The Obsidian Wing dormitory was less a building and more a living organism: black marble veins pulsing with violet runes, corridors that rearranged themselves when no one was looking, and a faint heartbeat thrumming through the floorboards. Arya's bare feet stuck slightly to the stone—someone's spilled wine, or maybe blood. Hard to tell under the crimson torchlight.
Liora led the procession like a queen, hips rolling with predatory grace. The other six Takers fanned out behind her, a murder of silk and spite. Arya brought up the rear, clutching the shredded remnants of her dignity and the new uniform that kept trying to crawl higher on her thighs.
"Rule one," Liora called without turning. "No Giver enters these halls without a Taker's leash. Break it, and the wards flay you to the bone."
A wall panel slid aside, revealing a spiral staircase descending into steam and perfume. The air grew thick, humid, scented with night-blooming jasmine and something muskier—sex, old and new. Arya's nipples tightened against the crop top. The choker at her throat pulsed in warning.
Ding.
[ENVIRONMENTAL EFFECT: LUST MIST – LIBIDO +20% | INHIBITIONS –15%]
They emerged into the bathhouse: a cavernous rotunda open to the triple moons. A central pool the size of a small lake steamed gently, its surface littered with floating lotus candles. Dozens of Takers—upperclassmen Arya hadn't met—soaked in stratified cliques: seniors on marble thrones at the far end, freshmen huddled like ducklings near the entrance. The water itself glowed faint pink, runes swirling beneath like curious koi.
Cassia stripped without ceremony, flinging her scorched halter into a corner. Her body was a weapon: freckled shoulders, abs cut from marble, a dragon tattoo that coiled from hip to breast and *moved* when she flexed. "Fresh meat gets the cold plunge," she announced, cracking her knuckles. Flames licked between her fingers. "Tradition."
Before Arya could protest, Sable's shadows snaked around her wrists—cool, silk-smooth, unbreakable. The goth loli's doll face split in a grin that showed too many teeth. "Don't struggle. You'll only splash."
They dragged her to the pool's edge. Liora lounged on a floating chaise, already nude, platinum hair fanned like a halo. Her breasts were perfect teardrops, nipples pierced with tiny icicles that didn't melt. "On three," she purred. "One—"
The shadows *yanked*. Arya hit the water with a shriek that echoed off the dome. The pool was scalding, then freezing, then scalding again—temperature shifting in waves that matched her heartbeat. When she surfaced, gasping, her uniform had dissolved entirely. The system pinged smugly.
[WARDROBE MALFUNCTION: UNIFORM V2 → DISSOLVED]
[REPLACEMENT ISSUED: STANDARD TAKER BIKINI – OBSIDIAN SILK]
The bikini materialized like liquid night, cupping her breasts and barely covering the essentials. Runes crawled across the fabric, spelling out LEVEL 2 in shifting script. The other Takers laughed—some kind, some not.
Velira cannonballed in beside her, tattoos glowing underwater. "Welcome to the deep end, bookworm." She surfaced with a smirk, water beading on olive skin. "First rule of bathhouse: no secrets. Water hears everything."
Mireille slipped in more gracefully, silver hair floating like moonlit spider silk. She carried her ledger even here, pages waterproofed by some spell. "I'll need your measurements," she said softly, eyes flicking to Arya's chest. "For… statistical purposes."
The twins—Eris and Nyx—were already submerged to their chins, cat ears twitching. Their tails flicked in perfect sync, sending ripples that spelled out crude doodles on the surface. "We share," they chorused. "Everything."
A gong sounded. The upperclassmen stirred. From the shadows emerged a figure Arya recognized from Gilgamesh's memories: **Headmistress Veyra**, Liora's older sister and a Taker so ancient her levels had glitched into question marks. She wore a robe of living shadow that parted strategically as she walked.
"Line up," Veyra commanded. Her voice layered over itself, a dozen echoes. "Branding ceremony. Freshmen first."
Arya's stomach dropped. The Takers formed two lines along the pool's edge, water lapping at their calves. A floating platform drifted forward, carrying a brazier of white-hot coals and a branding iron shaped like an open mouth.
Ding.
[QUEST: ENDURE THE BRAND OF OBSIDIAN]
[REWARD: +3 LEVELS | DORM PRIVILEGES]
[FAILURE: EXILE TO THE PITS]
One by one, the freshmen stepped forward. The iron hissed against wet skin. Screams echoed, quickly muffled by healing spells. When Arya's turn came, her legs moved without permission—some geas in the mist. The iron hovered an inch from her left breast, just above the heart.
Veyra's eyes glowed. "This mark binds you to the Wing. Betray us, and it devours your levels until you're dust."
The iron descended.
Pain exploded—white-hot, then icy, then a throbbing pleasure that made her knees buckle. The brand seared a perfect circle of obsidian teeth into her skin. Runes flared, crawling outward like roots. When it faded, the mark pulsed in time with her clit.
[BRANDING COMPLETE]
[ARYA → LEVEL 5]
[NEW TRAIT: PAIN/PLEASURE CONVERSION – ORGASMS HEAL WOUNDS]
She staggered back into the pool, the water now cool against fevered skin. The other Takers watched with new respect—or hunger. Liora's smile could've frozen the moons.
"Congratulations," the headmistress said. "You're one of us now. Tomorrow, classes begin. Seduction at dawn, Beast Theory at noon, Practical Application at dusk. Fail any, and the brand activates."
The gong sounded again. Upperclassmen dispersed to private alcoves where shadows writhed with unmistakable rhythm. The freshmen were left to soak and scheme.
Cassia floated over, flames dimmed to embers in her eyes. "You screamed pretty," she said, voice rough. "Alexander's gonna love breaking you."
Arya's brand throbbed. She could still taste Gilgamesh's kiss, feel the ghost of Alexander's gaze from the orientation hall. The water carried whispers—telepathy picking up fragments:
—virgin levels, waste of a slot—
—bet she folds by week two—
—I'd kill to watch Alexander ruin her—
Sable drifted closer, shadows curling around Arya's ankles like curious cats. "Ignore them. Levels are levels. But if you want to survive…" She leaned in, breath cool against Arya's ear. "Find a Giver who wants you broken. The system rewards obsession."
A final ping before the mist thickened and vision blurred:
[DAILY QUEST: KISS A NAMED GIVER BEFORE MIDNIGHT]
[REWARD: +1 LEVEL | BONUS IF WITNESSED]
[TIMER: 11:42:17]
The bathhouse lights dimmed to starlight. Somewhere beyond the dome, a dragon roared. Arya sank beneath the surface, brand glowing like a second heartbeat, and smiled.
Tomorrow, she'd start climbing.