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352 - Violence of the Flame [Sturmblitz]
🕑 Added 2024-04-04 04:59:56 +0000 UTCA/N: The first 3/5 or so are smut. After that it's right to the dragon hunt.
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It was at this moment that Zefaris learned just how far her cultivator physique could stretch. That seething, thrumming thing could barely be considered of human proportion, mercilessly bulldozing into her bosom, surging with enough fulgur to knock out any mortal. A long wheeze escaped Zefaris as it skewered her — the last dregs of coherent thought being exorcised.
Then it retreated, leaving an intolerable emptiness behind. The wait for its return, though mere moments, felt as though a torturous eternity. With each thrust, great gusts of dense fog erupted from Zel’s nostrils, and Zefaris found herself emitting sounds more fitting for a rabid beast than a human.
Each pulse of Zel’s heartbeat and ignition of her lungs sent surges of current crashing through her, each an inexorable demand for attention. At some point, her cap fully obscured her sight, but she didn’t notice. In the timeless expanse of sensory overload that followed, there was no dragon, no hunt.
For a moment, she felt as though she might break, and perhaps something did — when the fist-sized mass of flesh entered her at last, a deluge of liquid followed with the spasms. She wasn’t sure whether it was from Zelsys or from herself, and certainly didn’t have the mental capacity to make such a distinction.
By the second eon, she was once again made empty, and found herself blinded by the campfire’s light for a brief moment as she was turned over onto her back. The feeling of near-weightlessness remained, her shoulders barely touching the cold stone as her lower half was hoisted into the air. The indomitable colossus of her infatuation instantaneously blocked the fire’s infernal glow, eyes shining blue.
The third eon came, its coming marked by the replacement of the fiery spear with a great serpent, writhing and undulating inside her. A measure of clarity returned to her when Zelsys pressed two fingers into her rear, meeting her gaze with a tacit question. She had neither the will nor the intention to refuse, and erelong the blonde found herself being rutted from both ends to the point she couldn’t discern which hole was which.
By the fourth eon, Zel lifted her from the ground as if she weighed no more than a feather, pinning her legs behind her head. The amazon muffled her utterly incoherent, ragged vocalizations by stuffing her tongue down her throat.
At some point in the pleasure-blurred eternity, it all ended and she drifted off to sleep, but that was still at least another eon away.
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Zefaris awoke to the clarion call of armageddon's trumpets, piercing through her skull like an iron nail. She struggled to raise herself up, only to find she couldn’t stand — her legs just wouldn’t obey. She was stripped naked, yet contrary to her hazy memory of the past several hours, both she and her surroundings were entirely clean. Her hair, somewhat damp, had been untied, and the taste of Witch’s Brew lingered on her tongue. Her right shoulder itched something fierce, thin scabs already peeling away from freshly-healed skin.
The source of that horrific noise became self-evident the moment she came to her senses. It was the Wildfire Kite. Its form was distinct from that of its partner, with a slightly smaller, but much bulkier build. Its scales were larger and pointier, and had a dark gradient towards the points. The dragon was atop the plundered nest, roaring — no, that wasn’t right. It was screaming. With its scales fully raised, jets of flame erupted past them from its skin, growing so dense around its neck they formed a majestic mane of fire.
Off to the side, behind a tree, Zel waited, somehow having concealed herself well enough that the dragon hadn’t noticed her yet. Reaching into the inner pocket of her coat, Zefaris touched her tablet and sent a ping. Their gazes met, and instantly, Zel’s plan of attack shifted to incorporate the Nameless Phantom and supporting fire from Zefaris. She was in no state to provide full-scope support, but that wouldn’t stop her from doing everything she could.
With each passing second, the air was becoming warmer, the dragon’s tantrum stoking its surroundings into an inferno of smoldering charcoal. The beast’s aura was sprawled out around it, but reached neither of the women. Zel shifted in place, and Zefaris immediately saw her self-concealment formation break. The kite fell silent as its attention snapped towards the foreign presence. It was then that Zef felt a ping containing the concept of “Nameless”, referring to the Nameless Phantom. She wasted no time in flexing her aura and directing as much as she could muster towards the Nameless Phantom, priming it to fire. It waited a moment, just a moment, before a ghostly shell came flying from the treeline, bounced off of a kinetic mirror glyph, and flew right into the beast’s open mouth, smashing into its palate. A geyser of ghostly-green erupted from the back of its head, and its flame seemed to die, only to restart with even greater fury… But Zefaris knew she had made the right choice. Whereas before, the flames had been bright yellow and almost elegant in how they flowed, now they raged a flickering, sputtering orange, and the glow of the Kite’s eye died down. This was key — disrupting its ability to bring spiritual power to bear to minimize loss of draconic essence in the end product.
The rest was up to Zelsys. Zefaris didn’t want to risk dracofulminate against a dragon descendant, at least not one this important. The seconds it took the black cylinder to unload Pentacle and reload it with atrine felt like hours, in no small part due to how far Zef had to stretch her own perception to make sense of what followed after the Nameless Phantom’s shot.
A blur of steel and lightning exploded from the treeline, scything down a dozen trees in one fell swoop. Out from the dust, four enormous grey serpents flung entire trunks as if they were spears, which had somehow been severed from their leafy crowns and sharpened into spears in the aforementioned explosion. The dragon outstretched its wings, sheathing them in flame, and in a comparable feat of explosive motion, used them to parry the incoming tree-spears. The shape which was their source had already leapt into the air, arcing upward only for two serpents of seething-white lightning to pierce the Wildfire Kite’s wings. They continued further, wrapping around its legs before digging into the ground.
