Hey, guys! I'm here with yet another chapter! This is the first R-rated scene in the story and, for the old readers, a new content that hadn't been used previously. It's also my first "solo" moment for the main character, so I hope I didn't make it weird XD
I would like to thank you all for supporting Cataclysm! I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the story!
Anyway, I hope you like this chapter! And please do not forget: updates take place every Monday and Friday from 12pm to 5 pm PST!
See you,
—Cherry
The smell of burned violets spread through the room. There was nothing besides that and the shadows enveloping her.
Droplets of water rolled down her golden skin, creating shimmery lines along the path they followed. It was cold. A shiver ran through her body. Even if she wasn't naked, the tunic she was wearing was too thin to maintain her natural warmth, especially considering that she was in direct contact with the marble floor.
Her nose itched, but she remained still.
Quiet.
Unmoving.
She couldn't risk starting the ritual all over again.
The incense smoke curled around her limbs, her torso, her hair, engulfing her like a wave. Taking over her senses, her emotions, her thoughts.
Taking over the thing that existed inside her.
Her Nen.
The smoke was heavy. Thick. Inhaling it was complicated, and demanded more effort from her than the expected. Her nostrils flared and small tears pooled in the corners of her closed eyes. It was like placing her hand on a flame — unnatural and painful.
Her eyes widened as she felt it settle and solidify on the pit of her stomach, in a part of it she had never thought existed.
What was that?
Something inside her stirred uncomfortably.
She grunted, tilting her head forward.
"Concentrate, Medea!"
She nodded, unsure if she could actually comply with the order. It was too uncomfortable. Her abdomen hurt, as if it was being punched continuously.
Medea took a deep breath.
She couldn't fight it. She couldn't resist the ritual. Everything had to happen accordingly or else she would not be able to suppress her aura. And the Great Mutable knew well how badly she needed to.
Her eyes were shut tightly. Her head spun as more of the intoxicatingly sweet fog entered her body.
The priestesses around her began to hum, starting a steady, mournful melody. The hairs on her body bristled. They increased the pitch, as did the terrible feeling lodged in Medea's gut.
In and out
Come and go
Push and pull
Medea breathed in. Her lungs burned.
Maintain
Maintain
Maintain
Contain
Contain
Contain
The palms of her hands were sweaty as she grasped the tunic, wetting it to the point of making it sheer and sticking it to her skin. The chamber they were in seemed suddenly colder, or at least that's what her low blood pressure led her to assume.
Maybe she should have eaten something before the ritual began.
Or not.
She would hate to end up vomiting on one of the priestesses.
Grow and shrink
Bloom and perish
Contain
Contain
Contain
She gasped.
The air stagnated in her throat and in the room.
Frozen. Unchanging.
Bring an end
Medea choked with a scream as she crashed into something brash and cold, her bones groaning and screaming as her body collapsed.
Sparks danced in front of her violet eyes, mixing with the grayish smoke and the darkness that sometimes seemed to flood her mind, putting her into a trance. It was pure insanity. She was vaguely aware of how untamed she looked. There was no trace of the control she exercised over herself on a daily basis.
All that still remained was the violent dread that overwhelmed her.
And the white noise ringing in her ears.
Contain. Maintain. Contain.
That mantra repeated in her mind until the discomfort stopped.
There was no pain.
No agony.
Nothing.
It was as if she was awakening from a dream.
The darkness dissipated long enough for her to see someone's hand extended toward her, and only then did Medea realize that she was lying on the ground. With effort, she pushed herself up, clutching the scrawny wrist of one of her sisters.
"You did well." The priestess said sleepily.
"Did it work?" She asked, throat burning as if she had been screaming.
"What worked?"
"The ritual." Her eyebrow arched as she noticed the woman's confusion.
"The ritual?"
"Yes."
"Ah... That is something quite relative."
"How so?"
The priestess lowered her blue hood, staring at her with an expression as sleepy (or was it bored?) as her tone of voice. "The ritual we performed is for restrainment."
Medea blinked. "I... I am aware. I want to understand why the outcome is relative."
She sighed. "If you intend to tone something down, like an aggressive behavior or an addiction, it will work. It will be as if you have never experienced it in your life. I know. I went through the same ritual a few years ago. Too agitated, they said. Enough to disturb the High Priestess during the ceremonies, but now…" The woman's lips opened in a strange, almost macabre smile that made Medea gulp down. "I am one of the most obedient servants."
She nodded, taking a step back. "Right…"
"The High Priestess said that you want to moderate your Nen."
"And do you think it will work?"
The priestess tilted her head to the side. "Is your Nen a fundamental feature of your personality?" She asked, airily.
"No."
"Are you dependent on it?"
"No."
"Oh, how fortunate. The Great Mutable is not pleased with those who depend on such blasphemous tricks."
"And the ritual's result?"
"It is relative."
Medea took a deep breath.
She was starting to think that maybe another person was going to die in that temple besides Sabina and the guards.
"You know what? Fine. Thank you for your help. I'm sure the ritual will be a success."
"It all depends on how you handle it."
She turned, staring at the woman. "Handle what?"
"The ritual."
"You mean that the success of the ritual depends on how I handle... the ritual?"
The priestess blinked, looking through Medea as if she was made of glass. Lost in her own thoughts.
When she realized she would get no answer, Medea sighed and bowed to the woman and the other priestesses there, and left the chamber.
What a strange woman.
Not once during the eight years she had spent serving the Order had she met anyone like her. She had never even heard of her. Her mind seemed to be as foggy as that place.
Medea chuckled.
Maybe it was. Weed generally caused that sort of thing.
She went down the stairs as fast as she could, considering she was barefoot and the water drops were still wetting her feet, clinging to the carved wooden banister as her hair swayed around her face. Her chin trembled from the cold, but it wasn't unbearable enough to make her joints ache. Still, she would need to warm herself up after the shower bath. The nights in Ileack were not kind.
She closed the bedroom door and immediately undressed, dropping her damp tunic on the bathroom floor.
Medea opened the hot shower and sighed contentedly as she felt the warm water, goosebumps flourishing all over her golden skin as she got used to the sudden change in temperature. When there was no longer any soap on her, she took the fluffy towel and wrapped herself in it, smiling. This was much better.
She walked to the bed and opened her travel bag in search of some comfortable clothes. "Let's see... This one is too thin. This one is too thick, I'll suffocate. Not this one either... Did I even bring—"
She stopped talking as soon as she came across a yellow sweater.
For a few moments, the woman just stared at it, static.
She took it in her hands, feeling her fingers tingling, and frowned.
How did this get in the middle of her things? She couldn't remember putting it there, much less picking it up. She sighed. It had been so long since she had last seen this sweater... Almost as long as the picture in her closet.
One of Kite's gifts that she had made sure to bury in the back of her mind. It was the second time in a short time that something related to him reappeared in her life. And with it came that tightness in her chest again.
She bit her lower lip.
Kite…
Medea could see his face clearly now that she had found that old photo again. The almond eyes, the thin lips, the long nose... It was as if she met him often.
She remembered the satisfaction she had felt when she was told that he would accompany her on that mission. The man she admired so much. Who had taught her almost everything she knew. Who had shown her kindness for the first time in her life, without asking for anything in return.
She could still remember the first time she had seen him.
Only a few days after she passed the Hunter Exam, at the age of eleven, she found herself completely alone in an unknown country. To make matters worse, she was hungry. Starving.
It was by chance that she had spotted Kite, with his inattentive posture. At the time, he was Medea's current age, barely an adult in fact. He seemed like an easy target. Perfect for her to put into practice everything she had been taught about the arts of thievery.
Or so she had thought.
As soon as she touched his wallet, Kite grabbed her wrist, preventing her from running away. Then, not caring about her age, he scolded her with the severity reserved for an adult. He had said that a Hunter should never behave that way.
Medea had never felt such shame.
Perhaps, because of this, she had explained about being an orphan and having no one who could help her — an attempt to lessen the humiliation.
Kite ended up taking a completely different stance after this, even taking her out to eat, stating that he would help her with the secret task of the Hunter Exam. The sympathy and understanding of one in a similar situation.
From then on, they began to meet frequently to train, and, after some time, simply to talk. They had more in common than people would assume.
As the years passed, the relationship between the two became stronger, to the point that Kite became the parameter of what she wanted to do with her life. It was almost as if he was her older brother.
She wondered for a moment if that was why she allowed Alluka and Killua to be close. Could it be? Because she could see that she herself was becoming this pseudo older sister to both of them (even if Killua wouldn't admit it)?
Sighing, she ran her fingers through the bee embroidery on her sweater.
It was… Highly possible.
Despite the teasing, the siblings and her got along very well. It was almost like reliving that cherished moment from the past, but this time in Kite's position.
Almost.
Because Kite and her had such similar tastes and opinions that it was sometimes scary. It was a friendship that had everything to be perfect... Until her insecurities started to show up.
Due to the time Kite spent with that group of aspiring Hunters, which made him distant and busy, he could rarely get in touch with Medea.
Little by little, the fear that everything that had happened before she met him would happen again became more and more present in her mind. She was being ignored. Replaced. He had found better people to keep in his life. He didn't need her anymore.
For someone who had suffered multiple abandonments in less than two decades, this was absurd. She wasn't strong enough to go through that torment again. She couldn't do it. She would put up with anything but being abandoned one more time. It didn't take long for her emotional stability to circle the drain.
Months passed before he reappeared.
He showed up at her door one day, as if nothing had happened. As if he didn't notice her uneasiness. Then, he announced that he would be on an indefinite mission with the same group as always, leading them in a research project in the Kakin Empire.
Medea had an outburst.
Everything she had bottled up for months was spat out at once in bitter words, the ones she was sure would hurt him. At no time did she allow him to defend himself.
Her verbal attacks were as varied as possible. She was completely out of control.
She didn't care about that pathetic group of brainless people, nor about their mediocre achievements and their ridiculous little lives. If he wanted out of her life so badly, then he should do it at once. She didn't need him either. And she warned — or better, shouted — that he had better rethink that damned mission or he would end up dead.
He remained impassive during the whole time, and was perhaps a little colder than usual when he replied that he would go no matter what she said.
With her blood boiling, Medea kicked him out and warned him that she never wanted to see him again.
She hadn't spoken to Kite ever since. In fact, she hadn't even heard from him, not even during her missions. He seemed to have simply disappeared in those three years.
Medea clutched the yellow sweater in her hands.
It was precisely this one she had been wearing on that fateful day. It still smelled of tears and sweat, even though it had been washed about ten times in the same week — one of the reasons she had dumped it in some dark corner of her closet.
But now it was here, with the ideal characteristics of the garment she had been looking for.
"It's just a sweater," She said, trying to convince herself as she ran it over her head. "Just a... sweater."
She looked at her reflection in the mirror.
So similar. So different.
Tired, Medea just looked away, putting on her panties before going back into the bathroom to hang up her towel.
Medea sighed as she felt something touch her shoulder. Warm and gentle.
She shivered, perhaps because her surroundings were colder than usual. She tried to cover herself with a blanket, but a hand stopped her, pinning her to the soft mattress.
Warm, almost feverish lips touched her jaw softly. And then they intensified the contact, making it needier. Possessive. Dominating. They lingered in each new area, exploring it in a deliciously curious way as if they had all the time in the world. She hoped they did. She loved it when he woke her up like this.
She moaned softly.
It was impressive to see how well their bodies reacted to each other.
The kisses went further and further down her neck, her collarbone, and down to the valley of her breasts. She smiled as she felt him sigh against her skin. The mornings that preceded his return home always made him more avid.
She gasped and widened her eyes as the moist tongue licked the bottom of her breast, shivers running down her spine. So eager. He had already gotten rid of her clothes before he even woke her up.
Medea couldn't judge him. They were a hindrance to what he wanted, even more so with the desire that simmered inside him. Inside her too.
When the man latched onto her nipple, Medea didn't try to hold back the whine that escaped her. He loved them, she knew that. Her back arched gently, her muscles stiffening throughout in the process.
"More…" Her voice was a little husky, more from the arousal than anything else.
He didn't seem to mind the order disguised as a request. He just smiled against her soft skin. And then he nibbled hard on the sensitive nipple, pulling it forward minimally, black eyes shining mischievously under his thick lashes.
Medea sighed in surprise, her hips rolling in search of contact.
His free hand moved up to her other breast, massaging it. There was no hurry. As much as both of them were tremendously horny, he never acted hastily. On the contrary, he liked to torture her slowly; the certainty that he was pleasing her was the fuel to increase his own pleasure.
The texture of his hand was engraved in her mind — every relief, every depression, every scar. The long fingers, the sharp nails…
Everything was familiar.
Her body knew the one to whom it belonged.
Her hands gripped the curtain of satiny strands that fell over his shoulders, the way she knew he liked. They were so long. So soft. So...him. She pulled him up, to herself, and her lips took his with desperation.
Her lover.
Her beloved.
She opened her eyes, taking time to focus them on the ceiling because of the darkness of the room, chest rising and falling rapidly.
A dream.
It had all been a dream.
Her eyebrows knit together in frustration. It had been such a good dream, so different from the ones she usually had. Her chest ached. The feeling of affection and trust had been so... Real.
She turned her face to the window and felt relief when she noticed that there was no trace of sunlight behind the trees. It was still night. She was still in the Great Temple. This meant that the ceremony would still take hours and hours. She could sleep for a long time.
That is, if she could sleep; she was too restless for that. She could still remember everything clearly.
It was torture.
And then an idea crossed her mind.
She stopped and thought for a moment.
Maybe there was something that would help her calm down, or at least ease that annoying itch enough until sleep came again.
She guided one hand to the hem of her sweater, pulling it up to reveal her navel and part of her ribs. As she reached under the fabric, grabbing her right breast, Medea ran her other hand slowly through her torso, just as the man had done.
Her fingers pushed the panties aside and she sighed with her eyes closed as they brushed against her puffy outer lips.
She squeezed her own breast hard and spread her legs just enough to get better access to herself.
With her index finger, she explored the path from her wet entrance to the tiny turgid bud. Slowly, she massaged it while continuing to feel the soft flesh in her other hand.
The memory of the obscene sounds of the man in her dreams caused her to speed up her movements. The hand on her breast was nothing like his. Too soft, too small, too feminine.
She bit her lower lip.
She wanted to feel him one more time. Whether it was his lips or his fingers, she didn't care. She just wanted his touch.
Medea instinctively knew his fingers would play with her pussy with mastery. His movements would be full of passion, slow, even tortuous. He would nibble her neck hard enough for her to beg to be fucked, to be used by him to sate his own dirty pleasures.
And he would.
She didn't know how, but she knew he would.
She clamped the stiffened nipple between her fingers, mimicking the action from the dream. It hurt in a delicious way. She could almost hear a chuckle — unknown, arrogant, and erotic — ringing in her ears as she rolled her hips against her left hand.
A whine left her lips.
She would claw at his back, as she muffled a scream upon feeling him invade her. There would be no hint of delicacy. And she would roll her eyes when he truly began to thrust hard into her, their bodies colliding against each other.
Her skin shivered.
Sweat pooled on her face, heat spread through her being. The smell of sex infested the room.
"Fuck..." She murmured, eyebrows furrowing as she picked up the pace.
She grabbed the other breast, gently pinching the sensitive nipple and drawing a sultry moan from herself.
Heavens, it felt like she was going to combust with such desire!
Between restrained moans and the wet sounds caused by her juices, Medea felt her body arch, even harder than before. Her insides pulsed, contracting and relaxing around nothing.
The world exploded into a blinding hot light, and sweat trickled down her forehead.
She closed her eyes tightly, breathing deeply as her body shook with the spasms of her climax.
So good…
She sighed, relieved, and stared at the ceiling again. Her heart was beating fast, but her chest was moving calmly.
Relaxed.
Serene.
She smiled. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed herself like this. But it had also been a while since the last time she had a wet dream this realistic.
And that man... Although she couldn't remember his face, she could remember his eyes. Feline and inclined and big. And as black as a blackberry.
Those eyes were not strange to her. It almost seemed as if she had seen them before. It was so strange.
She put her panties back in place and pulled down her yellow sweater, her nipples rubbing against the thick fabric. It tickled.
On the small table beside the bed, her cell phone vibrated.
She quickly wiped her wet fingers on her thigh and reached out the other hand to pick it up, squinting her eyes to get used to the brightness as she unlocked the screen and read the notifications.
To her surprise, a straw hat the size of her fingernail appeared in the notifications of her conversation with Kurapika. Medea chuckled when she saw the message he sent after.
A perfect complement to a perfect little frog, don't you think so, Dhea?
She thought about answering, but it would be much more interesting to annoy him for being up so late the next day. She wouldn't miss this opportunity for anything. With a smile, Medea locked the screen again and put the cell phone back in its original place.
The main reason for Medea's presence at the Great Temple was fulfilled. Or so it seems. Will Medea be able to perform the ceremony she was required to attend after this weird ritual? And why does her past keep resurfacing?
To find out these and other questions, stay tuned for the next chapters~