The Crucible burned hot. Across the thousand continent-sized arenas, the initial chaos had begun to settle into a brutal rhythm of hunt and be hunted.

For all the lifeforms watching through Thea's live broadcast, it was a spectacle of unprecedented scale, a glorious and terrifying display of power from every corner of the universe.

But for Sunny, observing from his high throne in the Arena of Epiphany, a familiar feeling was creeping in: boredom.

His champions were simply too dominant. It was less a competition and more an exhibition.

He watched Anaske move through a dense, swamp-like arena like a phantom.

The King of the Cosmic Empire wasn't fighting; he was harvesting.

Opponents, drawn by the shimmer of his token or the promise of a glorious battle, would charge him, only to find their weapons shattered, their tokens plucked from their waists with contemptuous ease, and their worlds dissolving into the disorienting light of teleportation before they even understood what had happened.

He moved with the effortless grace of a master swordsman and the overwhelming force of an S-Grade Body Refiner, each elimination a clean, precise, almost surgical act.

His counter ticked upwards relentlessly, as he had already eliminated half a million lifeforms back to their stand. It was impressive, but predictable.

Then there was Nephis. Sunny shifted his view to a mist-shrouded forest arena, where the mischievous Royal Demon was playing her own, entirely different game.

She wasn't fighting at all. She moved through the arena like a ghost, a flicker of shadow, a harmless butterfly landing on a shoulder, a rustle of leaves in the canopy.

Her opponents never saw her coming. They would be walking, alert and ready for battle, and then suddenly find themselves back in the stands, their token inexplicably gone, their minds reeling with confusion.

Nephis's counter was even more absurd, already cresting seven hundred thousand eliminations, each one a testament to her mastery of stealth and Loki's infuriatingly effective Master of Stealing talent.

It was amusing, but it lacked the raw, thrilling uncertainty of a true contest.

But then, Sunny focused on the highlights from Arena 742, and his boredom evaporated, replaced by a cold, fascinated dread.

This arena was a hellscape, a volatile land of active volcanoes and rivers of molten mana. And in its center hovered Kalzarin, the Ice Dragon champion from Veridia.

When the round began, the other lifeforms in the arena, a million lifeforms from different worlds, had rejoiced.

They saw a dragon whose very essence was counter to this fiery realm. They saw an easy target, a powerful beast crippled by its environment.

They charged him, a wave of desperate, hopeful warriors seeking to claim the glory of slaying a dragon.

They were wrong. So, terribly wrong.

Kalzarin hadn't suffered. He hadn't struggled.

He had simply ascended, his massive, ice-blue wings beating against the superheated air.

He hovered high above the volcanic peaks, looking down at the charging army like a god observing ants.

Then, he inhaled, his chest expanding, drawing in the very heat of the world around him. And he breathed out.

It was not fire. It was a blizzard. A wave of absolute zero, infused with the reality-warping power of his space affinity, erupted from his jaws.

it was a world destroying breath that spread across the entire continent-sized arena in a single, silent, terrifying instant.

The rivers of lava flash-froze, becoming jagged sculptures of solid energy. The erupting volcanoes were choked, their fiery plumes instantly turning into pillars of black, glassy obsidian.

And the million lifeforms charging towards him… they simply stopped, frozen solid in mid-stride, their expressions of rage and hope eternally locked in ice.

The tokens, sensing the life force within the frozen statues extinguishing, activated their emergency teleportation.

One million souls vanished from the arena, leaving Kalzarin alone, floating serenely in the center of a world he had just turned into a world anihlator.

He had cleared his arena in less than five minutes, eliminating 999,999 opponents in a single, horrifying breath.

The sheer, overwhelming power, the casual annihilation, sent a wave of trauma not just through those who had faced him, but through the audience watching across the universe.

Sunny let out a low whistle. "Impressive," he murmured.

But even this spectacle, this display of absolute dominance, felt… empty. It lacked the spark, the unpredictable variable he was waiting for.

"Sigh," he let out a long, weary breath. "When will that new talent appear? My intuition promised me something interesting. At this rate, I'm tempted to just copy Adam's 'Blessed Creator' talent and call it a day."

The moment the thought crossed his mind, his Divine Intuition talent screamed at him.

It wasn't a warning of danger, but a sharp, insistent NO, a feeling like trying to force two repelling magnets together. It was a clear, undeniable message: Wait.

"Yes, yes, I know," Sunny grumbled, placating the insistent feeling. "I was just joking. I will listen to you." He settled back into his throne, forcing himself to be patient.

Just then, Adam's voice boomed across the arena, drawing everyone's attention. "The first million matches are complete! I hope it was entertaining for you all!" He paused, a knowing look on his ancient face.

"And since many of you viewers seem to be complaining about the matches where contestants simply hide and wait each other out, the Gods have decreed a new rule for this round!"

A ripple of excitement went through the stands.

"From this moment on," Adam declared, "the arenas will begin to shrink! The edges of the world will crumble away, little by little, until only a few square kilometers remain. No more hiding! The maximum time limit for any match is now one month!"

A roar of approval erupted from the audience. This was the chaos they craved.

"So," Adam grinned, his eyes twinkling with anticipation, "let The Crucible begin once again!"

Another billion points of light vanished from the stands, teleported into the thousand deadly arenas.

Sunny watched his own champions depart, their expressions confident, almost arrogant. They knew their strength. They knew they were the elite. They were ready.

Among them was a figure that drew murmurs from the crowd. It was another dragon, but this one was different.

It wasn't the hulking, western-style beast like Kalzarin. It was a long, serpentine dragon of brilliant jade green, its form radiating not icy power, but a gentle, profound aura of life and hope.

It lacked wings, yet it glided through the air with an effortless grace.

Lifeform1837: "I pray for the poor souls in the same arena as that dragon. Another massacre is coming."

Lifeform2737: "Maybe this one isn't as strong? It looks less… intimidating than the ice dragon."

Lifeform264792: "Are you blind?! Look at its shape! It's serpentine, like the Demigod Shenlong in Emperor Cosmos's stand! Don't judge a dragon by its shape!"

The lifeforms from Veridia smiled knowingly.

Lifeform12 : "As a citizen of Veridia, let me tell you: those other champions won't last more than a few seconds against him."

Lifeform2673: "Brother, what is his ability? Is he really that strong? You're not just boasting?"

Lifeform12 : "His abilities? Simple. Hope. Miracles. And Prayers." He typed the cryptic message and then went silent, leaving the rest of the universe to wonder.

The green dragon, soaring into its designated arena, was none other than Thorn, the first apostle of Shenlong, reborn and ready to show the multiverse the true meaning of hope.

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