SPIRAL THRONE ROOM — PRESENT DAY — FLEX CITY, FREE ABYSS]
The throne pulses with spiraling tendrils of corrupted light. The Deviant Stone floats above Traxis's palm, flickering violently between two opposing hues: a soft, innocent blue... and a roaring, hungry crimson.
OMEGA DEVIA (distorted, layered voice)
"They gave themselves willingly... mind, soul, and spirit.
Three. Six. Nine.
You see, Traxis... I am no longer becoming.
I am arrival.
I am the freedom from restraint.
I am the answer to their broken truths."
TRAXIS (stoic, voice laced with resolve)
"They were broken... confused... split like I once was.
Avian Compression would've killed them slowly... wrapped their pain in neat obedience.
But Devia... you set them free. Even if it wasn't the way I hoped."
[A faint whimper echoes — the original Devia's voice, childlike, muffled from deep within the stone.]
ORIGINAL DEVIA (faint, innocent)
"T-Traxis...? Why... why are you listening to that voice...?
We were just supposed to help... to give them choices... not become the choice..."
TRAXIS (eyes twitch, fists clench)
"...I know. I know, little one... but they don't want options anymore.
They want permission.
They want to be told it's okay to be fragmented, to be flexible...
To be unfinished."
OMEGA DEVIA (cutting in)
"And we will bless that fragmentation.
We will crown their uncertainty.
Let them rebuild their identities from ash, not blueprints!"
TRAXIS (rising from the throne, voice trembling but firm)
"They rejected my truth once... sealed me.
But now... I'll be the reason they're never sealed again.
If it means locking away your light, Devia... so they never feel the shame I did..."
[He turns his back as the blue hue flickers violently, trying to escape. He raises a hand, forming a jagged barrier of anti-light. The soft voice screams.]
ORIGINAL DEVIA
"NO! T-Traxis, please! I still believe in them! In you! You don't have to do this—!"
TRAXIS (coldly)
"I do... because they won't."
[The blue light is locked in a prism of silence. The red swells, victorious. Omega Devia's form begins to expand into the room, infecting the spiral engravings in the floor.]
OMEGA DEVIA (with gleeful malice)
"Yes... Yes... this throne shall no longer spiral inward... but outward.
Into replacement.
Out with Avian...
In with the Deviant."
TRAXIS (looking to the skyless ceiling above, whispering to no one)
"Forgive me... little light.
But if they don't get to be perfect...
Neither does the truth."
Deviant Auditorium
Dark, swirling liquid shadows pulse across the walls. Whispers echo with forgotten truths. The spiral chamber above rumbles faintly, a distant heart throbbing with corrupted belief. The floor cracks slightly with the rising tension. Kranor's sword glows like a glitch in reality. Tarren breathes heavily, curled inwards. Klexis steps forward, calm yet charged like a storm held in a jar.
---
Kranor (smirking, sword lazily resting on his shoulder):
"Tch... look at you, Tarren.
Still trembling like a prayer lost in static.
You were always dead weight...
And even your panic's getting tired of you."
(he lifts the sword, its blade distorting reality)
"Devia doesn't need a doubter.
You're either all in… or all out."
Tarren (barely able to stand, eyes wide):
"I… I didn't—
I tried—I did everything to believe—
But something's wrong with this… it's not Devia anymore—
It's like it's wearing Devia's smile... but its eyes are hungry..."
Kranor (laughs cruelly):
"Ahh, the poetic panic.
You always loved talking like you're narrating your own funeral.
Now stop whining and let me free you from your pathetic hesitation."
(He lunges, the Nullthread Vortex ignites — twisting air, warping sound, slashing toward Tarren with a cruel elegance.)
Tarren barely dodges, tripping over himself, the aura slicing through the ground like it's made of tissue and time. Kranor keeps coming, striking faster — each blow erasing logic around it.
Tarren (gasping):
"I—I can't... breathe... I can't fight this—"
Suddenly —
BOOM!
A shockwave tears across the auditorium. Kranor stumbles slightly, his aura flickering. A crater forms between him and Tarren. The dust clears. Two massive hammers rest on the ground, and above them stands a wild grin...
Klexis (spinning one hammer up with casual flair):
"Yo... You really love picking on kids having existential crises, huh?"
(he cracks his neck)
"How about you try someone who hit rock bottom, made peace with it, and turned it into a f***ing weapon?"
Kranor (tightens grip on sword):
"Klexis... The little Forger brother who thinks hammer time is a philosophy.
I thought you ran from the ritual."
Klexis:
"I didn't run. I walked away. There's a difference.
You're all too busy bowing to an idea wearing Devia's corpse like a hoodie.
I knew Devia. The real one. Childish, chaotic, but kind.
This twisted thing feeding on desperation?
Nah, I don't pledge to parasites."
Kranor (raising sword, tone colder):
"You dare mock Devia's evolution? You speak like a man who's clinging to sentiment.
This is power now, Klexis. Real, pure, unfiltered authority.
You won't survive it."
Klexis (steps forward, slams his dual hammers together — a ripple of Impact Force bursts out):
"You know what I've learned?
Real power doesn't need to be understood by everyone.
But it should never forget where it came from."
(He points at Kranor)
"You? You forgot.
So I'll knock some memory back into you.
Let's see how your logic-breaking sword handles two hammers that disrespect logic entirely."
Tarren (still recovering, quietly):
"...Why... why did you stand up for me...?"
Klexis (without turning):
"Because you remind me of me...
Back when I thought doubting meant weakness.
But doubt? Doubt is proof you're still thinking. Still you."
Kranor (sneering):
"Sentimental garbage. Let's finish this."
---
Kranor lunges. Reality glitches. His sword comes down—
Klexis twirls both hammers, smashing the impact field upward, neutralizing the distortion. Sparks fly, the air shatters like glass, and the two clash—
Kranor vs Klexis: The War of Ideals Begins.
One bound to corrupted belief.
The other, fueled by fractured truth and raw, stubborn soul.
FLEX CITY, FREE ABYSS — BATTLEFIELD CRACKLING WITH DEVIANT ENERGY]
Klexis stands up slowly, bloodied lip, cracked armor, his breath shaky but steady. Kranor, standing tall in his mech-like Armor of Insecurity, turns back, eyes narrowing.
---
KLEXIS:
(standing tall, voice still cocky, but layered with a heavy grit)
"Y'know... I used to think pain meant I was losing."
wipes blood from his mouth
"But now? I realize… pain is just feedback. And every blow you landed… was a gift I chose to unwrap."
Kranor scoffs, charging another Deviant Blast in his palm.
---
KRANOR:
"Still talking? You always were the dramatic type. You're standing on fumes, Klexis. That wasn't just a beating — that was my acceptance speech. You're not Devia's chosen, you're the rejected piece of unfinished code."
---
KLEXIS:
(chuckling, stepping forward, the ground beneath him twitching from his internal energy shift)
"No… I am unfinished. And that's why I'm dangerous. See, you? You found your definition inside a trial that spoon-fed you power. You let Devia script your worth like a good little pawn."
(points at Kranor's Deviant armor)
"Look at that thing — 'Armor of Insecurity'? That's not power. That's a tantrum sculpted into titanium."
---
Kranor growls, steps forward, releasing his Drip Aura Spark around him — a ripple of ego, envy, and veiled superiority that warps the air like hot gasoline.
---
KRANOR:
"You're just bitter. You couldn't handle the truth the trial showed you. You were afraid to look in the mirror."
---
KLEXIS:
(laughs once, then glares with a sudden sharpness)
"I am the mirror."
"I'm what happens when someone knows the lies behind the power, and still chooses to fight. You're strong, Kranor. But you're still dancing for approval."
"Me? I stopped dancing when I realized the music was playing from a cage."
Kranor hurls a massive Deviant Blast at him — a full force eruption of rejection energy and warped devotion. Klexis tanks it — cracks spider across the earth as the explosion blinds the screen.
---
When the dust clears…
Klexis is smiling. His aura shifts — it no longer looks like rejection, but redefinition. He begins to glow with Concept Ripple Energy — a technique forged from internalized trauma converted into strategy.
---
KLEXIS:
(breathing heavy, but alive with new clarity)
"I didn't reject Devia because I was weak… I did it because I knew what it would cost. You sold your soul for strength. I kept mine, and made strength kneel to it."
Kranor stares, fists trembling.
---
KLEXIS (cont'd):
"And all those punches? 'Punch of Neglect'? 'Blast of Insecurity'? Armor made of trauma?"
(he taps his chest, still standing)
"I absorbed every bit of that. Why? Because I'm used to being hit by people I wanted to love me."
(pauses)
"You think you shook me? You only made me remember. And guess what…"
He raises his fist — an energy begins to form. But it's not Deviant. It's not Avian.
It's something in between… born in the Free Abyss, forged by refusal — a new path.
---
KLEXIS:
(grinning with teeth now)
"Now you get a taste. Of the Ripple Style: Reflection Return."
BOOM. Flash of light. A new technique is born — a formless wave of introspective backlash that smacks Kranor with the emotional weight of every arrogant blow he landed. It's not just pain — it's realization.
Kranor stumbles back, eyes wide — for the first time, unsure of his power.
---
TARREN (watching, awe-struck):
"…He turned trauma into a technique…"
---
KLEXIS:
(breathing deeply, aura flaring with authentic chaos)
"Let's keep going, Kranor. Because I'm not just fighting you..."
"…I'm fighting for the right to define myself."
Dark winds spiral upward from the spiral throne, the deviant essence seething like molten shadows. The room is alive — pulsing with belief, betrayal, and the fractured echoes of corrupted devotion.
Klexis (arms crossed, eyes heavy with pain):
"…It's changed. All of it. This isn't rebellion anymore. It's... obsession."
The moment he finishes speaking, a shockwave of eerie silence floods the room. Then —
BOOM!
—He's yanked midair by an unseen force—his body suspended like a puppet on judgment day.
Manu (calm, cruel, voice dripping with disappointment):
"You didn't just reject Devia…
You betrayed your father's dream.
You were the Prince of Flex City.
Now you're just a whisper in the wind."
Kranor lets out a soft chuckle in the back. A knowing one. A dagger made of sound.
Tarren (grits teeth, rushing forward):
"Klexis!"
But then—
???:
"Sit."
Just one word.
And Tarren's knees buckle.
His body hits the floor, eyes wide, soul trembling.
All heads bow. Instinctively. Reflexively. Not out of fear—but reverence.
Even the corrupted air itself seems to kneel.
Traxis (stepping forward, aura thick like a god's wrath wrapped in charisma):
"Let him go."
Manu obeys. Not a hesitation. Not a blink.
Klexis crashes gently to the floor. He rises slowly, breathing heavily—glaring up at the man he once called savior.
Klexis (voice cracking, raw):
"This... this new Devia... it's off.
It's feeding on belief like it's starving.
I believed in you when no one else did.
But I'm not part of this.
This isn't the Devia I stood for... or you."
Traxis steps down from the throne. Each step echoes like a sentence passed.
Traxis (disappointed father mode, but worse—visionary betrayed):
"You doubt Devia?
You doubt the very philosophy I forged?
You...
My son...
Of all people...
You've always doubted it.
You chose Avia.
You hid your Compression from me…
Because deep down—you never belonged here."
Klexis crumbles. The guilt is heavier than gravity.
But beneath it… there's resolve. Burning bright.
Tears falling. Chest rising.
Klexis (whispers):
"I wish I stood by you.
By this.
But I can't ignore what it's become.
What you've become.
It's not rebellion anymore.
It's your... need to matter.
Devia was supposed to be a dream, not a dictator."
Traxis's shadow grows. Like a titan in the fog.
Traxis (quietly, but with finality):
"Do you stand with Devia…
Or not?
Answer me.
Son."
Silence. A rift in time. All eyes fixed on one soul.
Klexis breathes… one long, broken breath... then —
Klexis (soft but firm):
"No."
A whisper.
A quake.
A rebellion, reborn.
Tarren, still on one knee, manages to speak through clenched pain:
Tarren:
"No...
Not anymore."
Something changes.
Not in the world—but in Klexis.
He looks around. At the crumbling throne of ideology.
The false believers. The stone that pulses with stolen spirits.
Klexis (rising, voice clear):
"Then I know what I must do.
I'm leaving…
Flex City."
The cold twilight of Flex City, Free Abyss — the air thick with whispers and suspicion. Klexis walks beside Tarren, his once-pristine robes dusted by the ash of abandonment. Their shadows stretch long across the eerie neon-lit streets. The citizens part like a sea of doubt, eyes burning into the back of a prince turned heretic.]
---
Klexis: (glancing sideways, voice heavy)
Why'd you follow me, Tarren? You could've stayed… You were rising fast in the ranks.
Tarren: (chuckles, trying to lighten the tension)
I panicked. That's kinda my thing.
When Traxis stared you down, my instincts screamed,
"Run or stand by the only dude here who actually said no."
I chose the dumber one.
Klexis: (a weak smile flickers, then fades)
Thanks for choosing the stupid route... makes me feel a little less alone.
(Suddenly, shadows slide across their path. The elites—Jason, Jairak, Banjo, Androsha, Eve Maid, Eugene—appear like echoes from a life Klexis was walking away from. Their auras shimmer with eerie Devia resonance. The silence is sharp.)
---
Jason (Flames of Relevance):
You really walked out… Why?
You were Traxis's son.
Devia chose you first. You built with us.
Jairak (Pain Clarity):
Did you forget what you suffered to gain this power?
Banjo (Rule Bending Cards):
Or maybe the trials broke you... and now you're folding mid-game.
Eugene (Reality Sprint):
C'mon, Klex... you gonna walk backward into Avia?
That system rejected you too, remember?
(Klexis stands silent for a moment. He breathes. Not just air—but old regret, old hunger, old masks he wore. Then he lifts his gaze. This time, his eyes are not blazing—they're clear.)
---
Klexis: (calm, firm)
Back then… I always chased power for one reason—
So they'd see me.
With Avia, I forged until I broke.
With the Corruption Force, I drowned in guilt.
With Devia… I pretended again. Thought if I climbed high enough, I'd finally be enough.
(He steps forward. The elites instinctively tense.)
But now I see it...
If I'm still trying to be seen after all I've endured…
Still performing...
Then I'm not powerful.
I'm pathetic.
(His voice sharpens—not loud, but sharpened like a blade honed by truth.)
So no... I didn't walk away from Devia.
I walked back to myself.
Back to Avia.
To the system I avoided... because I misunderstood it.
Because I thought it had to see me for me to be real.
Now?
I see me. That's enough.
---
Androsha (Fog Perception): (softly)
...Then what will you do now?
Klexis: (starting to walk again, head held higher)
Something terrifying...
(He pauses, then smirks.)
I'm gonna be real.
---
[The elites watch him fade into the distance. No grand explosions. No power surge. Just one soul reclaiming its course. And sometimes, that's the loudest rebellion of all.]
The outskirts of Flex City, dusk bleeding into the horizon. A violet sky looms as echoes of Devia whisper temptations in the air like sirens of a past they once wore like armor.]
Tarren (straining, holding his head):
"Ughh—Klexis... I feel it... like claws in my chest. This pride… it's like it's alive."
He drops to a knee, eyes flickering like static.
"I keep hearing 'Come back... prove you're not a coward... show them who you are.' I hate that it makes sense."
Klexis (firm, breathing slowly):
"I hear it too. It's like Devia is singing our regrets back to us."
He steps forward, one hand clenched, the other resting gently on Tarren's shoulder.
"But I've chased pride before… It gave me applause, not peace. Gave me relevance, not rest."
Tarren (scoffing weakly):
"You sound like an Avian monk now."
He chuckles, though still trembling.
"But seriously... how are you standing? Weren't you the prince of proving something?"
Klexis (smiling faintly):
"I was... Until I realized I kept changing forms just to avoid being invisible. Avia. Corruption. Devia. All masks, stitched from the need to be seen."
Tarren:
"And now?"
Klexis:
Steps toward the shimmering portal to Airious, its light flickering like truth waiting to be accepted.
"Now? I don't want to be seen... I want to see. I want to feel real again. No theatrics, no philosophy soaked in ego. Just… me. And maybe a future that doesn't rely on bending people to fit an ideal."
Devia's pull intensifies—the scent of nostalgia, old wins, fake peace, toxic applause. But Klexis… closes his eyes, and speaks to the very force trying to drag him back.
Klexis (soft, but firm):
"Omega Devia... you're clever. You're tempting. You feel like closure... But you're not truth."
His eyes snap open, glowing faintly with Avia's dormant essence sparking back to life.
"I don't need your sentiment. I don't need relevance... I need reality."
He steps forward.
"I am who I am."
A pulse. Like a snap through time.
Tarren (feeling the weight lift):
"...It's gone. That feeling... it just shattered. Like a balloon popped by honesty."
Klexis:
smirks
"Maybe that's what Avia always was. Not a power. A mirror."
They walk through the portal. On the other side… was no paradise. Just uncertainty. But for once, it felt like the right kind.