08:00 – Sky-Port Aurora, The Abyss Gate
The third arena hung upside-down beneath the clouds, a sphere of black water suspended by nothing.
Inside, pressure crushed lungs; outside, the hurricane sang lullabies.
Sixteen glowing runes circled the sphere like jellyfish—
ABYSS ACADEMY in letters of drowned starlight.
A single tear-shaped portal opened, weeping brine.
Through it drifted Team Kraken—
six princesses of the deep,
skin mother-of-pearl,
hair living seaweed,
eyes liquid mercury.
Each carried a living kraken coiled around her torso—
tentacles the color of midnight,
suckers glowing soft teal,
tips dripping aphrodisiac ink.
Their uniform: nothing but tears.
Saltwater rolled down their breasts, over pierced clits, pooled in navels, then fell upward into the sphere's ceiling—
an endless rain of grief and lust.
The duel announcement bloomed in bubbles:
ROUND 3: OBSIDIAN vs. ABYSS
RULE: First team to surface for air loses.
ARENA: The Drowning Cathedral – 300 fathoms of black water, zero gravity, breathable only by kiss.
UNIFORM: Skin and sin.
Arya's ruby crown dissolved into blood-mist.
The mercury bikinis melted away.
Nineteen bodies—twelve lovers, six berserkers, one redeemed villain—stood naked on the portal's lip.
Thirteen dragons circled overhead, scales shimmering like oil on water.
Velira licked salt from her lips. "I've always wanted to fuck a squid."
Alexander's storm runes fizzed, turning brine into champagne.
Jonathan's fingers trembled—first time underwater, first time forgiven.
They stepped through the tear.
08:05 – The Fall
Gravity inverted.
They fell up into the sphere—
slow,
dreamlike,
brine kissing every inch of skin.
The Kraken Princesses met them halfway,
tentacles unfurling like black silk ribbons.
One coil wrapped Arya's waist,
another slid between her thighs,
a third cupped her breast—
suckers pulsing warm,
ink tasting of midnight and oysters.
The lead princess—Nyxara, Heir of Tides—pressed her mouth to Arya's.
No tongue.
Just breath.
Pure oxygen laced with lust-pheromones.
Arya inhaled—
lungs filled with ocean and orgasm.
Every kiss became a lungful of air.
Every exhale became a moan that fed the kraken.
08:07 – The Tentacle Ballet
Zero gravity turned fucking into flight.
Nyxara's tentacles lifted Arya into a slow spin.
One thick coil slid inside her—
warm,
ridged,
pulsing like a heartbeat.
Another wrapped Alexander from behind,
guiding his cock alongside the tentacle,
stretching Arya until her eyes rolled back.
A third tentacle found Velira,
filled her mouth,
fed her ink that tasted of starlight and sorrow.
Liora and Cassia were caught by twin krakens—
ice and fire braided into a single coil,
thrusting in perfect opposition,
melting and freezing with every stroke.
Sable's shadows merged with the tentacles,
turning midnight silk into living cocks that fucked every hole at once.
The Drakefire berserkers roared—
ruby blood mixing with brine,
turning the water into rosé champagne.
The twins fused into an eight-limbed mermaid,
tails wrapped around two krakens,
riding them like sea-horses.
Milo and Lena floated above,
telekinesis weaving tentacles into a living swing,
rocking Gilgamesh and Jonathan in mid-air,
mouths full of salt and cock.
Gilgamesh—finally spelled right—became a golden torpedo,
swimming through the sphere at Mach 3,
tongue flicking every clit,
every sucker,
every tear.
08:10 – The Cathedral of Moans
The Drowning Cathedral unfolded around them—
black coral spires,
stained-glass jellyfish pulsing with bioluminescence,
pews of giant clams that opened and closed like mouths.
The krakens carried them to the altar—
a bed of pearl and anemone,
soft as sin,
sharp as memory.
Nyxara laid Arya on the altar,
tentacles spreading her wide.
Six princesses formed a circle,
each kraken linking to the next,
forming a single giant organism—
thirty-six tentacles,
one heartbeat.
They fucked her in waves.
First wave: gentle—
suckers kissing nipples,
tips tracing brand scars,
ink painting runes of "stay" across her ribs.
Second wave: brutal—
three tentacles inside her at once,
stretching,
filling,
pumping brine and lust until her belly swelled with ocean.
Third wave: love—
every lover joined,
hands linked,
mouths kissing,
souls braided.
Alexander's cock alongside the tentacles,
Velira's tongue on her clit,
Jonathan's tears falling into her open mouth,
Kora's ruby blood dripping between her breasts,
Liora's ice fingers inside Cassia inside Sable inside the twins inside Gilgamesh inside Milo and Lena—
a chain of flesh and salt and forgiveness.
08:15 – The Kraken Tears
The princesses began to cry—
real tears,
salty as grief,
sweet as surrender.
Each tear that touched skin became a pearl of pure mana.
Arya caught one on her tongue—
Level 380.
Velira swallowed three—
Level 220.
Jonathan drank an entire stream—
Level 180, eyes no longer hungry.
The altar pearl grew,
became a sphere,
became a second heart for the cathedral.
Nyxara's voice bubbled through the water:
"We yield.
Take our tears.
Take our krakens.
Take our breath."
Arya kissed her—
mouth to mouth,
soul to soul,
breath to breath.
The krakens submitted.
Thirty-six tentacles turned obsidian at the tips,
suckers glowing with Arya's brand.
08:20 – The Underwater Orgasm
They came as one organism.
Arya first—
silent scream,
tentacles pulsing inside her,
Alexander's cock swelling,
Velira's tongue flicking,
Jonathan's tears mixing with her own.
The orgasm exploded outward—
a shockwave of mana and cum and brine.
Every pearl tear detonated into golden light.
The cathedral's spires shattered into coral confetti.
Jellyfish stained-glass burst into rainbows.
The sphere's water turned warm as blood,
sweet as champagne,
thick as honey.
They floated in the afterglow—
nineteen bodies,
nineteen krakens,
thirteen dragons curled around the sphere like a pearl in an oyster.
Bubbles rose from every mouth—
moans made visible,
spelling LOVE DEPTH in cursive script.
08:30 – The Kraken Crown
Nyxara knelt in the coral rubble,
offering a crown of living tentacles—
black,
teal,
warm as heartbeat.
Arya placed it on her head.
The tentacles curled into her hair,
suckers kissing her scalp,
feeding her breath,
feeding her power.
Level 420.
The cohort surged—
Velira Level 260,
Alexander Level 210,
Jonathan Level 220 and smiling through tears.
The portal tear reopened,
spilling them back into the hurricane—
naked,
drenched,
crowned in salt and submission.
High Arbiter Seraphine's six wings dripped brine and lust.
Her voice rolled across the sky:
"Round 3: Obsidian Victorious.
Thirteen rounds remain.
Next: The Solaris Phoenix Emperors—
they fight with feathers and fire that burns underwater."
Arya licked a kraken tear from Velira's breast.
"Let them burn," she whispered.
"We'll fuck the flames into rain."
The hurricane answered with a kiss of warm rain.
The tournament trembled.
The continent held its breath for the next moan that would drown the sun.