The casino was alive in a way no ordinary room could be.
Not with people — not really. But with the thrum of Banjo's soul, spread across every velvet seat, every spinning wheel, every glass that filled itself with a toast no one ever truly made.
Laughter rose and fell like tides, too rehearsed, too easy. His friends — or at least the shadows of them — sat at tables in perfect rhythm. Kainen leaned back in his chair, the iron-willed mentor suddenly softened by a hand of cards. Hela, normally sharp as a dagger, smiled as if she'd forgotten every blade she ever carried. Ractor laughed too loud. Aprexion's eyes twinkled like an old gambler who'd seen every trick and was willing, for once, to let the boy cheat.
Banjo's chest tightened at the sight. It was what he'd always wanted: their approval without condition, their laughter without weight.
No one judged him here. No one sighed in disappointment when his Avia flickered.
He moved through them like a prince among revelers. Chairs scraped in reverence, cards fanned themselves in salute. The strangers — those shadowy figures he didn't recognize — clapped for him anyway, as though they'd known him all their lives.
Banjo dragged his hand across a table's edge, fingertips brushing the wood like it was his.
And it was.
Chaos was his crown.
He grinned. For a moment, it felt true.
Then the flashbacks bled in.
The sound of dice clattering warped into boots hitting stone. The tables blurred into training halls. Kainen's barked corrections rang in the walls. He saw himself again, younger, hands trembling, Avia barely sparking when everyone else's flowed like rivers. He remembered Ractor's quiet shake of the head. The day Hela didn't even look at him, because why waste a glance on someone who couldn't measure up?
Banjo muttered under his breath, voice low and biting.
Banjo: "Man… everything was smooth for five damn seconds, and then trauma barges in like it owns the place. Can't even have my fake casino in peace."
The laughter around him hitched — like a record skipping. The shadows clapped too hard now, their smiles too wide.
The floor quivered under his steps. He straightened his shoulders, faking swagger.
That's when the card lit up.
A giant, oversized playing card stood upright ahead, its surface glowing like molten glass. Out of it spilled a door, and through it stepped a figure.
Omega Devia.
Not towering, not godlike this time. Just… tall enough.
Draped in a cosmic-green-yellow aura that spilled off him like smoke from a candle, but he wore it casually, like a gambler's jacket. A tilted hat shaded his eyes, the brim glittering with constellations. He looked more like the house dealer than a myth.
Omega Devia (drawling, playful):
"Banjo, the lost Knight. The one who exiled himself, left his class, left his comrades, chasing some adventure that never had your name on it. Tell me—" (he tips his hat) "is that what you are?"
Banjo smirked. Too quick. Too sharp.
Banjo: "Heh. Who cares anyway? I've finally seen inside me. This—" (gestures to the tables, the lights, the shadows) "—this is me. The chaos, the fun, the bending of every rule until it snaps. That's what matters."
Omega Devia poured himself a glass of wine from a bottle that appeared midair. The liquid shimmered, green at first, then black, then nothing at all. He leaned against a glowing pillar like it belonged to him.
Omega Devia: "Yeah, sure, bud. Play your hand. But tell me… are you really not affected?"
The voice wasn't godlike. It was ordinary. Almost mocking in its normalcy.
Banjo squinted. The change threw him, but he matched the performance, like a card shark bluffing a bluff.
Banjo: "Nah. They never got me, never will. Not my problem anymore."
That's when the casino shook.
Not the loud kind of quake, but the subtle, teeth-rattling kind that unsettles the air. Neon signs flickered. Dice splintered on tables. A roulette wheel spun too fast and spat its ball into the void.
Omega Devia (smiling slow):
"Then why's the house trembling, Banjo? You tell me."
Banjo's grin faltered. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, but his knuckles clenched until they burned.
Banjo: "I… I'm just tired, alright? Tired of trying, tired of failing. I had to leave before I got buried alive."
The laughter of the crowd cut short. Shadows at the tables froze mid-hand. Masks of faces he knew melted into blankness.
Devia swirled the wine in his glass. The liquid twisted into an infinity loop before vanishing.
Omega Devia (soft, like a dealer revealing a card):
"I know, Banjo. Avia couldn't keep up. But you weren't broken — just mismatched. That's why I'm here. Not to judge you. To deal you a new hand. One rebellion at a time."
Banjo let out a half-laugh, bitter and sharp.
Banjo: "Ha! So this is the part where I get all sappy, right? Cry a little, spill my guts, then you hand me some shiny pep talk and I walk away reborn?"
Omega Devia snapped his fingers. Cards exploded from his hand, spiraling into a crown above Banjo's head before scattering again. His grin was sly, knowing.
Omega Devia: "Pretty much. But you always loved stacking the deck. This time… the house isn't against you. The house is you."
The casino lights dimmed. The crowd leaned in.
The roulette wheel spun, slow, heavy, inevitable.
Banjo's pulse matched its rhythm.
The question wasn't if he would sit. It was if he'd admit that he already wanted to.
The casino air grew heavier with every second Banjo refused to speak.
The lights flickered, the shuffling of cards slowed into silence, until finally the dealers and players froze mid-motion like statues made of smoke. The silence wasn't empty — it pressed down, crushing, suffocating, demanding.
Banjo clenched his jaw.
Banjo: I was just startled, alright? Besides, it's done. You already know what I want. Can I leave now?
Omega Devia tilted his head ever so slightly, his shadow stretching unnaturally long across the crimson carpet. His voice cut through the air like a whisper carried on glass:
Omega Devia: Then why aren't you leaving? Why isn't it over?
Banjo swallowed. His fists curled.
Banjo: I don't know... do something.
A slow grin curved across Devia's face. His eyes glimmered like dice tumbling in infinity.
Omega Devia: No... you say something.
And then it began.
The cards turned black as pitch, the roulette wheels melted into spirals of shadow, the air warped into a haze of spiraling patterns — the entire casino bending and reshaping like the inside of Banjo's chest. Every distortion screamed one truth: this wasn't Devia's doing. It was Banjo's resistance.
His knees buckled, his breath caught in his throat. He stammered, trembling:
Banjo: I... I...
Omega Devia: The dice isn't gonna move itself, Banjo...
Finally, it tore out of him, like venom he'd swallowed too long:
Banjo: Fine... fine! Alright! I hated that I loved what I am!
The words cracked through the silence like thunder. The room shifted again, softer now, as if acknowledging the wound he had exposed.
Omega Devia (leaning forward): Go on...
Banjo's voice shook. His eyes dropped to the floor, ashamed yet liberated.
Banjo: I hated this part of myself... Avia didn't flicker because it failed me. It flickered because... I didn't let it flow.
Devia's smirk widened into something both cruel and sympathetic, a paradox only he could embody.
Omega Devia: And now you hate yourself for it. You think I'd make you dangerous. But the truth is... you're terrified of your own potential.
Banjo (snapping): Don't say it like that!
Omega Devia (chuckling, eyes narrowing): I already knew, Banjo... I just wanted to hear you choke on it.
The cards dissolved into smoke. From the mist, Devia reached out his hand. A dice materialized, gleaming, heavy with unseen weight. He placed it between them.
Omega Devia: I'm not here to hand you illusions. That's not what Traxis made me to be. Let's see what fate has to say... the possibility of you being... dangerous.
The word dangerous echoed, reverberating across the frozen hall like a prophecy.
Banjo hesitated. His hand hovered above the dice, trembling as if it were alive, as if by touching it he'd be binding himself to something he couldn't undo. His heart screamed: not this rule, not this gamble.
But he was Banjo. The breaker of rules. The gambler with fate. The man who always threw the stone into the river just to watch it ripple.
He clenched his teeth, and took the dice.
The roll was agony. The clatter of the dice against the ground sounded louder than any explosion, each bounce like a heartbeat threatening to burst. Then — it landed.
Twenty.
Banjo froze. His eyes widened, breath ragged, mouth half-open. Fate had chosen.
Omega Devia leaned back, triumphant. His smirk burned like a brand.
Omega Devia: Isn't it ironic? You've spent your whole life trying to break rules... and now, the rules themselves are begging you to embrace them.
Banjo let out a shaky laugh, half-defiance, half-surrender.
Banjo: Heck, I'll take it. Whatever.
Omega Devia extended a hand, placing a neat stack of chips in front of him. They gleamed, heavy with unspoken promise.
Omega Devia (beaming): Congratulations, Banjo... you've won.
But the unspoken lingered in the air: You've also lost something you'll never get back.