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Chapter 42 — The Swallow & The Mage (3), G.O.D (Public)
🕑 Added 2024-07-13 18:51:01 +0000 UTCA/N: The sex scene is to cement their relationship. Don’t expect more from me please. Always awkward to write.
I have underestimated just how different something as simple as the perception of the world can be for a person with the Elder Blood. The first difference I notice is my field of vision—so wide, so expansive that it’s giving me a severe ‘bout of motion sickness, simply due to how unprepared my brain is to process the now drastically altered sensory information.
‘Motion blur is on too, I see.’
It’s so fucking jarring…
While my normal eye—affected by the Elder Blood—is taking in the visuals completely differently, [Mimir’s Eye] is operating as usual, forcing my poor optical lobe to process both simultaneously.
Quickly, I tap the bio-metal implant, cutting off the Od supply and turning it off, which thankfully alleviate the sharp, stabbing pain at back of my skull. After freshening up and reassuring Ciri about my overall wellbeing, I start practicing all the Spells I remember her using in the game—mostly variations of [Blink].
It's a pretty deceptive name, though not on purpose I think.
The Witcheress probably never explored the nuances of her birthright properly.
To be fair, her main objective is to continue life as a free bird, not to seek power or engage in scientific research—the complete opposite to me actually.
“How you feeling, O‘Lord of Space and Time?’”
Curtsying, Ciri inquires while tossing me a mischievous grin that causes butterflies to flutter in my stomach. Instinctively, I reach for her face, heart pounding in my chest. Though taken aback and a bit wide-eyed at my action or possibly the suddenness of it, Ciri stills, her head leaning slightly into my palm when she notices my hesitation.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how stunning you are, have I?”
“Are you flirting with me, ser—?”
On instinct, I trace my fingers down the angry scar on her face, along her jawline, and then to her soft lips, my own parting. “I wish to have a taste of this…”
With a feather-light touch, I gently push back her bangs and lean in, eager to steal a kiss.
My arm encircles her waist, and she responds by wrapping hers around my neck, and then our lips touch.
First, I savor the flavor of her lip gloss, a blend of crushed berries and roots, with a hint of strawberry and who knows what else Triss has put in the concoction.
A brief satisfaction washes over me when her lips part, tongue tentatively meeting mine. Thank the Gods I had spared the time to rinse my mouth thoroughly earlier…
The last thing I’d want is for our first kiss to be ruined by the taste of vomit.
Shifting my weight, my leg finds its way between hers as innocence and purity get pushed asides for pure passion.
Ciri exhales softly, her warm breath tickling the tip of my nose.
I have heard some people find this a dealbreaker, but not me, not when she’s making such noises—tempting, delicious noises that excite the heart and hypnotize the mind. One hand gliding up the bundle of hair she’s tied back, the other drawing circles on her leather-clad backside, I break our heated kiss despite the Witcheress’ needy moan.
Emerald eyes clash with my own jade green while sparks of desire dance where our gazes intertwine, I mumble, slipping a hand under her shirt. “If we continue, I… I do not believe I will be able to hold back. Last chance to back out, luv’—!”
Pulling me in for another kiss, Ciri takes my hand and places it on her breast.
“Take me.” Sweetly, the she-witcher whispers in my ear.
“No need to ask twice.”
The words rip from my throat in guttural, rasping growls as I wrench her hair back with just the right amount of pressure. Hair-pulling may be one of the more elementary kinks, but it's a technique I've worked hard to master.
Took me months to find the perfect balance of force—enough to elicit a delightful gasp, but not so much as to truly hurt my ex. I practically had the motions down to a fine art… ‘Nice.’ It’s good to know I haven’t lost the touch.
Just as she’s about to respond, my thumb and index finger gently press down on the firm protrusion beneath her shirt.
It’s almost startling how… Rigid they feel.
Last I checked, bandage wrappings should be much rougher than the typical bra, yet hers is still visible through the fabric. “Must’ve been a while if you’re this horny.”
“My last was with a girl who—uhm—!” I silence Ciri with a kiss, nibbling on her lips.
Another light pinch lures her tongue out from the cavern as I rip the cheap linen shirt to shreds. Chuckling shyly into my mouth, she whines again. “’eo!”
Tilting her head, I lick the length of her neck, kiss its sides and suckle it in hope of leaving a mark.
Territorial and immature perhaps, but it’s a primal desire I see no reason to discard unless Ciri specifically tells me not to.
Worst case scenario, I dish out a few coins to pay for her makeup—foundation, I believe it’s called?
It does not take much for me to shed her last piece of clothing.
Not much at all.
Not with Ciri helping me out quite eagerly.
Silently, I slip to part her wet folds, drinking in the sweet moans she’s so desperate to muffle.
You’ll always set the right tone if you start with the nub…
Play with it like you would a speaker knob at 4 in the morning; peel the—hopefully—thin ‘curtains’ away and rub the bud gently to gauge the ‘volume’, then adjust the pace accordingly.
If she’s trying to lock your hand there with her legs, congratulation! You’re doing it right.
It’s experiences I honed from the wild, three months Tinder relationship I had prior to my visit to the temple. It was fun at first, but with the stress from my increasing workload from holding two jobs to pay for our dates; pay bills and save up for a tiny apartment, the constant deadlines I was failing to meet, there’re days when I’d give her the equivalence of a ‘sleepy handy’ just to get it over with.
My ex didn’t take my disinterest in the last days of our relationship well.
She was a screamer too…
Thank Gods Ciri doesn’t sound like a slaughterhouse when she’s close to orgasm.
The worst part is the bitch didn’t even swallow, and there’s very little quite as torturing to a man’s Soul than watching your ‘army of billions’ get spat in the sink.
Her niche seems to be rushed gasps; heated breaths; shivers and moans instead, which I’ll gladly admit are more to my taste.
Easier to the eardrums, way less damaging to the reputation and deliciously thrilling.
Only once I have thoroughly lubricated my finger do I begin to slowly enter her, gently hooking my digit against the interior wall and caressing the sensitive nub with my thumb in a synchronized motion.
Grin stretched to my ears, I pull my hand away, much to her disappointment as she breaths the word to me—“Why?”
“Beg for it.”
“Leo…” Ciri whimpers, puppy-eyed and all.
I reply by licking the coated digits, tasting her springwater like a cat, which surprisingly isn’t unpleasant scent-wise.
Did she take a bath before coming?
Is she the chicken and I the grain?
“Please?” Mumbling beneath her breath, the Witcheress pleads between frustrated groans and gasps. I acquiesce without delay, tracing circles around the sensitive nub once more.
It’s not long before the first climax consumes her, locking my forearm in place between her trembling thighs.
I can never quite discern if it's because they need a moment to recover, but over-stimulation is a kink I rather relish, so I continue my ministrations, alternating between a rapid pace and a more languid tempo to great success—drawing out the second, third, and fourth orgasms in succession.
The Witcheress is visibly drained by the fifth, yet my past encounters suggest she has a few more in her. I just need to coax them out.
By the seventh time her legs have squeezed my forearm like a vice in the past hour, I slip out of my pants; the loose trousers laying discarded in a puddle at my feet. “How about you get a grip on that wheel, and we can move on to the main course? You’ll need something to lean on.”
Not the wheel of a car, mind you.
It’s the kind of cartoonishly oversized, wooden ship’s wheel you’d expect to see in a silly cartoon.
A whimsical leftover from the previous owner I’ve kept for its charm.
It really reminds me of my favorite rooftop, lake-view pub—stunning, affordable, and filled with a variety of dogs to interact with. And no, that’s not a euphemism for anything. It was there that I hugged a Rottweiler for the first time.
I shrug away the thought, hands firmly gripping her waist while positioning my member at her dripping entrance.
Silently, I force my way inside, marvelling at how tight and warm it is.
Must be all the fighting Ciri does.
Feeling the rhythmic contractions and pulsations around my manhood, I patiently allow the Witcheress to adjust, before gently rocking my hips.
For me, sex is primarily about the visual and auditory, both of which the Witcheress generously offers every time I withdraw partially and then reinsert myself into her wet folds. I hadn’t realized that nipples and ‘kitty’ could have such a delicate, rosy hue, but the Witcheress has definitely proven my assumption wrong.
To be fair, her skin tone’s way paler than girls I usually court.
“Le- Leo~!”
As we continue, her moans grow progressively louder, eventually drowning out the crackling of the cheap candles I have placed all around my Workshop.
Finally, the she-witcher shudders, clenching so intensely that I momentarily worry for the wellbeing of my manhood, which nevertheless endures the forceful onslaught like the valiant soldier it is.
Leaning forward, I release my seed into her intimate folds with thick, creamy fluid, then grasp her neck, index finger tilting her chin upwards, while my thumb and middle finger apply just enough pressure to momentarily restrict the flow of blood to her brain in order to heighten the high.
Ciri has averted her gaze since we began, her eyes cast downward bashfully.
However, with the way I’m holding her, she’s forced to look into my eyes during her moment of ecstasy, and it was the prettiest thing I have seen yet.
I watch as her slightly reddened lips part, and her tongue arches with a jerky motion, as if trying to lick something, before disappearing back into her mouth.
The hand holding her waist releases, allowing her legs to drop to the floor while I remain inside her, delivering the final spurts of my release. “It’s- It’s not down ye—?“ Before Ciri can speak, my free hand quickly scoops up the droplets spilling from her creek and invades her mouth, smearing a few onto the tip of her tongue which effectively silences the stunning Witcheress.
“Lick them clean.”
I command, my voice tinged with an excited, primal growl betraying my desires.
Hesitating momentarily, her chest heaving as she recovers, Ciri tentatively tastes the fruits of our labor—my seed, mixed with her own fluids and our intermingled sweats…
To my surprise, the Witcheress begins to suckle on my fingers on her eyes, giving me the half-dazed look that somehow excites me even more.
“Ready for round 2?”
“Round 2? I thought guys need a moment to recover?” She blurts, blush brightening while I grin cockily.
“Most do. I don’t.” Thanks to [Eternal Engine]. ‘If you can hear me, Detachment, thanks bro.’
‘Master the preliminaries with skillful touch and deft tongue; only then commence the main engagement and victory will surely be yours.’ — Sun Tzu, probably.
“Yep.” Nodding, I carry her to the
— [Infinity] —
After Ciri passes out, I notice [Pilferage] has run out and the Elder Blood returned to the slumbering Witcheress. A shame, but unlike other Perks, [Pilferage]’s Cooldown is only 24 hours.
I will have plenty of time to experiment with the Elven Sages’ Magnum Opus later.
In the meantimes…
Glancing at the peacefullt snoring she-witcher next to me, I chuckle, fixing the messy strands stuck to her forehead.
I’d wait for us to shower together, but after ‘that’, Ciri’s gonna be starving when she wakes up, and all I have are stale bread and murky water I have yet to filter.
“Sleep tight, luv’.” Tapping her forehead, I shower, get dressed and vanish to the market square to buy us a meal. I thought she’d be awake by the time I return, but Ciri’s still dead to the world, snoring away in dreamland…
I may have gone a tad overboard earlier.
With not much else to do, I decide to play around with my Spell.
There isn’t much I can do to enhance [Kinetic Shield], but I’ve recently brainstormed several applications for [Kinetic Blast]. Using it to amplify my attacks was just the beginning; now, I’m going to attempt a combustion by rubbing air particles together. ‘If this works—’ The thought is cut short as a spark of fiery orange ignites right before my eyes.
“Gods…”
Have I been sitting on an oil well this whole time without realizing it?
Channeling my Od into the air, I gather the particles into a small ball before me, compressing it by continuously converting my Od into kinetic energy. The air eventually converges into a pulsating, distorted sphere.
It’s not a stable method, but stability isn’t what I need—I need chaos and destruction; I need flashiness.
All my Spells and Perks are designed for close-quarters, solo combat.
My only area-of-effect options right now are [Last Fire], which is essentially the nuclear option, and objects infused with Mana.
What I want is a Spell that can cause mass destruction, and I believe I’ve found it.
Creating [Kinetic Blast] was probably the best decision I’ve made yet.
While keeping the particles contained within the sphere, I begin to compress them, the diminishing space forcing the particles to collide and vibrate with increasing intensity until a spark ignites again.
In the nanosecond of its emergence, it rapidly expands, ravenously consuming the surrounding air for fuel. The sphere inflates, emitting such a brilliant flash that I feel as though I am holding a fragment of the Sun in my hands. The suddenness of it nearly causes me to lose control, which I thankfully do not, even as I marvel at the new creation.
Unfortunately, the brightest stars also burn out the quickest.
The Spell fizzles out in seconds, leaving my skin pinkish from the heat and the table burnt black.
The whole ordeal cost around 23% of my Od, but it’s 23% well-spent if someone asked me, especially with [Super-Charged] waiting in the corner.
I wasn’t even trying my hardest either… If I were, my Od would’ve been emptied and we’d be out of a house by now. Whirling around, my lips twitch at the sight of the Witcheress sound asleep under the blanket.
How she managed to sleep through that, I have no clue…
Ciri’s usually more alert than this.
‘Quite the dilemma I’m having.’ On one hand, I worry that my absence when she wakes up might send the wrong message; on the other, I’m just itching to test the new [Kinetic Blast] variations and their interaction with [Super-Charged].
After a bit of contemplation, I write a small note and place it in Ciri’s palm before sneaking out.
Thankfully, Novigrad is surrounded by wasteland where I can test my Spells without concern.
Five minutes later, somewhere further South, I finally unleash my inner arsonist and set everything ablaze. Roy Mustang’s got nothing on me now… Not only can I release the fire in bursts like he did with Envy; I can also release the combustion in a laser-like line—perhaps slower, but deadly nonetheless.
The third method is to fling the sphere like a stray Ki blast.
The weakest method is obviously the rapid bursts of fire. It is comparable to four or five flamethrowers at best, yet it is also the most cost-efficient.
The laser is the most damaging.
It slices like Senza Esitazione itself, with a bit of Fire Damage included. Real fast too… I doubt even Kirei could have responded to it in time.
The last is the most destructive… It’s basically the magical equivalent of carpet-bombing an entire street.
All three are powerful; all three could be useful in the future… Luckily, [Super-Charged] has exactly three slots to fill; unluckily the Sun is already setting and I can’t just wait for my Od to regenerate anymore. “Tomorrow?”
The childish glee in me disagrees.
It wants to see Magic done.
“Maybe…” The Mages of Witcher-Verse ultilize Mana a lot more than Magi do.
We use Od to interact with Gaia’s ambient Mana, while they draw directly from external ‘Sources’ to fuel themselves, likely due to how accommodating the Mana is here.
Gaia would have seized the opportunity to rid herself of a few pests…
Of course, as the Chosen One, Ciri is an exception, since the Elder Blood acts as a 'Source' itself, but Triss frequently employs this method when she’s short on power to cast a Spell or perform a ritual. Perhaps I could do the same? My hypothesis proves useful when my regeneration rate begins to double, triple then quadruple in an instant—my Circuits filtering the Mana for my own use.
Reserve replenished, I gather enough for one Slot of [Infernal Blast], then unleash it in a swirling cone of ghastly blue fire.
The inferno melts rocks, chars the earth, and turns the sand into shards of molten glass in seconds. My ears ring as the inferno spreads for miles, halting just before the grassland biome.
Looking at the devastated landscape, I shudder to think of the destruction that super-charged [Apollo’s Glare] and [False Sun] could unleash. Not too eager to find out, I return to Novigrad only to catch the remnants of the Eternal Fire trying to spin my Spell-testing into tales of their God. “THE ETERNAL FIRE HAS SHOWN HIS WRATH AT LAST! HOLD ONTO YOUR FAITH, AND RECEIVE HIS BLESSING, OR DIE—”
Tripping over his cape, I ignite the priest’s robe before swiftly disappearing into the crowd.
That wasn’t [Infernal Blast]… The Spell took too long to gather the necessary air.
It was [Vibration], named for its basis in kinetic energy.
The Spell operates on similar principles to others, vibrating particles to both tear apart the material through kinetic transference and ignite it if I want.
A mere touch is sufficient, though its effectiveness diminishes significantly against targets with high MR (Magic Resistance) like Mages, Monsters,…etc. With the congregation dispersed, I continue on my way happily, but joy rarely lasts.
“His smile fair as spring, as towards him he draws you~”
Creeping over Novigrad, the fog penetrates every nook and cranny, extending its tendrils into streets, alleys, and even homes.
“His tongue sharp and silvery, as he implores you~”
Yet, none except me seems to notice the strange ocurrence. “The fuck is this, Silent Hills?”
“Your wishes he grants, as he swears to adore you,
Gold, silver, jewels – he lays riches before you~!”
Prickly sensations enveloping my skin, I hastily retreat from the gaggle of children merrily hopping across the road, mouths constantly echoing the eerie sonf; their steps barely grazing the earth as they bounce away. "No way. Absolutely not… I’m not dealing with this nonsense. Not today.”
I promptly spin on my heel, yet where a solid walkway should have been, now stands an peculiarly situated structure obstructing my path. “Oh, bollocks…”
“Dues need be repaid, and he will come for you,
All to reclaim, no smile to console you~”
Around me, millions of voices boom as I summon the Mystic Code to defend myself even though I know it won’t bridge the gap between us… There’s only one creature in the entirety of the Witcher-Verse that can make me feel dread—G.O.D.
’ve done something to draw his ire, it seems.
“He’ll snare you in bonds, eyes glowing’, a fire
To gore and torment you, till the stars expire~!”
Recoiling, I lash out at the Entity that has trapped me, wincing when it effortlessly snatches my spear with just two digits. “My, how very impolite of you…”
Skin paling, I try to de-materialize Senza Esitazione to no avail, clicking my tongue in exasperation.
“I have no dealing with you, Merchant of Glass.”
It chuckles, its voice curiously human despite the angry black veins adorning its visage.
It has made no attempt to conceal its true nature…
“On the contrary, I believe you might want to hear this!”
Striding towards a bench where a group of Novigradians were gambling, now frozen stiff, Gaunter O’Dimm unceremoniously pushes one of the peasants off.
Given his placement, the hapless man would meet his end by the shovel’s impact when time resumes.
I move to pull him up.
Gambler or not, such a death seems too miser a fate.
Regrettably, despite my best efforts, the man remains stubbornly immobile.
“Do not bother!” G.O.D calls out cheerfully, swiping a mug from one of the frozen men. “Sygdrii there owes the house 90 coins—a hefty sum for someone like him. He shall soon be made an example of.”
Eyelid twitching, I approach O’Dimm, already aware that escape won’t be easy.
I could [Void Bridge] home, but I can’t leave without speaking to Ciri first.
Best hear the Merchant out.
“Leonis, is it?”
“The one and only…” I shrug.
“Gaunter O’Dimm, pleased to meet you.”
It extends a hand, which I merely regard with a steady gaze.
Shaking hand is perhaps one of the dumbest actions a person can undertake when confronted with such a great Evil… I speak not in metaphorical terms, but quite literally.
If one shakes hands with a Demon before hammering down a proper Contract, even after it has revealed its true nature, they deserve whatever fate that will befall them next.
“I don’t recall ever summoning you…”
How did it even bypass [Veiled]?
“Your memory serves you well…”
What a way to have my day ruined.
“You have proposition, I’m guessing?”
“No.”
It shakes, hellish eyes scanning the street, then adds ominously.
“I bring a warning. It concerns our newest ‘Chosen One’—precious Cirilla.”
If before it had my curiosity, G.O.D now has my undivided attention.
“What about her?”
Comments
Ano Nymous
Comgrats wut? 😅
Hoang Nguyen Bui
Congrats bro!
