets. It was no wonder then that Nightingale’s abilities smothered information, more than she brought horrors to her enemies.
It was neither power nor seniority these two goddesses competed in. As a matter of fact, they did not compete at all among the axis of their godhood. Rather, they had forged a bond over being the two goddesses in John’s life.
John entered the tower with a newfound sense of awe. Nathalia’s obsidian spires were a steady presence in his life. Wherever he dwelled more than a few days, the Fire of Destruction decided to leave her mark. The lava pools and spikey formations were as delightful to her as a calm pond in a forest was to most humans. She was a dragon, mountains were her habitat and the heat made her comfortable. He may not have shared these inclinations, but he understood the want to have something familiar nearby.
Where he normally was greeted only by the black of volcanic rock and obsidian, illuminated by the red of the lava pools, today he found different colours in the mix. Deep purple and pale silver, like moonlight, mixed into the structure. The ground, usually ash, sprouted with lush vegetation in the shadows of the spires. Moonflowers and wisteria were particularly common, both distant in their quantity behind vast sways of lavender.
To see the flower around was mildly surprising. Nightingale favoured the scent, had done so long before she had put down her old name, but the flower did not bloom in the night. It appeared this had changed or, rather, that Nightingale herself had made it change. The purple fields bloomed and thrived in the shade, spreading their pleasant fragrance.
Visibly, the place pulsed with life. A volcano was a place for many nutrients that made the plant life thrive. The dual divine presence in this place sent out pulses of orange-red and deep purple, growing the rocks and spreading the lavender.
John found his way into the inner parts of the spire. It was a vast chamber, basic furniture shaped from rock filled it and a carpet of some kind of grass covered the ground. Grass and lavender, a carpet of two plants, both of them interrupted by a loose network of orange-red and deep purple veins, all wandering to the centre of the room.
There, Nathalia stood bowed over the younger goddess. The clawed hands of the dragoness gently parted the harpy’s hair. Forehead resting on that of the much smaller woman, Nathalia whispered. “It is your power. Not borrowed. The power chose you, because you, of all that inhabit the Abyss, are the only one worthy of it. Wield it that way.”
The whispering of feathers followed a particularly intense pulse. Silky drapes manifested in the environment, woven from purple shadow. They covered the many paths further into and out of the central spire. Then the energy entirely retreated. The two goddesses opened their eyes and fluidly turned to him. They knew that he was there. He had stepped into their domain, after all.
“Gods really are something else,” John stated, as he stepped forward. It was easy to forget that the spread of abilities of a god was much greater than just what they commonly used. Gods had to be and were more than just powerful in order to warrant the title given to them.
Nathalia had displayed many capabilities in the past. The creation of her personal army of lava golems, was one thing above what most Abyssals could do. Similarly, her ability to create an avatar of herself that existed distanced from her true body. She had only used it once to join an orgy while she was still in her exile, but it did nonetheless exist. All gods had at least a basic capability of creating a variant of life and to create materials from nothing, some of them exclusive to them. For the regular Abyssal, such abilities were reserved either to those Latebloomers with abilities to rival or surpass gods, like Romulus or John himself, or those talented and dedicated enough to spend an entire life mastering just one of these crafts.
That was why they were called gods. Not just because they commanded power near unparalleled, but also because they could manifest matter, bestow life, and travel the very streams that connected all Illusion Barriers on a level beyond reach. To put it in a somewhat stupid way: Abyssal gods truly were gods.
“Perhaps I should demonstrate this more often,” Nathalia contemplated. “Remind your other women of their place. They have grown much too comfortable in their apparent equality to me.”
“We are equals, sister,” Nightingale reminded. “All part of our patriarch’s harem.”
Nathalia hummed in an enigmatic tone. Her orange eyes glowed with the struggle between agreeing that she was in a harem of equals and resisting the idea that a proud dragon should be anything short of the top. “For the time being, you’re not my equal as a goddess,” she finally asserted that bit of superiority, for what little it was worth.
Nightingale smiled elegantly, simultaneously taking a step back and gesturing towards a bed with her extended wing. “Do you wish to lay down, my beloved?” she asked.
The bed was a circular construction. The base was likely stone, but John saw none of it under the dense, black-purple cover. Interested, he walked over and ran his hand over the surface. It reminded him both of silk and Nightingale’s feathers, without the quills. Essentially with a thick fuzzy carpet. He pushed his hand in. There was a membrane under the fuzz and under it something as dense and giving as memory foam. The calming smell of lavender mixed with the exciting aroma of burning sandalwood and incense at large.
If John hadn’t wanted to lay down before, he definitely did once the smell indulged the Creator Puppet’s senses. He climbed into the bed and laid down. Nightingale and Nathalia exchanged a glance. Orange and purple embers rose from the bed, as they approached. By the time they joined him in the bed, it had reshaped so his upper body was propped up. To both sides of his legs, depressions had formed, which the goddesses now occupied.
Nathalia took the first taste, as was usual. The dragoness debated for a moment whether to use her full lips or her plump tits to please him. In the end, the light brown goddess went with the less usual choice and wrapped her ruby mouth around his manhood. John grabbed her by a horn and guided her efforts.
The hot throat of the dragoness was always an experience. Whatever Nathalia had known previously about sucking cock, and that had been a lot, had since been overwritten with sucking his cock specifically. All of the accrued knowledge about the pace he preferred when talking and his sensitive spots mixed with her naturally wild and messy style. She was greedy, immensely so, and she was satisfied enough with this lifestyle to keep the slurping and moaning at a volume that he could still talk.
John put his hand on Nightingale’s head. The harpy snuggled into his palm like an affectionate crow. To have two literal goddesses, major ones at that, tending to him like this was just one of the many reasons why John loved his life. “I see the training is going well?” he asked, a groan rising under the words.
Nightingale nodded. “I follow Nathalia’s teaching style better than my old mentors’,” the lady of the night revealed. Her purple eyes darkened for a moment, her songstress voice deepening with them. “I wonder if the Norse pantheon even tried to teach properly.”
“I don’t know,” the Gamer responded honestly, over the delighted, muffled sighs of a sex addicted dragoness. “It doesn’t matter either. You’re Fusion’s Patron Goddess now.”
“Which requires that I learn to make the most of my abilities,” Nightingale responded. “Does the lavender please you, Patriarch?”
John chuckled a little at the title. As a modern person, that word always sounded outdated. To the harpy, it was a title of veneration above such little words as ‘darling’ and to get her to drop it would be impossible. It did also stroke his ego just a little bit. “It’s fascinating. What spurred on its creation?”
“I let it happen,” Nightingale responded. “I stopped controlling my power. I stopped shaping it. Nathalia told me my power is me and then I proved it.” The intertwining smells of burning and lavender rose in equal measure. It made John feel a bit dizzy. “It is night-blooming lavender, nothing more for now. I believe it could become more.”
The harpy had more to say, but Nathalia glided up John’s shaft. When his cock popped free, the oral-fixated woman took her turn immediately. Long tongue extending, coiling around the base of his manhood, she masturbated him with the spiralling muscle. Her black lips agape, she took him into her mouth. Thick love juices dripped from her, as gooey as precum, further lubricating his already slippery cock as she welcomed him into her throat. The pussy-like folds greeted him eagerly, clenching and practically sucking him deeper inside.
When she reached the base, she pulled her tongue back in and formed a tight seal around his erection. With venerating slowness, she bobbed up and down. It was all instincts, for Nightingale was a descendant of a species that had assured its genetic success through oral favours and song. She exceeded at both naturally.
Nathalia rubbed her enormous tits up and down John’s right side. They were the largest in his harem, even if Delicia’s sometimes looked larger due to being attached to her smaller frame. Where visual estimations could play tricks, the reality of them squishing on his skin was testimony of their superiority.
“Nightingale has a good grasp on the exercise of her manifested power. A methodical one. Much of her potential is still untapped, particularly what lies beyond the direct influence of the world.” Nathalia growled. “We should burn down Scandinavia for their lack of teaching etiquette.”
“Let’s not do that,” John told her with a chuckle. The incandescent core of Nathalia’s eyes grew until the yellowish-white of glowing metal nearly consumed all of them. “What did they do?” he asked, now serious.
“She cannot even access her own Sanctum yet,” the dragoness growled. “A god without a Sanctum – a disgrace.”
“Explain that to me,” John requested calmly. What he knew about Sanctums was limited. They were the personalized Illusion Barriers of gods. They existed in no particular place. Rather, the entrance was wherever the gods decided to put them. They floated in the space between Illusion Barriers. Only those that could traverse that space could even attempt to enter Sanctums uninvited. Neither the usual size restrictions of Illusion Barriers nor any concerns of them disappearing applied. They were more like Kingdoms or their personal planes, dedicated to their respective Faith and shaped by their individuality.
“Our Sanctums are our realms, our playgrounds, our right to power made manifest,” Nathalia explained with a hint of the old arrogance she felt towards all things mortal. “There we are the gods of the plane and there we are the freest to exercise our abilities. To delay a god’s discovery of their Sanctum is to deliberately slow their development.”
John grinded his teeth as he listened to the explanation. “Is it truly that bad?”
“I manifested this,” she tapped on the gemstone between neck and chest, “only after I earned my Sanctum.”
“…The more I hear about this pantheon, the more they should stay far away from me,” John hissed. The people of Scandinavia had done nothing to harm him, but the gods in charge were losing ever more of his good graces.
Nightingale gradually glided back up. The quivering folds lining her throat refused to let him go for a long while, until distance forced them to. Departing with a last lick, the harpy gave the dragoness the space to continue. “I will have my justice for their transgressions,” the lady of the night stated, decisively. “I have centuries to contemplate the verdict.”
John nodded slowly. He didn’t want to make a member of the Divided Gates his enemies without good reasons. All the little ways they had hindered his Nightingale in her goals were mounting up to very good reasons. “I wonder how strong we would need to become until we could pressure the pantheon out of leadership altogether,” the Gamer thought out loud.
Driven by his casual consideration of toppling the oldest surviving family of gods, Nathalia doubled up the speed. He was almost angry enough to stop receiving the attention. Almost. The constant bobbing of her head changed his priorities. Nightingale didn’t inflame his wrath further either. “In due time,” she purred, her voice distorted slightly by the love juices running down her throat. “I will find the depths of my abilities. The greatest priority is our life well lived.”
John could only agree, finding himself between the lavishing mouths of both goddesses at once. Venerating and demanding, the two very different women concentrated on caressing every centimetre of his cock. A groan announced his incoming orgasm.
As was typical, Nathalia asserted herself, taking the head of his cock in her mouth. Below, Nightingale masturbated him with her dextrous tongue. The tight spiral first loosened to let his seed pump upwards with all the rigorous vitality of eternally heavy balls. When the intensity ebbed away, the coiling replaced it. The harpy milked every last drop in his shaft into the dragoness’ mouth.
Her reward was her share of the spoils. Very careful not to spill anything, Nathalia tilted her head back, then exchanged a deep kiss and the seed with Nightingale. The women moaned in unison, swallowing his orgasm-inducing cum, and only separated when the last few drops were so diluted by saliva that there was nothing left to keep them spasming.
Without a second’s hesitation, Nathalia grabbed the harpy by the back of the head and lowered her back down to John’s cock. Demandingly, her hand moved the head of the harpy up and down. The submissive streak Nightingale may have been way less pronounced than the extreme cases of the rest of his harem, but it certainly existed. Consequently, being used as a toy by Nathalia made her eyes roll up.
Nathalia didn’t stop until a second load was spurted down the harpy’s gullet. While the harpy was quivering from multi-orgasmic pleasure, the dragoness dragged her off the Gamer’s cock. The gripping folds in her throat detached with several wet smacks, vacuums breaking. The second her now stained black lips were above the engorged head, the harpy was shoved aside. Gooey strands broke and Nathalia straddled his hips. She was incredibly wet and descended on his cock.
“How does it feel like knowing you aren’t even among the five horniest women in my harem anymore?” John wondered out loud. Once her Libido had looked beyond absurd, now it was borderline average.
“Like I have arrived where I belong,” Nathalia stated clearly, then bit her lower lip as her hot cunt parted around him. “And like I’ve been robbed of ten millennia of what I deserve,” she added in a low moan. With reckless abandon, she began to ride him. Each bounce was intense enough to send her wild, red hair flying. “I will… inform you… when there’s notable progress… you should witness!” the dragoness panted, her eyelids fluttering. “This… cooooock….” She derailed for a moment, an intoxicated grin spreading on her features. “So… good… I will…” she swallowed. “You will know when there’s… something to witness.”
She deserved prolonged attention for her efforts.
Comments
Jan
I hope the Nordic gods don't fare as well as the Mother of Waters. The way they treated Nightingale definitely warrants some good retribution.
