Ragnok, his King's Aura still pressing down on the struggling, terrified form of Sparx, looked up. His gaze pierced through the entire Arena, past the billions of watching Gods, and met the distant, high throne of God Cosmos.

He couldn't see the Emperor's face, hidden as it was behind the swirling void of the cosmic mask, but Ragnok could feel it.

The cold and utterly terrifying fury radiating from his creator. This was no longer a tournament match. This was an execution.

A cold, hard smile, devoid of all humor, touched Ragnok's lips. He looked down at the arrogant, beautiful angel, who was still fighting against his aura, his six magnificent wings beating furiously just to keep him from being crushed into the ground.

"You are so cooked," Ragnok thought, a cruel, almost pleasurable sense of contempt washing over him.

"How should I break him?" Ragnok pondered, his mind shifting through the combat scenarios he had practiced in his entire life.

A simple death was too quick. Too merciful. No. This creature, who believed himself a divine being above mortals, deserved a different kind of end.

Ragnok decided on something classy, a classic trope from the novels Thea had stocked in the system shops: the complete and utter psychological destruction of an opponent, forcing them to accept their own pathetic reality before their life is extinguished.

"But for that, you need to be able to move, at least," Ragnok mused, his voice a low, mocking rumble.

He let out a small, sharp laugh at the angel's weakness. "Hey, Sparx!" he called out, his voice booming with confidence. "I will give you a chance to fight me properly. I will show you what mortals can achieve. I will show you that we, too, are creations of the Gods, and we are not to be trifled with!"

With a single, dramatic thought, Ragnok released his King's Aura.

The crushing, mountain-like pressure vanished in an instant. Sparx, suddenly freed, shot into the sky like a champagne cork, his wings beating a frantic, triumphant rhythm.

He felt the air rush past him, the glorious sensation of freedom and his own innate superiority returning.

He looked down at the small, half-orc demigod, and his perfect, handsome face twisted into a mask of humiliated rage.

"That will be your biggest mistake, you filthy, foolish mortal!" Sparx screamed.

He raised his hand, and a spear of pure, blinding lightning, crackling with the divine-tier power of his SS-Grade talent, materialized in his grasp.

With a roar of pure hatred, he hurled it, a javelin of celestial fury that should have been powerful enough to smite an entire continent.

Ragnok didn't move. He didn't raise a shield. He didn't even flinch. He simply stood, his hand raised, palm open, and spoke his first command, his voice calm and absolute.

"In a one-hundred-meter radius around me, no lightning shall exist."

The words were not a spell; they were a law. A subtle, invisible ripple expanded from Ragnok, creating a perfect sphere of his own, absolute reality.

The lightning spear, a force that could have shattered a mountain, hit this barrier… and simply vanished. It didn't explode. It didn't deflect. It just ceased to be, its core concept erased from existence.

Sparx's arrogant expression froze. "W-what?" he stammered, his mind unable to process what he had just seen.

Shaken but undeterred, his arrogance quickly overshadowed his disbelief. A fluke! A trick!

He poured more mana, his wings flaring as he channeled his full power. This time, he wove both of his core elements, creating a new spear of swirling light and lightning, a devastating, dual-law attack, his most powerful weapon.

"Oh? Light magic?" Ragnok's voice was laced with a cold, mocking amusement. "Very well. Light magic is also forbidden in my space for the next half-hour."

The new law settled, reinforcing the invisible barrier. The swirling, dual-elemental spear, an attack Sparx believed to be his ultimate trump card, hit the shimmering, unseen wall… and was extinguished, snuffed out like a candle in a void.

"What… what kind of magic is this…?" Sparx thought, his mind now completely blank. He was out of ideas.

His strongest, most definitive attacks were being deleted from reality by this… this mortal.

The live chat, watching this one-sided mockery, exploded.

Lifeform74939: "I want that medicine!"

Lifeform64828: "Brother, you have finally gone mad from watching this tournament. You should rest a Little."

Lifeform74939: "i mean the medicine God Cosmos had given him, how can he be this strong otherwise"

Lifeform32 : "You fools know nothing. You think talents are the only path to power? In Veridia, that is only the beginning. We are blessed by the demigods themselves. I am a simple elf, but I was personally blessed by Lady Nova. I have Super Strength and a A-Grade Space Affinity. What our champions can do is so far beyond your mortal comprehension, it's laughable that you even try to compare."

The chat erupted again, a storm of envy, disbelief, and a dawning, terrible realization of the true, insurmountable benefits of being in the Veridia.

But even the proud Veridian elf was wrong.

Yes, Ragnok had been blessed. His Reality Talk was a gift from the Emperor himself. But that wasn't the true source of his overwhelming, suffocating power.

The real reason for his dominance was an artifact he had won from a lottery spin decades ago, a prize forged by Sunny's own hand, a secret he had shared with no one.

It was the Life Cube.

An SS-Grade artifact that was not a weapon or a shield, but a world. A personal subspace, a pocket planet with a radius of a million kilometers, containing a world where flora and fauna was flourishing everywhere.

And most importantly, a time flow that was one thousand times faster than the outside world.

While the lifeforms of Solara had experienced sixty years of rebuilding, Ragnok had spent sixty thousand years in his personal cube.

He had mastered every technique Thea had fed him, every scrap of knowledge from the Divine Library, and practiced them until they were a part of his very soul.

He had lived entire lifetimes as a warrior, as a king, as a philosopher, and as a mage, all within the silent, accelerated confines of his personal world.

This was Sunny's hidden gift, a divine gift for the souls his God's Eye had identified, scattered across the multiverse; these were the souls of the 4 billion Gods that had been erased by Adam or died by the hands of demon gods.

These Gods contained a small mark of divinity from their previous life. Which could only be sensed by Sunny through God's eye.

And he wanted to help these lost Gods to walk on the path of the Godhood again.

While his clones, now empowered by the God's Domain, were actively seeking out the other such souls, Ragnok had been the first to truly flourish.

He even thought of giving them their old memories back, but shook his head.

'I need loyal Gods and demigods under me,' Sunny thought, his gaze unblinking. 'Not backstabbers. This fight requires all of us to fight hand-in-hand. Their past lives are a risk I cannot take.' His decision to keep their memories locked was cold yet calculative.

Back in the arena, the "fight" had become a mockery. Sparx was now frantically hurling every spell he knew, his beautiful, angelic face contorted in a mask of desperate, sweaty panic.

Spears of light, bolts of lightning, holy arrows; a storm of SS-tier magic flew from his hands, and every single attack simply vanished, dissolving harmlessly against Ragnok's invisible barrier of Reality Talk.

Ragnok just stood there, his arms crossed, watching the angel's slow, agonizing decline with a cold, merciless disdain.

A grin was plastered on his face, a devilish expression that seemed to savor every moment of the angel's humiliation.

Lifeform2628: "This is just pure torture. He should just surrender."

Lifeform62839: "Yeah, I think so too. His mana reserves are running thin. He can't keep this up."

Lifeform74949: "Maybe he'll become unconscious from mana exhaustion. I don't think his pride will let him surrender."

Ragnok, finally deciding the lesson was complete, opened his mouth. "You know, Sparx," he said, his voice casual, as if discussing a mundane thing, "you are about to die. The Gods are displeased with something you did. I don't know what you did, nor do I care."

He pointed his sword, its tip gleaming. "But I think I'll come and poke you in the Netherworld when I eventually break through to the God realm myself."

A soft, devastating grin played on Ragnok's face. "But for now… let me break you a little."

Sparx, his face a mask of horror, his mana reserves completely empty, his body trembling with exhaustion and a new, dawning terror, looked to the high stands.

He searched for his God, for his creator, for his master, Venus. His eyes, filled with a desperate, pleading light, finally found him.

And God Venus, in a gesture of final abandonment and denial, looked away.

That was the final blow. Sparx knew, in that gut-wrenching, soul-shattering instant, that Ragnok's words were true.

His God had forsaken him. His face lost all its color, leaving only the pale, sallow mask of the well and truly damned demigod.

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