The Spiral Throne gleamed in the dim halo of its own gravity, coils of light and shadow spiraling endlessly toward the center where Traxis sat. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes—those unblinking constellations—never left the moving shapes far below.
The candidates.
His candidates.
For a moment, he didn't see warriors or vessels of Devia's will—he saw children. His children. Even the unruly ones, the arrogant ones, the broken ones. Especially those.
His lips curved slightly, but the warmth didn't last.
Because one face wasn't there.
Klexis.
The son who had turned his back, who had looked him in the eye and chosen Avia. Chosen purity over paradox, "truth" over freedom.
Chosen them over him.
Traxis breathed in slowly. The Spiral Throne shivered with the motion.
Hovering above him, the Deviant Stone pulsed. It was almost alive in its awareness—its Omega Devia form brimming with the fierce, unyielding energy of adult flexibility. No more the trembling youth who craved acceptance—this was a matured force, heavy with authority, unbent by the judgments of others.
It waited.
It always waited.
One command, and it would uncoil across the realms.
But Traxis did not speak the word.
From behind, soft footsteps approached—light, deliberate. Elegia, his wife, emerged from the shadows, the silver filigree of her gown bending gently in the throne's spiraling winds.
Elegia (quietly):
"You watch them like a father, but you sit like a king."
Traxis's gaze didn't shift from the view below.
"Perhaps I am both."
She circled the throne slowly, her hands brushing its edges.
"And perhaps that is your problem. Kings cannot be fathers. Fathers cannot be kings."
Traxis smiled faintly at that—more amused than wounded.
"I built Omega Devia so they could be free from Avia's suffocating perfection. So they wouldn't grow up believing there's only one way to live, one shape to fit. If that makes me too much a father for your liking… so be it."
A deeper voice resonated from the left archway. Kainen, his old teacher, stepped forward, leaning on the silver staff he never seemed to need.
"Your cause is noble, Traxis. But noble causes have drowned more kingdoms than greed ever has."
Traxis turned at that, eyes narrowing just slightly.
"What you call drowning, I call cleansing. The Council's schemes are choking people. Rules stacked upon rules, until they can barely breathe."
Kainen's tone was calm, but edged with warning.
"And yet you sit on the same Council you claim to despise."
"That," Traxis replied, "is the only reason I can act. The only reason I have reach." His eyes darkened, fixed now on the flickering stone above him. "I will not hurt them—not if I can help it. But I will not let them keep hurting themselves, either."
Elegia stepped closer, her voice soft but unflinching.
"And Klexis? Will you save him from himself as well? Or will you let him walk Avia's path until you're enemies in truth?"
The question landed heavier than either of them expected.
Traxis looked away, back toward the chaos and beauty of the candidates below. He didn't answer directly.
Some battles weren't ready to be fought—not yet.
Instead, he said quietly, almost to himself:
"If no one will come to their aid… I will."
The Deviant Stone pulsed brighter at those words, as though it approved.
And with that, they all vanished.
Not by portal, not by trick of time—simply gone.
Because some things were never meant to be real.
They were only in his head.
And those days… were over.
The Spiral Throne's chamber dimmed, shadows deepening into something almost liquid. From that blackness, a shape detached itself—tall, thin, and wrong in the way a crooked smile feels wrong.
Bhine, the deceiver. The ghoul who did not fear Traxis… but respected him.
He moved with lazy grace, his head tilted as if studying a curiosity under glass.
"Oh, sweet, sweet moments," he murmured, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You wish they were near, you wish they'd stayed. But no matter what you build here, Trax, they'll never come back."
He tapped Traxis's shoulder, the gesture both friendly and invasive.
"But don't worry. When the Avia loyalists feel your wrath… they won't just surrender. They'll convert. Yes… even your dear Council."
Traxis's chuckle was low and unhurried.
"You talk as if you've read the end of the book, Bhine. But you and I both know—I've converted civilizations to my doctrine. Something your so-called powerful ghouls spend entire cycles clawing at, with half the results."
For the briefest flicker, Bhine's smirk faltered. Then it returned, sharper than before.
"Mmm. Perhaps. But the greatest power isn't in grand victories, Trax—it's in the mundane. The little seeds planted so deep they sprout without the sower's presence. We ghouls… thrive on that more than you think."
His eyes narrowed, the voice turning into a knife.
"But look at reality. You've reached a staggering level of power—yes. But it's not enough. It's never enough. Omega Devia… it cannot yet match Avia's hold on existence. So tell me—how do you replace something that's been woven into the very marrow of the world? You seem so… desperate."
For the first time, Traxis's eyes flinched. Not fear—recognition.
"I need more believers," he said slowly. Then the steel returned to his voice. "And I know exactly what to do."
He rose from the Spiral Throne, the Deviant Stone pulsing brighter above him.
"I'm not replacing Avia completely, Bhine. I'm making a statement so loud, so undeniable, that they won't have a choice but to bow."
With a flick of his wrist, a portal bloomed—shimmering, spiraling, hungry.
He stepped toward it without looking back.
"Just watch, Bhine. My influence stretches farther than even your poisoned imagination can measure."
A final, razor-edged smile.
"I've already proved it."
And then he was gone.
Across the tapestry of realms, a presence rippled—a surge of power and purpose felt deep within the marrow of existence.
Back when Traxis bore the pure flame of Avia, he was reckless—wild fire consuming more than it blossomed. His victories burned bridges, his salvation left scars. Yet, even those scars fought back, fierce and unyielding.
He had saved the lesser realms—the fragile pockets caught in the chaos of the Vortex rebels, those warped by the energy of nine metaphysical suns. He had protected them all.
At first, they feared him.
But when he returned, draped in the undeniable aura of Devia… their fear blossomed into something new. Understanding.
And now, their prayers were answered.
Traxis appeared—not bound by space or time.
Simultaneously, across realms far and wide—Soul Haven, the shimmering sanctuary of departed souls; Pilla, the radiant realm of light and eternal mix tapes; Terra, the untamed jungle heart of existence; Amet, shrouded in whispers of fog—and countless others—his form hovered, colossal and serene.
The inhabitants stared, breath caught in awe.
He did not travel; he simply was—everywhere, a god who bore the humanity to care.
Then, with a deliberate, grounding descent, he spoke.
Traxis:
"To all who were saved by my reckless grace— you are welcome."
He paused, voice softening, weight heavy with confession.
"I know I was not perfect then. My fire burned not just enemies, but friends. To those who suffered because of my flaws— I am deeply sorry."*
The crowd responded—not with trembling fear, but reverent nods.
They harbored no hatred.
Because to them, he was more than power. He was their god.
Traxis's eyes glinted with something raw, something alive.
Traxis:
"I hope… you have chosen Devia, too."
A chuckle broke the stillness, warm and knowing.
"Though I suspect some of you have not. You hesitate. You fear."
His hand gestured widely, graceful and commanding.
"Do not fear. Omega Devia does not crush the broken—it walks with them. It understands their contradictions. It weaves their inconsistencies into a whole."
With a sudden sweep, he unleashed a surge—a colossal burst of Deviant energy radiated out, echoing like a cosmic heartbeat through every realm simultaneously.
Traxis:
"This… is your reward."
Across the realms, the inhabitants felt it—not just a gift, but a recognition.
They did not merely receive the power of Omega Devia.
They acknowledged it.
They reclaimed it.
It was as if they had been waiting their whole lives for this moment, this resonance.
The power synchronized with their fractured truths, their raw edges…
And in that perfect imperfection, there was beauty.
At first, it was Devia—childlike, a symbol of truthful rebellion and flexible truth.
But many never harnessed it. Fear crept in, because they didn't know what they were about to receive.
Now, Omega Devia has shattered that hesitation.
It didn't just arrive—it welcomed them.
And they received it not like a foreign gift, but like something they had carried all along, buried deep, finally blooming.
In the mist-cloaked realm of Amet, the Mist Duelers had already tasted what Devia could do.
Now, with Omega Devia in their veins, the fog itself moved with intent—alive, aware.
The Mist Sage, Ellion, no longer needed to prove himself. The crushing crown of kingship slipped from his shoulders, dissolving into the mists that now served willingly, not out of duty.
In the realm of light technology and eternal mixtapes, DJ Vanta—the ultimate mixtape goddess—had once felt Devia rewrite the playlists of existence.
But Omega Devia?
It fused her mind directly to the beat itself.
The lit side and the light side alike loosened their rules, and every light now shone freely—no longer chasing perfection, simply being.
In Verion, realm of Alchemy, Devia had changed their formulas.
But Omega Devia tethered them to the self.
High Alchemist Fenrel smiled—truth was no longer rigid or endlessly malleable.
Now, it bent with you, yet stayed yours.
In Terra, the untamed jungle realm, Mistress Myla felt the rush ripple through her roots and skies.
Her people could command any plant or beast at will—but now those bonds were tethered to the spirit within.
The old creed of "survival of the fittest" was replaced.
The law of the jungle became the jungle of the conscious.
So as Soul haven, the soul dwellers have not understood more about their soul logic... it's no longer a quantifiable force, it's a way of life...
And so it went—realm after realm, soul after soul.
Omega Devia didn't just shift perspective.
It revealed the missing piece—the pause before the purpose.
Relatability was no longer an option; it was the new law of existence.
Far above it all, on his spiral throne, Traxis watched the flood of devotion swell.
He nodded, a slow, certain motion.
His work here was done.
More souls had bound themselves to his vision.
Time for unfinished business.
[The Crawl Pryers rise from the dead, their chittering cries replaced by the cold silence of a telepathic link. Traxis stands above them, Omega Devia coiling through his hands like living shadows.]
Traxis: "Hnh… been a while, hasn't it? I used to hunt you for sport during my first exile. You were nothing but training dummies to me."
[A ripple of dark energy courses through the ground as their eyes glow with new life.]
Traxis: "But that was then. Now, I need more than prey. I need soldiers—mind, soul, spirit. The 3… the 6… the 9. And you—" [he flicks his fingers, Omega Devia surging into their bodies] "—are going to be my war pawns."
[The predators twitch, their forms bulking, their minds linking with his in a shared, wordless channel.]
Traxis: "I've given you strength… speech… a place in my war. And all I ask in return—" [his grin sharpens] "—is your allegiance. Serve me, and I'll make you the most dangerous predators in the Multiverse… under my rule."
[The Crawl Pryers, once feral and mindless, bow their heads. The telepathic chorus answers in perfect unison.]
Crawl Pryers: "We follow."
[Traxis smiles wider, the Omega Devia flaring in his eyes.]
[Vortex Throne – Dead Realm]
The sky here was a dull wound, torn open by centuries of silence. Once, this place had burned with the light of nine metaphysical suns — the heart of the Vortex Rebellion. Now it was just cold stone, cracked banners, and the faint echo of a war long lost.
Traxis stood in the ruins, the air heavy with ghostlight. He ran his fingers along a fractured throne as if it were an old blade.
"Nine suns…" he muttered to himself. "You thought you could burn Airious. I put them out with my bare hands."
A low chuckle escaped him, dry and knowing. "Old me… straightforward, diabolical… rules were optional. Only the end mattered."
His mind flicked back — Kainen's furious glare, the champions' voices shouting over each other.
"Reckless logic has a cost, Traxis! You cannot burn the world to save it!"
They sealed him for it. That's why he birthed Devia — not as a weapon, but as a rebellion against restraint itself.
The air shifted.
A shadow lengthened across the marble, floating toward him. Tattered cloth, drifting like it was underwater. A hood hiding most of the face… but the presence was unmistakable.
Traxis froze.
"You…" His voice dropped to something between disbelief and suspicion. "Brother. I heard you were rotting in exile… corrupted. Guess I wasn't the only one who deviated."
The figure stopped a few paces away. Elexis raised his head just enough for a grin to cut through the shadow.
Elexis chuckled — low, deliberate.
"We were always different, you and I. You ran toward chaos… I let it come to me. But one thing I knew for certain…"
He tilted his head, eyes glinting faintly under the hood.
"You'd never die quietly."
Traxis smirked, but his grip on the throne tightened.
"Then tell me, brother…" His voice sharpened like a blade being drawn. "Did you come to finish