Manu, Kari, and Carlin stepped forward when they were called. The auditorium held its breath; the floor opened like a patient mouth and the well beneath it pulsed, waiting. Eve Maid and Jairak still lingered in its depths — tangled in the last threads of their private storms — almost through, almost whole. Androsha and Eugene remained behind, the last pair on the roster, two breathes away from their own reckonings.
Jason walked first. Flame curled across his knuckles like a ribbon, not loud but constant; it was the light of conviction, the kind that never apologizes. Manu's voice slid through the room like an incision.
"Are you ready," he asked, voice low, "to meet your doubts? Your fears? The parts you hide because relevance feels safer than rupture? Or are you going to sulk beneath the need to be seen?"
Jason's eyes narrowed. The question grazed a place he'd kept bandaged. He let the silence stretch into a small, honest thing. Then, with a sigh that carried the steady heat of someone who'd learned the cost of running, he said, "Yes. I do."
"Banjo?" Manu asked.
Banjo flicked his cards, a nervous parry. "I think — I'll go too." The movement was casual; the tremor beneath it wasn't.
Kari snorted. "Those cards won't save you, Banjo."
Carlin's smile was quiet, folded and dangerous. "You're all about breaking rules. Let's see what happens when the rules break you."
Banjo waved off the warning like smoke. "Don't start fear-mongering. It'll be fine… I hope so."
Carlin's eyes met his. "You go in, you meet the rest. You get right with yourself… and with Omega Devia. No turning back."
Jason nodded. Banjo swallowed. None of them gave voice to how cold the idea of absolute self-confrontation felt — how the prospect of diving below skin made the chest shrink, even for those who wore bravado like armor.
The well drew them in then, not with claws but with inevitability, like a tide you realize you've already stepped into. It was not water they fell through but a blankness that inverted the world: no color, no scent, only the pressure of being seen. An invisible force separated them and the pulling began again, softer now, precise — the kind of motion that unspools memory.
Jason found himself on a throne of fire and stone. Obsidian ribs rose around him; emerald veins ran through diamonds that caught the light and threw it into the chamber like a silent hymn. Sulfur breathed at the edges; the flames that licked the throne were two shades — red for anger, violet for something older and quieter. The place was ancient and lavish, a cathedral made from contradictions, and in its center the throne sat waiting as if it had always known him.
He stared, and then a small laugh escaped him, half disbelief, half recognition. "A throne. For me. Who would've thought the weak one was a king all along?"
The air shifted. A voice settled into the chamber like a shadow wearing silk.
"Of course," Omega Devia said. "You always were. You always will be."
"Omega Devia," Jason muttered. "Just get this over with. What do you want from me?"
"You know the answer," the voice hummed, warm and wedge-sharp. "The question is whether you can open up."
The syllables landed like a gauntlet. The chamber waited. In the far edge of the throne room Jason felt the slow tightening of something he'd learned to call duty — and beneath it, a tender, rotten itch: the taste of a child who needed to be noticed.
Meanwhile, somewhere else in the same unnatural pull, Banjo slid into a different realm altogether: a casino without rules. Velvet and light, the clink of chips that meant nothing because the house here dealt with truths instead of coins. The tables were crowded with faces he knew and faces he didn't — all of them playing hands writ in small humiliations and half-remembered victories. The air smelled faintly of burnt sugar and cheap cologne, and for a beat Banjo felt… perfectly at home.
It was everything he'd ever wanted: a place where rules bent, where luck and skill braided, where a flick of a wrist could make the world rearrange itself. And yet, under the sheen, something tightened — the sense that every wager here owed a debt not to money but to the self he'd been avoiding.
The pull was patient. The inner rooms were ready. The initiation had begun in earnest.
Returning to The Obsidian Throne... As Jason stood at the center of the imposing throne, lost in thought about his tumultuous past, the very fabric of the throne room began to morph in response to his emotions and reflections. The majestic windows, which once seemed to whisper a farewell to the outside world, now came alive with vivid projections of Jason's memories, each scene unfurling like a tapestry woven from his life experiences.
The scenes revealed a younger version of himself—a vibrant, intrepid boy, teeming with heart, fierce resolve, and unyielding determination. Jason, now older and wiser, observed his childhood self with a mix of nostalgia and sorrow as the boy brandished a flag of honor in a sunlit park. In that moment, while laughter and joyous shouts filled the air around him, he stood apart, isolated in his own world. The sight of his younger self's solitude intensified the melancholic undertone of the memory; his indifference to the situation did little to alleviate its sadness.
In a playful act of imagination, the boy engaged in a dramatic play where he assumed both the heroic and villainous roles. With sparkling eyes and an infectious giggle, he exclaimed, "One day, I'm going to be super strong and protect everyone! No one will ever be in danger while I'm on watch, pow, pow... hehehe!" Jason chuckled along with him, the sound echoing softly in the room, a momentary bridge between past and present.
Drawn to another window, Jason witnessed a parade of painful memories, flashes capturing the harsh reality of being bullied. In this unsettling recollection, there were instances where he stood his ground and fought back, only to have those moments backfire, escalating the torment.
He saw himself being brutally shoved into a claustrophobic locker, trapped and humiliated, the darkness closing in around him. In another haunting memory, he remembered the despair of having his lunch stolen, leaving him hunger-stricken and vulnerable, enduring the cruel jibes of his peers until desperation ignited a spark in him to retaliate. Yet, even then, the bullies would overpower him, leaving him feeling defeated and alone in a world that seemed relentlessly hostile.
Jason looked at that particular scene...
He chuckled nervously... beaming with a bitter nostalgia....he said dryly
"And this wasn't even the worst one!"
Then, he moved to another scene, the betrayal of Fred, the one he thought he could trust, standing there, watching as he was being bullied by Adrian's gang in that particular alley....
Jason(tilting his head, smirking): " Here comes the good part"
They struck him without mercy. Fists, boots, jeers — but this time, something unseen interceded. An invisible shield caught their blows and scattered them like moths at glass. At first Jason thought it was a ghost. Deep down, though, he knew — there was a presence, or maybe a karmic echo of all the times he'd held back. Either way, it was a sign. In the flames of his soul, in that starving drive for relevance, he felt it: this was his moment.
Jason (firmly): "Yeah, Omega Devia, you saw it too, right? That shield — placed just so, at the right angle, at the right time. I couldn't believe it either when Yyvone told me, but now I know. She was genuinely protecting me… even though she barely knew who I was." (He chuckles.) "Isn't that what you aim for, Devia?"
Omega Devia — its voice layered like venom and velvet — answers:
"She believed in you. But her belief was not part of the larger weave. Her naïve view of the world will not change it. I, on the other hand, will shape you — not as a god to be worshiped, but as a friend you can count on."
Jason (closing his eyes, breath slow): "A friend? I don't even know what that means anymore… (inhales).
Omega Devia: "friends come and go, the thought of them staying is impossible, but I am that impossiblility."
Jason: (Absorbing Omega Devia's words) "I know who I am, yet I don't know who I am with others."
A beat, the scene revealed his friendship with Fred, how he was compromising for him..., the silence that screamed, the fake acceptance, the neglect...
And as he squirmed, Omega Devia continues.
Omega Devia: "Your relevance was bound to the hunger for companionship. That very hunger buried what you truly needed…"
A beat. The chamber flickers.
He sees it — his younger self. Small fists. A stone in his palm. A sudden swing. Blood blooming from foreheads. His hand indifferent but trembling with years of suppressed rage. His brow knotted, the smirk spreading across his younger face as the bullies recoil and run. Justice tasted like brutality. For a second it was intoxicating.
Jason winces. Freezes. Guilt presses down like a mountain. Tears run hot down his cheeks, hissing on the obsidian floor.
Jason: "That day… I snapped. And worse — I loved it. I listened to Ivan… (looks away) I mean Vun… my twisted sense of…"
Omega Devia (cutting in, gentle but razor-edged): "All things are necessary, flame. Guilt only means you care. Your contradictions fuel my clarity."
Jason: "You… you do? (His tears ignite, flickering orange and violet.) I tried to hide it but deep down I knew. I was insane. I wanted to burn everything down to feed my needs."
Omega Devia steps from the void, manifesting in a humanoid form cloaked in a greenish-yellow aura, light spilling like oil around its limbs. It leans close, tilting its head.
Omega Devia: "You are many things, dear flame. Insanity is not one of them. I am here, when no one else believes in you. Let them judge. Let them cling to their illusions of safety. Your conviction outweighs them — and I will be your scale."
It gestures to the throne — flames licking its edges, red and violet alternating like breath.
Omega Devia: "The throne awaits. It's yours to mold."
Jason looks at it. His nod carries the weight of everything he's survived.
He hesitates, not from fear, but from a cruel acceptance, he looks back at the scene where his childhood self was smirking after the strike.
The throne glowed brighter urging him to come.
Jason: (trembling)" What if I loose myself to that"
Omega Devia: "You've come this far. You have the conviction. Now act on it. Show them how you burn."
Jason steps forward. His footprints flare orange and violet, the two colors fusing with each stride. When he sits, his aura erupts into the same unified flame — a living banner of who he's become, and the pact he's made.
Omega Devia (soft, final): "Well done. You are not your conflicts. You are more."
Jason smirks, leaning into the throne's armrest, fire curling around his fingers like a crown finally earned.
A portal appeared ahead...his footsteps was familiar feels like a threat, yet it was safe.
Vun had appeared. His aura mimic that of Jason's flames, both violet and red. Was it intentional or coincidental, it was as if the throne summoned him here. And then when the portal closes he speaks.
"Hello friend"