Flex City, The Free Abyss – atop the Black Apex Skyscraper]
A storm of warped reality crackles above. Each candidate stands in silence, their eyes glowing with warped brilliance. The skyline flickers in glitch-like spasms, reality refusing to stay still as Omega Devia whispers in their minds.
---
Kranor (arms folded, a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth):
"So this is what it feels like… when your truth bends to your blade."
(Nullthread vortex ripples—then twists—into a spiraling dark halo around his sword.)
"Void Distortion ain't just power... it's liberation. No more proving myself to Jack. No more lectures from Ian about 'honor.' When the war comes, I'll break their logic too."
(He taps the blade once, the skyline around them distorting in response.)
"They say I need authenticity. I say they need to shut up and watch me rewrite what's real."
---
Nicia (sitting cross-legged mid-air, draped in shadowy ink tendrils):
"Heh... 'Sonia will break,' you say?
Sweetie... she's already cracked.
These Inks of Doom don't just choke emotions now...
They rewrite what they mean."
(She licks the tip of an ink-drenched nail.)
"Fear becomes desire. Regret becomes power. Crying?—oh, that's just the sound of your new rhythm."
(Smirks toward the city)
"Omega Devia understands me. Unlike that emotional spectrum mess."
---
Meilo (emerging from a warped mirror floating beside him):
"Clarity. That's what they called my old power.
But you ever try staring at your real self too long?
It cuts deeper than any sword."
(His hand reaches into the mirror, pulling out a jagged glaive made of fractured reflection)
"Now I don't just show them who they are.
I arm myself with their denial."
(He grins.)
"Let Klexis try to talk about 'truth' again—I'll stab him with the parts of himself he threw away."
---
Jero (his chains pulsing like veins, thrashing in sync with his heartbeat):
"They said fear was weakness...
But Devia said fear was fuel."
(Chains levitate, glowing with ghostly intensity.)
"Every shiver, every doubt, every 'what if'—
That's another link on the chain.
Now? These aren't rebellion chains anymore.
They're Revolution Chains."
(He slams the ground; cracks ripple outward in the shape of a broken crown.)
"And I'm gonna rule from beneath the panic."
---
Ulok (voice low, as if speaking through echoes):
"Doors of inner struggles...
Opened one too many.
Saw too much."
(Eyes glow dimly. New doors—black, steel, breathing—hover behind him.)
"Now I give others the same gift.
The Gates of Woes."
(He gestures—one door creaks open slowly, screams bleeding through its hinges.)
"Come in. Stay a while. Your pain's been... expecting you."
Marneth (hovering upside down, casually flipping a paradox orb between fingers):
"Dimensional Surge was child's play."
(The orb flashes blue, then red, then both.)
"Now I bend contradictions like guitar strings."
(He flicks the orb toward the sky—it implodes, then explodes, then re-implodes into silence.)
"Dimensional Paradox, baby.
One minute I'm energy, next minute I'm not even supposed to exist.
Try dodging that."
All candidates begin to hover closer, forming a spiraling circle mid-air. Omega Devia's symbol flickers behind them like an aurora made of static and rebellion. The sky hums with approval.
Kranor (clenching his fist):
"They called us unstable. Contradictions.
But guess what—contradiction is evolution.
Avia failed us because we aren't consistent.
We're chaos. Beautiful, broken, powerful chaos."
(He glances at the others.)
"Klexis betrayed Devia. Tarren ran from it.
Now look at us."
(A beat. His voice drops cold.)
"I want my rematch. And when I beat him… I want him to thank me for it."
Nicia (grinning wickedly):
"Devia doesn't demand we be real…
It just demands we be honest about the mess we are."
(She holds out her hand. Inky black tendrils merge with Meilo's mirrors, Jero's chains, Ulok's doors, and Marneth's paradox orbs.)
"Omega Devia is us.
Not our god.
Not our boss.
Our vibe."
Night glimmers across Flex City, a neon aurora pulses over buildings like the heartbeat of paradox itself. The candidates stand above—warped halos around them, draped in edgy cloaks, spikes, glows, and gear made of inner belief and unapologetic contradiction.]
Omega Devia hums, not with control—but with... hype. Like a background track that vibes too hard.
---
Kranor (gripping his Void Distortion blade):
"They used to call me excessive... now look at me—I'm distortion incarnate. Jack and Ian? They think their 'authenticity' makes them chosen? Nah… I choose me."
---
Lunio (smirking, coiling his tail across the air, slithering closer to Kranor):
"Oh, little Kranor... remember when your biggest weapon was silence? Now even your silence screams louder than their truth."
(He leans in closer, whispering)
"Isn't it freeing? Not needing to explain yourself anymore?"
---
Nicia (floating upside down in a gothic swirl of dark ink):
"Avia said 'embrace who you are'—but only if it made sense to them. Omega Devia? She said 'own your madness' and handed me the brush."
(She smears ink in midair, forming a monstrous, beautiful raven with empty eyes.)
---
Meilo (drawing a sword from a mirrored rift):
"You see reflections... I see weapons. I don't reflect anymore—I project."
(He steps through himself, splitting into three versions—all smirking.)
---
Ulok (with heavy breath, shadowy gates swirling behind):
"Pain used to imprison me. Now I open it. Let others feel... not what I've been through... but what I've become."
Marneth (eyes glowing with unstable symbols):
"Dimension? That's just a suggestion now. I shoot contradictions. I blast 'what ifs.' I reload 'should've beens.'"
(He raises a hand, and two opposite realities fold into a single impossible strike.)
---
Random candidate (proudly sitting on a floating couch):
"I embraced my laziness. Everyone called it a flaw. Omega Devia said, 'You rest like a king—here's the crown.'"
Narration (Omega Devia's whispering voice, layered and playful):
"Avia wanted you to climb mountains. I built you a ramp... and threw a party at the top."
"Be you, but make it easier. Be real, but also... be fabulous."
"No masks? Nah. Wear the coolest one you've got, and make them jealous."
Kranor (stepping forward, blade humming):
"This city... this realm... they thought the war would break us. But we broke logic. And when I meet Klexis again... I won't ask if he's sorry. I'll ask if he's ready."
(He smirks.)
"'Cause I've been training in a room where time apologizes to me."
[In a bar called NEVERMIND]
A twilight-hued bar, glowing gently with paradoxical ambiance. Tables shift shapes with moods. Dishes hum softly, each one a manifestation of a soul's current craving. The Bartender, a humanoid Devia entity with a glassy, dream-like body and shifting eyes, glides across the counter. It doesn't ask what you want—it already knows.
Soft Lo-fi plays in the background. The vibe? Offbeat, cozy, strangely healing.
KRANOR (arms crossed, his plate sizzling with "Ambition-Stirred Regret")
You ever eat something that tastes like the moment you almost punched your dad?
NICIA (twirling a black spoon inside a velvet bowl of "Choked Yearning")
Yeah. And I asked for seconds.
(looks at Kranor)
Still trying to impress ghosts, huh?
MEILO (gazing into a fork-shaped mirror, which flashes scenes of himself crying alone as a child)
My mirror thinks I peaked at ten.
(sips an anxiety latte)
Can't say it's wrong.
ULOK (staring at his untouched plate, which pulses with storm-like hues)
Mine served me "Unprocessed Grief over That One Smile I Forgot."
...Delicious.
(beat)
And infuriating.
JERO (quiet, poking at "Fried Chain Doubt with Insecurity Sauce")
This place... feels like Devia's way of saying, "I see you, and it's okay."
Even if I'm not.
GULLIA (her trauma floats around like tiny, translucent moths)
My dish just whispered, "You're not the monster they made you out to be."
I didn't even chew it… it dissolved into my soul.
(smiles faintly)
Tastes like hope... and therapy.
BARTENDER (softly, voice like a cello sigh)
You are not ordered. You are observed. You are not healed. You are held.
What you eat here is what you are.
Until you change again.
Nicia (leans back, exhaling)
Avia always wanted us to be real—
Omega Devia just wants us to be here.
Messy, paradoxical, broken... and whole anyway.
Meilo (raises a mirror-cup)
To Nevermind… where forgetting yourself lets you remember who you actually are.
All (lifting plates, mugs, or just glancing up)
Cheers.
GAME NIGHT STARTS
The lighting dims to a surreal glow—violet swirls with blue as the bar shifts. A section unfurls into a play zone; floors float midair like puzzle pieces. Floating game boards. Warped consoles. Darts shaped like broken promises. Cards etched with personality flaws. Everyone has a drink in one hand and existential stakes in the other.
DEVIA ITSELF (as the voice of the bar, playfully omniscient)
Welcome to Game Night... where your flaws are features and your ego's the entry ticket.
GAME 1: INNER BULLSEYE – A DART GAME THAT TRACKS PERSONAL CHAOS
The target is alive, reshaping based on the thrower's current emotional disarray.
KRANOR (throws a dart with a casual smirk)
Bullseye.
As always.
(target dissolves into crimson flames before reconstructing)
I swear, my chaos is aesthetic at this point.
NICIA (grinning, throws with a dark laugh)
Mine flinched before I even aimed.
That's called emotional dominance, darling.
JERO (hands shaking, throws one—it misses wildly)
Ugh...
ULOK (to Jero)
Your fear just needs permission to fight, not permission to win.
JERO (nods... tries again, while afraid—and hits the center)
Wait—what?
DEVIA VOICE
Congratulations. You weaponized your anxiety like a champion. Gold tier!
GAME 2: ROLE-SWITCH – THE SWITCH GAME WHERE YOU BECOME EACH OTHER
MEILO (now acting like Ulok)
"I open my pain doors and stare into your soul!"
(dramatically flails his hands)
Feel anything?
ULOK (playing Meilo, mirror in hand)
I am beauty. I am trauma.
I will reflect your sins and then charge you interest.
GULLIA (playing Jero)
"I'm scared." punches a wall "Still scared." saves the day anyway
Did I nail it?
JERO (awkwardly)
...Unfortunately, yes.
GAME 3: DEVIANT POKER – THE EGO WAR
A reality-bending poker table. Cards are concepts: "Validation," "Inner Critic," "Projected Identity." Chips are actual pride points.
KRANOR (raising smugly)
I'm going all in on Supremacy through Self-Approval.
You can't bluff confidence forged in sarcasm.
NICIA (calls, eyes like obsidian)
I see your ego… and raise you a repressed heartbreak.
Boom.
JERO (sweating)
I fold—
Wait no—
I UNFOLD.
DEVIA VOICE
Plot twist: Folding was your secret strength. Bonus resilience unlocked.
TENSION GROWS—BUT SO DOES CAMARADERIE
MEILO (laughing)
You know, Devia was supposed to break us apart.
But here we are… laughing with our trauma like it's board game night.
KRANOR (grinning)
That's because Devia doesn't judge. It highlights.
I'm still better though.
JERO (smiling, still nervous)
Maybe... being scared is okay, if it's me.
ULOK (nods)
Fear doesn't mean you're weak. It means you care about losing something.
And breaking their prescious banter...
Cards flicking over, the sound was almost familiar...and instantly, they knew it was him.
Banjo, appearing out of nowhere...with a smug grin on his face...cards hovering around him, ready to bend some rules..
He challenges kranor to a card game...
But Kranor wasn't stupid, he knew Banjo has all the power with those Devia coated cards..so he told Banjo to drop it, then it will be fair..
Banjo didn't mind...it doesn't matter anyways..he can still bend rules with any cards he wants...
Gulp, across the entire candidates...
The rest of the Elites appeared...
Jairak, Jason, Androsha sitting on a floating fog throne, Eve maid and Eugene...
They came to watch the show...
The Deviant Poker Table — Nevermind Bar, Flex City
The lights in the bar dimmed to a murky violet, pulsing in rhythm with the players' egos. Two figures sat across from each other at the floating table—one, a monument of cultivated pride. The other, chaos in tailored flesh.
Banjo, the elite, leaned back with casual arrogance, his cards orbiting his hand like compliant satellites. Every flick defied logic. Every movement whispered confidence stitched from a thousand contradictions.
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming as he spoke.
Banjo (calm, needling):
"So. You think just because you're loyal to Omega Devia—utterly, completely—you're meant to win everything?
No wonder you enjoyed steamrolling Tarren...
And clowning Klexis the moment he turned his back on Devia.
Felt good, didn't it?
To be the last loyal son."
He placed a card with subtle reverence: Guilt. It shimmered red-black, vibrating with the pulse of unresolved memories.
Across the table, Kranor scoffed. His face remained unreadable, but his aura flickered like a blade unsheathed.
Kranor (flat):
"Focus on the game.
I know what you're doing.
You want me to lose my certainty."
He slammed down Stoic Defiance—a crystalline card that struck the table with a clang. The bar itself rippled.
Around them, the other candidates murmured, watching the exchange with the silent awe of storm-watchers.
Ulok (low, to Meilo):
"That's a clean counter. He's still got spine."
Banjo smiled, but not kindly. He flipped his next card—upside down—and the room chilled.
Banjo (smirking):
"Let's test your mind then."
The Hypnotism Card dropped, fracturing reality for a moment. The walls bent, and time hiccuped. Kranor's pupils dilated as if staring into a hall of mirrors that whispered every unvoiced doubt he buried.
He gritted his teeth and projected his counter: Conviction Shield, carved from sheer belief in Omega Devia. A massive wall of energy burst from the card, shielding his psyche with glowing mantras.
Kranor (growling, breath tight):
"How's that for resolve?"
Eugene, watching from a nearby ledge where the Elite lounged, chuckled.
Eugene:
"He's holding.
But Banjo hasn't even dipped into the deeper deck yet."
Banjo didn't respond with words. He didn't need to. He simply drew his next card with a flick that sliced the air. It was darker than the rest—text unreadable. It pulsed like a memory you never wanted to relive.
The Trauma Trigger.
A low gasp threaded through the bar.
Eugene (smirking):
"Damn.
Emotional low blow.
Complete antithesis to Stubborn Pride.
That's gotta sting."
Kranor stiffened. The card's aura pulled at his past—moments he buried, moments Devia polished over with pride and performance.
His father's voice... telling him he'd never be enough without breaking someone else.
The silence after his first victory... when no one clapped.
The table warped beneath his hands.
---
Meanwhile, at the lounge, near the suspended balcony of thoughtforms...
Jason reclined, flames flickering lazily across his fingers like a bored cat grooming itself. Jairak, arms crossed, leaned back against the wall, pain signatures pulsing across his skin like soft music.
Jason (half-lidded, bored):
"Not that I care who wins... but part of me misses Klexis."
Jairak (snorting):
"He was a mess."
Jason:
"Yeah. But he questioned everything.
Made you second-guess if Devia was power... or a patch."
Jairak (after a beat):
"…Still lost though."
Jason (shrugs):
"Maybe.
But sometimes the ones who walk away from the table leave behind the loudest echoes."
---
Back at the table, Banjo leaned in slightly.
Banjo (voice velvet, dangerous):
"So what's it gonna be, golden boy?
You gonna counter your own origin story?
Or admit there's a crack in your code?"
Kranor looked down at his deck. His fingers trembled, just slightly.
The room held its breath.
The bar thrummed with anticipation. The tables and floor were a shifting dream of neon-glow and ego-fused intention. Devia itself curled in the walls, watching with smoky interest.
The air? Thicker than loyalty. Laced with performance.
The crowd of candidates clapped—not out of politeness, but hunger. Enthusiasm carved into their faces, glowing in the strange half-light of Omega Devia's approval.
Ulok, his limbs locked in silent adrenaline, leaned forward—his inner mechanisms clicking with quiet interest.
Jero clenched his jaw. Not because he doubted Kranor, but because he remembered what it was like to believe in someone that much.
Nicia, with the grace of melancholy, reclined in her shadowy seat—goth energy concentrated like a spell, wine-dark and unimpressed.
Eve Maid floated just behind, polishing a teacup with dangerous calm.
Androsha, crowned in fog, perched on her throne of mist like an indifferent queen—one eyebrow arched in lazy curiosity.
Marneth and Gullia chanted softly under their breath, their voices riding invisible threads of Devia-powered devotion.
And behind it all, Jason and Jairak lounged at the fringe, watching without moving—eyes sharp as blades, expressions carved in aloof boredom.
Then—
Kranor played his next move.
A Card of Ultimatum.
It struck the table like a gavel from some forgotten god.
The air jolted. Even the lights dimmed.
The card shimmered with binary energies, spitting out conditional logic in radiant script:
> "WIN — and lose all your cards.
KEEP your cards — and surrender the game.
Choose. There is no bluff."
Banjo's smile faltered. For a heartbeat, his fingers stopped flicking.
He blinked. Calculations rifled through his mind like falling knives.
If he won now, he'd lose every weapon in his arsenal—his rule-bending cards, his legacy, his edge.
If he didn't push forward, he'd likely lose to Kranor, the pride of Devia's new era, right here—at the table, under every watching eye.
Banjo's smirk twisted at the corner.
He looked across at Kranor, who sat smug in calculated silence. The trap had been set, and everyone knew it. Even Androsha sat up straighter.
A pause.
A breath.
Then Banjo, with a sigh soaked in gravity, pulled a card from the darkest part of his deck—his last straw.
> The Doubt Trigger.
It struck with no flourish, no fanfare. Just a slow, cold hum that wormed its way through the air like a question with no answer.
And Kranor, so sure, so shining in pride and perfect commitment—froze.
He didn't even block it.
Because it wasn't an attack.
It was a memory.
---
FLASHBACK
The Cosmic Gym – Before Devia.
A memory he buried.
His squad—young, eager, unrefined—stood on the edge of exhaustion, facing down Jack Sterling Oberempong and his team of truth-seekers. A friendly sparring match, but with stakes sharpened by philosophy.
Devia wasn't part of them yet. Their Avia was fractured. Their skills? Unbalanced.
But Kranor had stood tall, ego blazing like a sword drawn against the gods.
"I don't need your raw authenticity," he spat. "I'll forge my own power. You're not better than us."
And Jack, calm as a sky before thunder, answered:
> "We already showed you the truth.
Whether you want to face it or not...
that's your own battle."
The room pulsed. Present blurred into past.
And Kranor, sitting at the poker table in the present... felt the flicker.
His Omega Devia—the great certainty that draped his soul like an imperial cloak—wavered.
A faint crack.
A hairline fracture in the flawless marble of his pride.
---
Back at the table, the silence was volcanic.
Even the Devia-forged bartender paused mid-pour.
Jero's eyes widened.
Ulok whispered under his breath:
"No... he's glitching…"
Gullia stepped forward unconsciously, hand clenching her trauma like a shield.
Banjo leaned back. Not gloating. Not laughing.
Just watching.
Because it wasn't about the game anymore.
It was about Kranor's truth.
The game had done what no blow or blade ever could—it cracked the pride Kranor built like armor.
Jason, sipping his drink, glanced at Jairak.
Jason:
"Banjo didn't win the round…"
Jairak:
"He won the war."
---
Kranor's hands trembled slightly, cards still in his grip, but no longer extensions of his identity.
And from somewhere deeper, under all the layers of edge, performance, and Devia... a question rose.
> "Was I ever strong?
Or did I just hate weakness loud enough to make it disappear?"
No answer came.
Only the crowd, frozen in shared revelation, waiting to see what happens when pride meets its reflection...
And doesn't blink.
The final card had long since hit the table, but the silence hadn't left.
Banjo sat back, arms folded, expression unreadable—not smug, not triumphant. Just... finished.
He knew the game had ended ten moves ago. Kranor had already lost. The poker table was just the stage. The real match had happened inside.
Across from him, Kranor sat frozen. Eyes burning, jaw clenched so tight it pulsed.
He hadn't lost a card game.
He'd lost the illusion that he was invincible.
His breath hitched.
Reality—a reality he once commanded—no longer bent for him.
His fingers trembled.
Pride, usually loud and flamboyant, now clung to the edge of his mind like a soul dangling off a cliff.
And then—
He sighed.
Not a weak sigh. A dangerous one.
The kind of sigh that means something's about to ignite.
He stood slowly, his shadow stretching wide beneath the pulsating lights of Devia's embrace.
Kranor (voice low, sharp with revelation):
"You think this was just a game?"
His voice filled the room like prophecy dipped in fury.
"No. This was a reminder."
Jason and Jairak, previously reclined in indifferent calm, now stood fully upright, eyes locked, alert.
Even Androsha stilled. The fog at her feet curled tighter, listening.
Kranor continued, his aura flickering with Devia's rising tide:
"I'm tired of hearing what we should be.
Tired of those prim, polished Airiens talking down to us from their glowing towers of 'authenticity.'
Tired of Avia's sacred lectures.
Of their purity speeches.
Of being told that doubt is weakness, and pride is sin."
His voice rose—not just in volume, but in power.
"They told us to embrace our flaws only if they were palatable.
Only if they matched their definition of 'growth.'
But Devia—Omega Devia—looked at our chaos and didn't flinch.
It welcomed us. Honored us. Armed us."
He looked around now—at every candidate. Jero, Ulok, Gullia, Nicia, Meilo, Eve Maid, Marneth, Eugene—all of them.
Not one looked away.
Kranor (gritted, but clear):
"Elite or not...
We don't need to prove anything to them anymore.
We prove it to ourselves.
Every time we choose to rise without asking permission."
He raised a hand. Omega Devia responded immediately—threads of dark brilliance curled around his form like royalty reborn.
"And when the day comes that the so-called 'Enlightened Airiens' descend from their perfect sky—
They won't be facing doubts and broken fragments anymore...
They'll be facing a kingdom."
"Because Traxis is no longer just our father.
He is our crown."
And with that declaration—something rippled.
Omega Devia surged—not just through Kranor, but through all of them.
A pulse of unified defiance.
A beat of adrenaline, willpower, freedom.
Ulok's chains glowed with pulsing lament turned strength.
Nicia's Inks of Doom hissed with layered resolve.
Marneth's dimensional logic spiraled in fractal elegance.
Jero, even in his fear, stood tall—because now, even panic had purpose.
Even Banjo, the rule-bender, gave a slow approving nod.
It was no longer about victory.
It was about alignment.
This game had cracked something open.
And far above them all, at the Spiral Throne—
Traxis, the King of Contradictions, the Father of Devia,
smiled.
Not a smile of manipulation.
But the smile of a plan finally taking shape.
"They're ready," he whispered to the abyss.
"Let the war for truth begin."