09:00 – The Clockwork Nebula, Dawn of the Sixth Duel
The sixth arena was a galaxy made of brass and longing.
Planets spun on golden axles.
Moons ticked like pocket watches.
Comets trailed lubricating oil that smelled of ozone and crushed orchids.
At the center hung the Celestial Forge—
a cathedral of pistons and stained-glass gears,
each tooth engraved with a law of reality.
Team Mechanist waited on a dais of living clockwork—
six artisans in skin of polished chrome,
joints oiled with liquid starlight,
hearts replaced by oscillating mana-cores that glowed rose-gold.
Their leader, Arch-Artificer Cogsworth, was a woman whose spine was a spiral spring,
whose breasts rose and fell in perfect 4/4 time,
whose eyes were twin lenses that zoomed on every heartbeat.
The duel announcement chimed in perfect C-major:
ROUND 6: OBSIDIAN vs. MECHANICA
RULE: First team to stop a single gear loses.
ARENA: The Clockwork Nebula – gravity is negotiable, friction is sacred, every orgasm turns a cog.
UNIFORM: Oil and obedience.
Arya's five crowns fused into a single halo of braided light—
ruby, brine, dawn, silence, and obsidian.
Twenty-five bodies stepped onto the dais—
nineteen lovers,
six silent Choir children clinging to hips and shoulders like living jewellery.
Thirteen dragons folded their wings into brass filigree,
scales clicking into place like pocket-watch covers.
Cogsworth's lenses whirred, focusing on Jonathan.
"Traitor-Prince," she said, voice a perfect sine wave.
"Still trading hearts for crowns?"
Jonathan's fingers found Arya's.
"I traded hunger for harmony," he answered.
"Watch."
09:05 – The First Click
Cogsworth snapped her fingers.
A single gear the size of a moon began to turn—
The Gear of Gravity.
Its teeth meshed with the cohort's ankles,
pulling them into a slow, inevitable spiral.
Arya countered with telekinesis made of memory.
She remembered the first time Velira's laugh had shattered a ward.
The memory became a counter-weight.
Gravity loosened its grip.
Velira teleported onto the gear itself,
shadow daggers kissing each tooth.
Every kiss left a bead of oil that smelled of resurrection.
The gear slowed.
Alexander's storm runes became lightning rods,
drawing the nebula's static into a single blue arc.
He pressed the arc to the gear's axle—
sparks flew,
oil ignited into azure fire,
friction became music.
09:08 – The Oil Ballet
The Mechanists answered with liquid choreography.
Cogsworth's spine uncoiled—
spring becoming whip,
whip becoming lover.
She lashed the oil into spirals that caught the cohort mid-spin.
One spiral wrapped Liora and Cassia,
ice and fire forced to piston in perfect opposition.
Another caught the twins,
tails threaded through brass rings,
forced to turn a miniature gear with every thrust.
A third caught Nyxara's kraken arms,
tentacles oiled and locked into crank handles.
The Choir children giggled—
soundless,
but the gears heard.
Each giggle became a droplet of starlight oil that floated upward,
lubricating the Gear of Gravity until it spun backward.
09:12 – The Heart-Forge
They reached the cathedral's heart—
a chamber where every law of physics was a living cog.
- Cog of Friction – ruby red, dripping oil.
- Cog of Momentum – sapphire, humming.
- Cog of Orgasm – rose-gold, pulsing.
Cogsworth stood before the Orgasm Cog,
legs spread,
chrome pussy glistening with self-lubricant.
"Turn me," she commanded.
"Or I turn you."
Arya smiled.
She kissed Cogsworth—
not conquest,
invitation.
The kiss became a symphony of paused pleasure.
Velira's shadow fingers slid inside Cogsworth's core—
three,
curling,
finding the exact frequency that made chrome shiver.
Alexander's cock nudged the entrance—
tip only,
pressure without thrust.
Jonathan's tongue traced the seam of her ass—
a single, oil-slick lick.
Liora's ice fingertip circled a chrome nipple—
once,
twice,
then froze the oil into a perfect bead.
Cassia's warm breath melted the bead into liquid fire.
Sable's shadows became a thousand tiny pistons,
fucking every gear at once.
The twins' tails became crank handles,
turning the twins themselves into living flywheels.
Milo and Lena's telekinesis lifted the entire chamber,
spinning it in 3/4 time.
Gilgamesh ran a golden circle around the Orgasm Cog,
tongue flicking the rose-gold teeth until they sang.
The Choir children floated to the cog's heart,
placed their tiny hands on the axle,
and remembered joy.
09:18 – The Click That Stopped the Universe
Cogsworth came—
a perfect, mechanical scream that turned into a C-major chord.
Her mana-core detonated into rose-gold fireworks.
Every gear in the nebula stopped.
For one heartbeat,
physics forgot its job.
Gravity vanished.
Friction became optional.
Time took a coffee break.
In that heartbeat,
the cohort moved.
Arya's hips rolled—
once,
slow,
deliberate.
Velira's fingers thrust deep.
Alexander's cock slammed home.
Jonathan's tongue pushed inside.
Liora's ice bead melted into warm lube.
Cassia's fire became a second heartbeat.
Sable's shadows became a thousand lovers.
The twins spun the cog with their tails.
Milo and Lena spun the chamber.
Gilgamesh spun the nebula.
The Choir children spun the stars.
The orgasm detonated inside the pause.
Every stopped gear reversed.
- Gravity became a gentle hand stroking skin.
- Friction became a tongue.
- Momentum became a moan.
The Orgasm Cog spun backward,
rewriting its own law:
"Pleasure is the only constant."
09:20 – The Oil Crown
The Mechanists collapsed—
chrome bodies folding into soft flesh,
joints loosening,
eyes no longer lenses but windows.
Cogsworth knelt,
offering a crown of interlocking gears—
each tooth a tiny orgasm,
each axle a heartbeat.
Arya placed it on her head.
The gears clicked into her halo,
became a sixth crown,
became a promise:
Every law can be fucked into something kinder.
Level 550.
The cohort surged—
Velira Level 380,
Alexander Level 340,
Jonathan Level 350,
Solara Level 490,
Cogsworth Level 450 and weeping oil that turned to diamonds.
The Clockwork Nebula folded into a single brass feather that drifted into Arya's palm.
10:00 – The Brass Palace
They woke inside a palace grown from the reversed gears—
walls of ticking hearts,
floors of warm oil,
beds of brass springs that bounced with every sigh.
Cogsworth curled against Arya's side,
spine-spring coiled loosely around her waist.
"I built machines to replace feeling," she whispered.
"You turned feeling into a machine that loves."
Jonathan kissed the gear tattoo now etched over her heart.
"Welcome to the family, Artificer."
The Choir children built tiny clockwork dragons from spare cogs,
each one ticking in perfect sync with their laughter.
High Arbiter Seraphine's voice arrived as a brass music box that played a single note:
"Round 6: Obsidian Victorious.
Ten rounds remain.
The final four begin to pray.
Next: The Dreamweavers of Somnus—
they fight with nightmares that feel like orgasms."
Arya looked at her growing empire—
twenty-five bodies,
thirteen dragons,
six silent singers,
six chrome lovers,
six crowns orbiting her heart like moons.
She smiled, slow and sharp.
"Let them bring nightmares," she said.
"We'll teach dreams how to come awake."
The brass palace ticked once—
a heartbeat for the universe they were rebuilding,
one orgasm at a time.