Two worlds are one, and the other of silver towers and purple tinged skies is nothing but a memory. The jagged lotuses of the Numeron Network bloom in profusion from the remains of skyscrapers and steel beams.
Don Thousand sits atop his throne of stone petals, and watches the energy flow through the muddy ground.
It's been a long time since he has been unshackled, and there was eternity to look forward to. He felt satisfied, and sat back against the purple stone with a pleasant smile on his face. There were no more obstacles to bother him, so he could enjoy this peaceful dream for perhaps a century or two.
There is no need for time, and anything similar is nothing but a light nap. A god has no regrets.
Don Thousand's dreams grow deeper and deeper under the cradle of his own sun, for he has nothing to concern himself over anymore.
There's nothing left. Nothing except for him.
Vector floats in the eternal abyss, having long destroyed everything in his path. He reflects on the memories of crushing the three suns in his palm, but even that doesn't satisfy him for long.
Being a god seemed like the best name to fit all the power he had bottled up, but now all that wriggles inside him is the parasitic hatred with nothing to feed on. He was never good at creating something from nothing, and anything he tried building flourished hideously until he could no longer stand looking at it. He could only build upon lies, and only when nothing was left did he finally feel bored.
He could feel it slowly poisoning him, wearing away the bright pink stones and sending cracks along his black wings.
A god knows all, and nothing is interesting anymore.
Vector drifts alone in oblivion, and waits until he finally rusts away.
His people were safe, and they could live in peace. The other Emperors lay slumbering in their stone wombs of Baria Lapis, soon to awaken even more brightly than before. While there aren't any acid rains or vicious storms, the sea is dyed bright red and has spread as far as he could see.
Floating crystals drift lazily by, and Nasch wishes they wouldn't torment him with his reflection.
He thinks of Yuma, whose bright soul would definitely be reborn someday, and of IV, who he promised to meet again, and feels the crest grow heavy on his chest. He's king of both Barian and human, Nasch and Ryoga, and while they are perfectly fused, he still feels his heart hanging weakly at the seams.
A god has his responsibilities, and can choose when to let them go.
Nasch walks to the precipice and lets himself dissolve.
Astral holds the glowing card in his palm, pulsing with bright blues and pinks. The coldness of its warmth frightens him a little, as everyone's dreams overflows into this one moment. The three suns were so close now that their colors bleed into each other.
Nasch lies against one of the temple pillars and holds himself together with Yuma by his side, bravely smiling despite his recent loss. Would Yuma still smile like this, Astral wonders, if he had the scales in his hand?
The burdens of a god is to pick between two options and decide whichever is best. Best for whom? No matter what he picked, the lingering temptation of the other would never go away. A god still must choose.
He weighs the two choices in his hands, and hesitates.
The flowers have withered away, and it's been a week since people woke up on the streets from a crazy dream.
This world is beautiful because everyone struggled for each other, and for themselves. Yuma knows that his hardships wouldn't end just because the red dust solidified and the stars shine overhead.
He breaks into a sprint, and runs towards the future that he worked so hard to achieve.
There are no gods, but he isn't complaining.
Yuma dashes up to his friends with a smile on his face, and is content.