Airious Courtyard: The Next Generation Moves—
The battlefield no longer felt like collapse.
It felt like momentum.
Chaotic.
Unpredictable.
Barely controlled.
But alive.
More students descended from the fractured skies of Airious, Avian currents spiraling around them as the academy's upperclassmen finally entered the war in full force.
And with them—
The battlefield began changing shape.
A ghoul lunged toward a wounded student.
Then another.
Then six more from different angles.
Their distorted limbs twisted unnaturally, mouths stretching wider as corruption leaked from their forms like infected smoke.
And then—
Anima moved.
Not toward them.
Beside them.
Her fists blurred through the air in rapid succession, each punch landing against nothing.
Shadow boxing.
At least—
That's what it looked like.
Until the air itself echoed.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Every strike she had thrown suddenly replayed itself as condensed pulse impacts that blasted into the incoming ghouls all at once. Invisible combinations chained together through delayed force, smashing the creatures across walls and pillars in synchronized destruction.
One ghoul tried to rise—
Another delayed punch detonated across its jaw.
Anima spun once, finger guns aimed playfully at the battlefield.
"I bet you didn't see that coming."
The surviving students stared.
One of them blinked twice.
"…Did she just combo reality?"
Anima grinned wider.
"Maybe."
Elsewhere—
Klexis was already airborne.
His hammer crackled with reinforced impact force as he launched himself directly toward one of the larger portals suspended above the courtyard.
The thing pulsed violently.
Red.
Distorted.
Breathing.
And from within it—
A cluster of massive ghouls emerged.
Buff.
Towering.
Overdeveloped masses of corrupted muscle and fragmented identity.
Klexis tightened his grip.
"Perfect."
Impact energy condensed around the hammerhead.
He pulled back—
Preparing a devastating smash.
Then suddenly—
The ghouls became unicorns.
Silence.
The battlefield literally paused.
The newly transformed unicorns blinked innocently, sparkling rainbows trailing behind them as they trotted awkwardly through the air.
Klexis stopped mid-swing.
"…Uh."
A girl hovered above nearby, surrounded by rotating tiles of shifting aesthetics and fragmented realities. One moment they resembled fantasy paintings, the next futuristic neon skylines, then watercolor dreamscapes.
Sylra.
Reality Mosaic.
Avian Compression Level One.
More than enough.
She waved casually.
"Sup."
Klexis pointed slowly at the unicorns.
"…What."
Sylra giggled.
"Unicorns are cute, aren't they? Hehehe."
Her Affinity allowed her to temporarily edit reality through selected aesthetic overlays. Not permanent rewrites.
Interpretative modifications.
Reality through artistic possibility.
The result?
Terrifyingly versatile nonsense.
Klexis stared at the floating rainbow creatures for another second before smiling despite himself.
"Alright. Thanks, Syvie."
Then immediately—
Boom.
He launched forward again and smashed the portal directly with his impact-reinforced hammer.
The entire structure cracked inward before imploding into fragments of corrupted light.
The surrounding ghouls destabilized instantly.
Klexis landed roughly, skidding across broken marble.
"…Well."
He scratched the back of his head.
"At least we know it works."
A pause.
"…Even though they could just make another portal."
Facepalm.
Laughter erupted behind him.
Not from one person.
From several.
Or rather—
The same person.
Miria and her Existence Mirage clones stood across a broken platform, each one laughing at different intensities.
One nearly fell over.
"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry, I just—"
Another clone wheezed.
"—I can't, hehe—"
Klexis deadpanned immediately.
"…Which one of you is laughing?"
Miria 3 froze.
"…Hey c'mon, not cool."
Another clone pointed accusingly.
"I mean he's got a point."
Miria 1 spun around instantly.
"Shut up."
"No you shut up."
"You're literally me."
"Exactly, and you're annoying."
The battlefield somehow became more chaotic.
Tarren looked between them in visible panic.
"Then how do we smash multiple portals at the same time?!"
He began biting his nails anxiously, panic aura surging around him in increasingly concentrated bursts.
And naturally—
The stronger his panic became—
The stronger he became.
Nearby ghouls actually recoiled from the pressure spike.
Noan rubbed his forehead.
"I mean…"
His self-awareness kicked in immediately.
"…as long as more people aren't corrupted before they process it…"
Tarren pointed dramatically.
"That is NOT reassuring!"
Meanwhile—
Far above the battlefield—
Something genuinely absurd was happening.
Zekar floated cross-legged in front of a cluster of portals, threads of luminous time weaving between his fingers like stitched fabric.
Chrono Stitcher.
One of the weirdest Affinities in the academy.
And currently one of the most useful.
A ghoul emerged halfway through a portal—
Only for the surrounding time to fold backward unnaturally.
The creature blinked in confusion as its own entrance rewound.
Then fully reversed.
The ghoul got violently sucked backward through the portal and thrown directly back into the Free Abyss at the exact point it originally entered from.
Another ghoul tried.
Same result.
Another.
Gone.
Zekar burst out laughing mid-technique.
"Okay, my power is hilarious ."
Even nearby students couldn't help staring.
One pointed upward.
"Did he just return-to-sender a ghoul?"
"Yes."
"Using time?"
"Yes."
"That's actually evil."
Zekar proudly pointed at himself.
"THANK YOU."
And slowly—
For the first time since the invasion began—
The students of Airious began pushing forward.
Not perfectly.
Not cleanly.
But together.
Senior students.
Heavy hitters.
Knights.
Champions.
Different personalities.
Different Affinities.
Different ways of embodying the self.
Yet all moving toward the same goal.
The battlefield itself reflected Avia's philosophy now:
Not uniformity.
Not sameness.
But authenticity moving in synchronized conviction.
And Banjo—
Standing among them with his Devia core pulsing softly—
Could only watch in silence.
Because this feeling…
This overwhelming, chaotic, imperfect harmony—
Could not be replicated artificially.
Not copied.
Not granted.
It had to be lived.
And somewhere deep inside him—
That realization was beginning to hurt.
Amid the chaos of collapsing portals, distorted skies, and roaring Avian pressure—
Banjo's core flickered.
Not violently.
Subtly.
A yellow-green pulse wrapped in casino light glitched beneath his chest, the geometric patterns skipping for half a second before stabilizing again.
Then glitching once more.
Banjo froze.
Just briefly.
The battlefield still raged around him. Ghouls screamed. Portals ruptured. Senior students laughed while rewriting reality in increasingly absurd ways.
But for a moment—
Everything sounded distant.
Muted.
Because his core had never done that before.
Not during training.
Not during synchronization.
Not even during recruitment.
So why now?
Was it because he was doubting Omega Devia again?
Was it because the twenty-point probability cube—the perfect roll that once convinced him he possessed immense future potential—was beginning to feel… false?
Or worse—
Was it because he had started losing faith in the mission itself?
His fingers twitched slightly.
And then—
A voice echoed in his head.
Not a whisper.
Not corruption.
A transmission.
His colleagues.
"Hey Banjo, come back immediately."
Another voice layered over the first.
"We know what's happening in Airious, but we've already assembled except you."
A pause.
"What are you still doing?"
Banjo blinked slowly.
The sounds of battle rushed back into his ears all at once.
"…Oh."
He laughed weakly under his breath.
"Yeah right…"
His smile cracked for a second.
"I almost…"
Pftt.
The sentence never finished.
Because even he didn't fully understand what he almost did.
Forgot?
Stayed?
Believed?
His eyes drifted downward toward his hand.
And suddenly—
Memory resurfaced.
The synchronization chamber.
The beginning.
Back when Omega Devia was still evolving into what it would become.
The probability cube resting in his palm.
One roll.
One outcome.
A test of future potential.
Potential not decided by destiny—
But by possibility.
He remembered throwing it.
Remembered the spinning.
The anticipation.
The hope.
And then—
Maximum probability.
Maximum future.
A perfect result.
At the time, it felt divine.
Like confirmation.
Like proof that he belonged here.
That Omega Devia had seen something inside him worth awakening.
But now?
Now he wasn't sure anymore.
Because if the cube truly represented possibility—
Then why did he suddenly feel so… uncertain?
Why did the students of Airious look more alive than he did?
Why did Avia feel terrifyingly real now that he had seen it at full synchronization?
Why did his own core keep flickering whenever he questioned himself?
Noan noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
The self-awareness user stepped beside him quietly while the others continued fighting ahead.
"Hey."
Banjo looked up.
"You okay?"
The question was simple.
Which somehow made it harder.
Banjo inhaled slowly before forcing a smile.
"Oh."
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Y-yeah, I'm fine."
His core glitched again.
"…But I think, uh…"
He looked toward the sky.
"…I gotta go."
Noan nodded once.
Then narrowed his eyes slightly.
"They called, didn't they?"
Banjo didn't answer.
Didn't deny it either.
And that silence confirmed everything.
Noan exhaled through his nose before smiling faintly.
"Well…"
He folded his arms.
"Thanks for the help."
Banjo looked away.
And then Noan added something softer.
"Remember."
Banjo glanced back.
"You were never an outsider."
A tiny pause.
"…At least not to me."
That broke something.
Not dramatically.
Not explosively.
Just enough.
Banjo's expression tightened instantly, eyes widening as emotion caught him completely off guard.
Because after everything—
After leaving.
After choosing Devia.
After failing his recruitment.
After questioning himself.
After standing in a war between philosophies—
Someone from Airious still said that to him.
His voice came out smaller than usual.
"…I won't forget."
And for once—
He meant it without adaptation.
Without performance.
Without trying to function correctly.
Just honestly.
Banjo lifted one hand weakly toward the others.
A quiet goodbye.
Then his Devia core pulsed.
Space folded around him in yellow-green distortion.
And he vanished.
Leaving behind:
the war,
the academy,
the students,
and the terrifying realization growing silently in his chest.
Because Banjo had entered Airious believing Omega Devia was the answer to rigid suffering.
But he was leaving with a question he could no longer suppress:
If authenticity can survive fear, panic, weakness, imperfection, and doubt…
then what exactly was Omega Devia replacing anymore?