12:00 – Obsidian Wing Refectory, Lunch Rush
The refectory had never been louder.
Floating tables spun like carnival rides. Dragon-haunch medallions bled gold. Phoenix-egg soufflés rose and fell with every heartbeat. A single sip of starlight nectar could make a Taker's pupils explode into galaxies. And today, every single orb-screen in the hall was looping the same thirty-second clip on repeat:
Arya, Alexander, and Velira, naked on the spire, glass petals swirling, bodies locked in a kiss that cracked the sky.
Velira coming back from the dead.
The System's whisper: "Love Code."
The caption underneath, scrawling in crimson runes:
"VIRGIN LEVELS? GUESS AGAIN."
Liora Veyne stood on the highest table, gown of living frost torn to ribbons, icicles dripping from her lashes. She held a crystal goblet like a warhammer.
"Listen up, you horny peasants!" she shouted, voice cutting through the roar.
"Some of you still think our Alpha is a Level 1 virgin who lucked into power.
Let me correct the record."
She flicked her wrist. The clip zoomed in on Arya's face mid-orgasm—eyes rolled back, lips swollen, brand blazing.
"Count the aftershocks. That's Level 193 screaming through her veins.
She resurrected a corpse with her tongue.
So the next idiot who calls her 'virgin levels' gets frozen to the ceiling and used as a chandelier."
The refectory exploded.
Goblets shattered. Tables flipped. A freshman fainted into his phoenix soufflé.
Cassia vaulted onto a neighboring table, flames licking her bare thighs.
"Objection!" she sang, voice honey and napalm. "I was there.
Arya didn't just resurrect Velira.
She made death beg for seconds."
Velira herself sauntered in—alive, solid, wearing nothing but Arya's coat and a smirk.
She hopped onto Liora's table, spun, and let the coat fall.
Gasps. Whistles. A senior dropped his starlight nectar.
Velira's resurrection scar—a perfect black dagger across her collarbones—glowed violet.
"Rumors say I'm a ghost. Touch me and find out."
Hands shot up. Velira grabbed the nearest—some blushing Giver boy—and kissed him senseless.
He lit up like a mana crystal, eyes rolling back.
"Still breathing," she announced, licking her lips. "Next?"
12:30 – The Orgy That Broke the Tables
The refectory had rules.
No spells above Rank C.
No weapons.
No sex on the dessert bar.
Arya broke all three.
She strode through the chaos, coat open, bikini molten silver. Every step left a footprint of molten glass. The cohort flanked her—Alexander on her left, Velira on her right, Gilgamesh sprinting circles around them, Liora and Cassia riding twin ice-and-fire waves above the crowd.
She reached the central floating table—big enough for twenty—and vaulted onto it.
"Attention!" Her voice rolled like thunder.
"Today we celebrate life.
Anyone who wants to level with us, strip.
Anyone who calls me virgin again, leave."
Half the hall stripped.
The other half sprinted for the doors.
Arya's telekinesis lifted every willing body into a slow, spinning ring around the table—fifty Takers and Givers, naked, glowing, orbiting like satellites.
Velira's ghost-blade tattoo flared; shadows tethered every wrist and ankle to the air itself.
Alexander's storm runes ignited, turning the ring into a halo of lightning.
The orgy began with a kiss.
Arya kissed Velira first—slow, filthy, tasting of resurrection and revenge.
Velira kissed Alexander—teeth on his throat, marking him.
Alexander kissed Liora—ice meeting storm, steam rising.
Liora kissed Cassia—fire and frost melting into something molten.
Cassia kissed Sable—flames licking shadow until both screamed.
Sable kissed the twins—shadows splitting into four mouths.
The twins kissed Milo and Lena—telekinesis lifting them into a floating knot.
Gilgamesh kissed everyone, a golden blur leaving lightning burns on every lip.
Arya floated to the center, legs wrapped around Alexander's hips, Velira pressed to her back.
She guided him inside her—slow, public, deliberate.
Velira's fingers joined, sliding alongside him, stretching her until Arya's head fell back on a silent scream.
The orbiting ring pulsed in sync—every thrust echoing through fifty bodies.
Orgasms hit like tidal waves.
Mana exploded outward, shattering floating tables into glitter.
Dessert trays rained phoenix cream and dragon honey.
The refectory's ceiling cracked, revealing the sky.
13:00 – The Level Rain
When the final climax broke, the System didn't ping.
It wept again.
Golden rain fell—pure mana, thick as syrup.
Every participant glowed, runes flaring, levels climbing visibly on bare skin.
Arya landed on her knees in the wreckage, Alexander and Velira on either side.
Her brand blazed Level 213.
Velira's scar tattoo read Level 88.
Alexander's storm runes hit Level 55.
The cohort followed:
Liora Level 72, Cassia Level 68, Sable Level 70, the twins Level 66 each, Milo & Lena Level 64 each, Gilgameso Level 62.
Freshmen who'd joined the ring stumbled away Level 20+, eyes wide, legs trembling.
One sophomore fainted again—this time into a puddle of starlight nectar.
13:30 – The New Rumor
Liora, hair wild, lips swollen, climbed onto the only intact table.
She raised a shattered goblet.
"New rumor," she declared, voice hoarse.
"Arya Allison doesn't fuck for levels.
She fucks for miracles.
Spread it."
The refectory chanted:
"MIRACLE FUCK! MIRACLE FUCK!"
Crystal orbs recorded everything.
By dinner, every dorm in Elyssara had the clip.
By midnight, the phrase was carved into every bathroom stall.
14:00 – Afterglow on the Rooftop
They escaped to the dormitory roof, bodies sticky with honey and mana.
The cohort sprawled across the tiles—naked, glowing, laughing through tears.
Velira lay between Arya and Alexander, head on Arya's stomach, fingers tracing the new lightning scars on Alexander's chest.
"Death was cold," she murmured. "This is better."
Arya's telekinesis lifted a single glass petal from the refectory wreckage and floated it to Velira's lips.
"Welcome home."
Alexander kissed Arya's temple, voice rough.
"Jonathan's watching. He felt that level rain.
He knows what we just did."
Arya smiled, slow and sharp.
"Good.
Let him choke on it."
The dragons roared overhead, wings painting the sky in fire and shadow.
Seven dragons.
Eleven lovers.
One impossible family.
And somewhere in the Void Citadel, Jonathan Andrew screamed into the dark—
because the girl he wanted to break
had just proven she could rewrite death itself.