Banjo finally accepted himself.
For the first time, he didn't have to tear rules apart to feel free — the rules themselves bent in reverence, whispering for him to embrace them. The world no longer needed to shatter for him to see his reflection. All he had to do was believe.
The casino lights dimmed to twilight hues as Omega Devia's laughter echoed faintly, like fading thunder. The game was over — or perhaps, it had only just begun.
His connection with Omega Devia surged back to life, reignited like a constellation remembering its pattern. Every thought, every hesitation, was met with the calm pulse of understanding from that strange, omniscient entity. Banjo no longer had to force faith; he simply existed in it.
The doubts that once clawed at his mind dissolved into stillness.
He could feel it now — his inner realm, vast and unbroken, humming with the rhythm of his truth. He had achieved what most only dreamed of: a bridge between self and divinity. But it wasn't a gift freely given.
To maintain it, he'd have to believe — again and again.
Doubt, once his shield, had become his poison. Faith, now his weapon, would also be his burden.
He took a breath, feeling his pulse steady, and stepped through the dissolving doors of the casino — into the empty void from which he had first arrived.
It was quiet there. Quiet like the pause between two heartbeats.
And then, a golden glow split the darkness.
Floating before him was Jair, clad in golden-red armor that shimmered with the warmth of inner fire. A cape rippled behind him as though stirred by unseen winds of destiny. His eyes, once uncertain, now burned with intent.
"I can't believe I did it," Jair said, his voice trembling between awe and disbelief. "I've... this is too much."
Before Banjo could answer, the air softened with melody.
Behind Jair, Eve Maid appeared — her presence graceful, her aura wrapped in threads of sedation energy, pulsing like a lullaby that calmed even the stormiest mind.
"I was asleep for a long time," she murmured, her voice delicate but firm. "It's time for me to wake up."
Banjo couldn't help but smirk. "You weren't asleep," he teased. "You were lovesick."
Eve Maid rolled her eyes, though a faint smile betrayed her composure. "Oh, please. I still chose my dreams over him. Besides, my inner realm finally belongs to my whims."
Banjo chuckled. There was peace in this banter, a reminder that even amidst cosmic chaos, they were still human in spirit.
Jair straightened his shoulders, his armor reflecting flickers of molten gold. "I've embraced my Jairak. It's not something outside me anymore — it's me. I'll finally get to show Jack what I'm capable of."
Banjo nodded with quiet pride. "About time someone did."
And then, the void shivered.
From ahead, a portal bloomed open, rippling with hues of crimson and violet. The energy that leaked from it was regal, heavy, and strangely divine. Out of it stepped Jason, followed by a familiar shadow — Vun, the Logic Ghoul.
Jason's crown glimmered, its core flickering between violet and red — two opposing forces intertwined. Not a split. Not a surrender. But a pact. An eternal agreement between chaos and control.
All three turned as Jason stepped forward.
Banjo's eyes widened, Jair's armor brightened, and Eve Maid's melody faltered mid-hum.
All of them: "Jason! You look like—"
Jason: "A king."
His voice carried authority — not forced, but earned. "That's right. My throne is now taken." He smiled faintly, almost bittersweet. "And Vun came to visit me."
Vun's skeletal grin twisted into a shape of mockery and prophecy. "And the king deserves to burn everything... but more efficiently, this time." His voice dripped with logic, every syllable a calculation. "When the war comes, those Airiens will regret ever crossing him."
The air vibrated with the weight of that statement. The void itself seemed to recoil — as though reality wasn't sure if it should kneel or flee.
Banjo crossed his arms, his grin returning. "Looks like we're on god mode."
Eve Maid smirked softly. "Now we wait for the others."
Her gaze drifted upward, into the vast nothing. The stars above didn't respond. No lights appeared. Yet she waited still — patient, unwavering — as though she could feel the ripple of destiny moving beyond sight.
A wind stirred. But this was no wind of air — it was a pull, a subtle magnetism between fates. Something — or someone — was about to fall.
Far beyond the veil, Eugene and Androsha stood on the edge of their own awakening.
The well beneath them rippled like a mirror, reflecting the countless versions of themselves they had yet to meet. Their descent would not be peaceful — theirs was the kind of fall that redefined gravity.
Banjo glanced once more at his companions — at Jair, blazing with newfound fire; at Eve Maid, serenity incarnate; and at Jason, crowned with contradictions. Each of them had found something within — something terrifyingly pure.
This was no longer a gathering of survivors.
This was the assembly of the awakened.
And somewhere, deep in the silence between stars, a voice — perhaps Devia's, perhaps the universe's — whispered:
"The rules never caged you, Banjo. You caged yourself.
Now go on… break the silence instead."
Banjo smirked, feeling the dice still in his pocket, warm against his skin. It wasn't luck that brought him here. It was belief.
He looked out into the endless void, where new lights began to flicker — faint but growing. "Well," he said with that trademark grin, "guess the game's just getting started."
Eve Maid folded her arms, her tone playfully sharp. "It always was."
And as the last echo faded, the four of them stood suspended in that radiant void — united not by power, but by acceptance.
Each soul had broken, mended, and rewritten its own rulebook.
For the first time, they weren't running from themselves.
They were walking toward the storm — and this time, the storm was theirs.
The air trembled around the rim of the well.
Each ripple shimmered like liquid glass, waiting — patient, cruelly patient — for its next descent. The silence that followed Jason's coronation was suffocating. Even Omega Devia's presence, felt somewhere beyond reality's curtain, seemed to hold its breath.
They all knew what came next.
Androsha and Eugene stood near the edge, their reflections in the well flickering like unstable holograms. Behind them, Manu, Kari, and Carlin exchanged quiet glances — that rare mixture of pride, pity, and fear one only shows before a friend is torn from safety.
Manu broke the silence first, his tone steady but soft.
"Don't worry. If the others made it... you will too. You're just confronting yourself, that's all."
Carlin laughed lightly, masking the tension that twisted in his chest. "Hold your breaths," he said with a crooked grin, "or should I say... hold your minds, hehe."
His joke fell flat in the heavy air — but it helped. Even a broken laugh could feel like a lifeline here.
Eugene nodded, trying to keep his energy from spilling into panic. He crouched slightly, hopping sideways like an athlete warming up before a sprint, each bounce echoing faintly in the hollow space. It was how he always prepared for the impossible — as if motion itself could silence the storm inside.
Androsha, on the other hand, wasn't moving at all.
A thin fog oozed around her form, like breath escaping from something that had been sealed too long. Her expression flickered between composure and unraveling. You could see it — the unease leaking through her control, half anticipation, half dread.
She whispered to herself, voice trembling.
"Don't... w-worry... breathe... You're just confronting yourself, that's all... nothing to be scared of."
But she knew that was a lie.
There was always something to be scared of — especially when the thing staring back at you was yourself.
Kari stepped closer, her presence quiet but commanding. "Alright. The well awaits." Her eyes glowed faintly, reflecting every color the void had forgotten. "Remember, trust your source. Connect with Devia. Take control of your inner realms... and know the cost."
The last words lingered like a curse.
And then the well answered.
A low hum began — at first distant, like thunder behind a mountain. Then it grew, warping the air, pulling the light inward. The rim of the well shimmered violently, and the pull became real — relentless, hungry, inescapable.
Eugene's first instinct was to resist. His body leaned back, arms trembling as if gravity itself had betrayed him. But resistance was futile here. The well didn't take bodies — it took essence.
Androsha tried to scream, but the sound was swallowed before it left her lips. Her fog erupted, coiling around her like a storm trying to hide its core. Her fingers reached for Eugene's, but the space between them elongated, stretched, broke apart like glass bending in time.
"Eugene!" she cried.
He tried to reach back — a hand outstretched, fingertips grazing mist — but then the light consumed them both.
The others could only watch. Manu's fist clenched by his side; Kari's eyes fluttered closed in silent prayer; Carlin's grin faded into a tight frown.
And in that single, irreversible moment — the well pulled them in.
There was no splash. No impact. Just silence.
The descent wasn't like falling through water — it was like dissolving through memory. Every inch of their being turned translucent, stripped of protection, stripped of everything except the truth.
Inside the well was nothing — the same empty space that greeted all who entered. No walls. No horizon. Just that infinite, ghostly plane that reflected thought instead of light.
They floated for a while.
Long enough to think it might not be so bad.
Long enough to believe they'd been spared.
That was the illusion — the pause before the storm.
A necessary delay, Omega Devia once said. To give the mind time to believe it was safe before tearing it open.
And then —
The silence cracked.
Not like a sound breaking — more like an emotion fracturing.
The emptiness rippled, distorted, then split apart into a thousand invisible hands that seized them both.
Eugene gasped as the world inverted — his body flung upward while his mind was hurled deeper down. His thoughts began to scatter, pulling memories from him like threads unraveling from a tapestry.
Androsha screamed without sound, her fog now thrashing wildly, forming faces — her faces — hundreds of them, all whispering, all laughing, all accusing.
"Why did you stop running?"
"Why did you let them in?"
"Why did you think you could change anything?"
Each echo came from her own voice. Each syllable cut deeper than any blade.
Eugene tried to call out, but the words were stolen mid-breath. His mind was bending, fracturing — each fragment replaying his failures in loops, racing through his life like broken circuits.
It wasn't a punishment. It was a revelation.
They weren't falling through a place. They were falling through themselves.
And in that infinite fall, where every thought became a mirror, they finally understood what "knowing yourself" truly meant. It wasn't enlightenment. It was annihilation first.
The light dimmed. The pressure intensified.
And then —
Cut to black.
Eugene Opened his eyes...
An endless track lies underneath his feet