04:00 – Obsidian Alpha-Regent Suite
The bed was a battlefield of silk and sweat.
Moonlight poured through windows of living glass, painting eleven bodies in silver and violet.
Arya lay at the center, crown askew, thighs still trembling from the last orgasm.
Alexander's storm runes glowed faint blue across her hips; Velira's shadow scar curled like a satisfied cat over her heart.
Liora's ice had melted into warm water that pooled in the hollow of Arya's throat; Cassia's embers floated above them like lazy fireflies.
No one slept.
They breathed each other in.
Velira traced the crown's edge. "Tomorrow we fly."
Alexander's fingers tightened on Arya's waist. "Tonight we burn."
Sable's shadows curled around ankles, wrists, throats—gentle tethers that kept them from floating away.
Arya rose on one elbow, hair spilling like liquid night.
"Jonathan thinks death is his weapon.
We just proved it's ours."
She kissed Velira—slow, filthy, tasting of resurrection.
Then Alexander—storm meeting starlight.
Then every mouth in the pile—Liora's frost, Cassia's fire, the twins' twin tongues, Milo and Lena's synchronized gasps, Gilgameso's lightning-quick nips.
The suite's walls pulsed, drinking their pleasure, growing taller, sharper, hungrier.
By the time the eastern sky blushed red, the bed was a lake of mana and seed, and every rune on every body glowed Level 230+.
05:00 – The War Council on the Roof
They stepped onto the roof naked, crowned, and fearless.
Seven dragons waited—Ruby, Storm, Thunder, Specter, Echo, Void, Phantasm—wings spread like a cathedral of scales and shadow.
The cohort formed a perfect circle around Arya's throne, now grafted to the roof's center, obsidian teeth glinting.
Headmistress Veyra arrived on a phoenix of living frost, landing with a bow.
"Alpha-Regent," she said, voice ringing across the city.
"Obsidian Wing is yours.
Name your strike."
Arya stood.
The crown flared.
The dragons roared.
Every dorm screen in Elyssara lit with her face.
"Tonight, the Void Citadel falls.
Every Taker, every Giver, every beast—
march with me or kneel to Jonathan.
There is no third choice."
The city answered.
Windows shattered with cheers.
Dragons took flight from every spire.
Three thousand voices became thirty thousand, became three hundred thousand.
War drums of pure mana rolled across the sky.
06:00 – The March
They flew at dawn.
Arya rode Phantasm, the Tier-10 Chimera-Dragon, crown blazing like a comet.
Alexander and Velira flanked her on Storm and Echo—storm and nightmare in perfect sync.
Liora and Cassia rode Ruby, ice and fire braiding into a helix of destruction.
Sable shadowed the entire army—ten thousand Takers on dragonback, twenty thousand Givers in floating chariots, fifty thousand beasts marching below.
The Void Citadel hung above the horizon like a black sun, chains of shadow anchoring it to the sky.
Jonathan's legion poured out—five hundred thousand shadow beasts, wings of void, eyes of hunger.
The sky caught fire.
06:30 – The First Clash
Phantasm dove first, wings slicing shadow chains like paper.
Arya's telekinesis ripped a hole in the citadel's outer shell—big enough for a dragon wing.
Velira teleported inside, shadow daggers carving runes that bled black blood.
Alexander's storm runes detonated, turning the breach into a lightning maelstrom.
Liora froze an entire battalion mid-flight—ice statues that Cassia shattered with a single whip-crack of blue fire.
Sable's shadows swallowed three legions whole, spitting out bones.
The twins fused into an eight-armed war goddess, tails lashing skyward, carving shadow beasts into confetti.
Milo and Lena lifted an entire fortress tower and dropped it on Jonathan's vanguard.
Gilgameso became a golden comet, running circles around the citadel until friction ignited the air.
Arya flew straight into the heart of the storm.
07:00 – Jonathan's Throne Room
The throne room was a sphere of perfect darkness, lit only by Jonathan's eyes—black holes that drank light.
He sat on a throne of screaming faces, Level 245, cloak of void writhing like living smoke.
Arya landed alone.
Phantasm sealed the breach behind her.
Crown to crown.
Alpha to Regent.
Mirror to mirror.
Jonathan stood.
"Arya," he said, voice soft, almost tender.
"Kiss me.
End this.
Rule with me."
She walked forward until their breaths mingled.
His hunger smelled like ozone and grief.
Hers smelled like resurrection and gunpowder.
"I already rule," she whispered.
"And you're in my way."
She kissed him.
Not surrender.
War.
Her tongue slid against his—Pain/Pleasure Conversion flaring white-hot.
His Mana Leech tried to drink.
Her core ate it, turned it into lightning that burned his throat.
The throne room cracked.
Jonathan staggered, blood on his lips—his own.
"You… stole my hunger."
Arya smiled, crown blazing.
"I don't need it.
I have them."
The wall behind her exploded.
Velira teleported in, daggers first.
Alexander storm-stepped beside her, lightning spear raised.
The entire cohort poured through—eleven bodies, seven dragons, one unstoppable tide.
Jonathan's eyes widened—fear, raw and childlike.
He raised his hand.
The Void Citadel screamed.
07:15 – The Citadel's Heart
They fought through corridors of living shadow.
Velira's daggers carved doorways that bled.
Alexander's storms turned hallways into thunder-tunnels.
Liora froze rivers of void into glass bridges.
Cassia's fire melted them into molten highways.
Sable's shadows ate the walls themselves.
The twins rode Phantasm's shoulders, tails whipping shadow beasts into paste.
Milo and Lena levitated the entire cohort through collapsing ceilings.
Gilgameso ran ahead, carving a golden path.
At the citadel's heart floated Jonathan's Core—a black sun pulsing with every level he'd ever stolen.
Arya reached it first.
She pressed her crown to the core.
Velira pressed her scar.
Alexander pressed his storm rune.
Eleven hands, one heartbeat.
The core shattered.
07:30 – Jonathan's Fall
The Void Citadel unraveled.
Chains snapped.
Shadow beasts dissolved into screams.
Jonathan fell to his knees in the wreckage, cloak burned away, skin cracked with light.
Arya stood over him, crown dripping starlight.
"Yield."
He looked up—eyes no longer black holes, but human.
Tears carved clean paths through the ash on his face.
"I just wanted…" His voice cracked. "To be seen."
Velira knelt, shadow dagger at his throat.
"You were seen," she said softly. "Every time you stole a kiss.
Now learn what it feels like to give one."
Arya leaned down.
She kissed his forehead—gentle, final.
Dragon Tamer Rank SSS flared.
Jonathan's core submitted.
The System wept a third time.
War ended.
Victor: Obsidian Alpha-Regent.
Jonathan Andrew — Level 1.
Memory intact.
Sentence: Life debt to Arya Allison.
08:00 – Dawn Over the Ruins
The citadel crashed into the Ashglass Canyons, a mountain of broken glass and shadow.
Obsidian Wing's army landed among the wreckage—dragons roaring victory, Takers and Givers weeping joy.
Arya stood atop the highest shard, crown blazing, Jonathan kneeling at her feet.
Velira and Alexander flanked her, hands linked.
The cohort formed a living crown of their own—eleven bodies, seven dragons, one family.
She raised Velira's dagger-scepter.
"Today," she declared, voice carrying to every corner of Elyssara,
"death kneels.
Tomorrow, the System does."
The sky caught fire a second time—golden this time.
Every soul in the city felt their levels surge.
The war was over.
The coronation had just begun.