The space was a silent, frozen battlefield of tension. Four colossal, identical figures, the splitted souls of God Cosmos, surrounded a single, a little smaller, and now visibly nervous, Edgar.

The demon god, who had just been a behemoth, was now a little smaller that his former self, his stolen power spent, his arrogance shattered.

Sunny's four voices spoke as one, a chorus that echoed in the void. "Running away? You think you can leave?"

Edgar, who had been inching backward toward the spatial tear that led to the demonic realm, froze.

He knew he was beaten. He was outmatched, outsmarted, and outnumbered four to one by the very being he had come to mock.

"I will not attack now," Edgar's voice was no longer a roar, but a hurried, and almost pleading negotiation.

His crooked red smile was strained, "What can you even do? You cannot kill me if I do not attack you. It is a stalemate."

He began to float backward again, his movements slow and non-threatening. He was trying to escape.

"Do you think the Demons from the demonic realm will accept you back?" Sunny's voice was a sharp blade, laced with a poison that was more potent than any demon could conjure.

"A defeated demon god, running away from a God who isn't even three hundred years old in your timeline?"

"I have lived for millions of years," Edgar huffed, his pace quickening as he neared the tear. "I can handle a little shame."

"Shame?" Sunny's four voices laughed, a terrifying sound. "What about when they beat you to death for your failure?"

"Beat me?" Edgar paused at the very edge of the rift, a flash of his old arrogance returning. "Let them try. I will only grow stronger from it."

He had absorbed the attacks of Demon Lords before. This was his nature. He was a being that endured.

He turned, ready to slip into the safety of the demonic realm. But just before he vanished, he looked back at the four colossal, masked figures, his red, circular eyes narrowing into slits.

He blinked.

It was a single, instantaneous, almost imperceptible movement. But in that blink, he activated an attack he had stolen from an ancient, long-dead God. An attack with instantaneous movement.

In that same, infinitely small fraction of a second, he was gone from the rift.

And then in that same fraction of second, he reappeared. He was no longer in front of the four clones. He was behind one of them.

His hands, which had been simple, human like appendages, transformed. They became two sharp scythes of condensed, black-and-white law.

"Haha," Edgar's voice whispered directly into the ear of Clone Number One. "Did you really think the miasma was my only ultimate technique?"

Before the clone could even register the presence, before its Combat Master talent could even process the new threat, the scythes flashed.

In a single, fluid motion, they sliced through the cosmic robe, through the divine form, and through the very soul of the clone, splitting it perfectly in two, from shoulder to hip.

"I have absorbed millions of attacks from my opponents over the eons, you little bug," Edgar laughed, his voice a wild cackle of victory as he licked the divine blood from the sharp edge of his scythe-hand.

"You were just lucky you had a counter for the Miasma of the Seven Realms!" He watched, his red smile wider than ever, as the bisected, lifeless body of the clone dissolved into a shower of fading, golden particles.

"One gone," he hissed, his gaze snapping to the other three. "Three to go."

The Gods of the Pantheon, who had been watching this unfold on Thea's broadcast, gasped in collective, horrified shock.

This wasn't just a clone. They had all been present, they had seen the soul-splitting of Sunny's main soul.

They had heard their Emperor's screams of agony. That… that was a part of his soul. Their Emperor had just died.

In the quiet, dark expanse of Sunny's God space, a single, tiny, almost invisible point of light appeared.

It pulsed, once. Then again. It was a soul, a fragment of the Emperor.

The moment it appeared, a tidal wave of faith, a golden river of power, surged from the 6 billion worlds of his territory.

The Gods and the demigods, all of them, who had just witnessed their Emperor's "death" at the hands of the demon, were now united in a single, desperate prayer. A prayer of fear, of hope, of vengeance.

The tiny point of light, fed by this impossible torrent of faith, exploded. In just a few seconds, the light coalesced, taking on the shape of a man.

From the head, tiny, sparkling, silk-like strands of pure white hair began to flow.

A face, which was sculpted by a being who had seen all the beauty in the cosmos and decided to create something different, a beauty that surpassed anything ever created.

A V-tapered physique, a body of perfect proportions, took shape. The skin, at first a pale, milky white, slowly darkened, not to a human shade, but to the deep darkness of the space itself.

In the center of the God space, a new, naked, and perfect being stood, his white hair a stark, beautiful contrast to his skin of living night.

This was Sunny. Or rather, the soul that had once been Clone Number One, reborn.

This was the Divine Immortality talent, the million of faith which was generated in just a single second. This was the true, genius idea Sunny had engineered.

The greatest weakness of his Cloning talent had been its cost. The price of each new clone increased exponentially. The loss of any one of his clone would have been a 10-quadrillion faith point, a loss that would take hours to collect again.

This was stated in the description of Cloning talent, that the price of every new clone would be exponentially increased then the last one.

And if one clone died, the clones would become 13, and the next clone would still take 10 quadrillion faith points.

That was the reason Sunny never thought his clones as fighting machines, he always looked at them as his helpers, who will help him learn laws and techniques.

But now, they were not just clones. They were vessels. Vessels inhabited by the fragments of his own soul.

The body, the clone, could be destroyed. But the soul, anchored by Divine Immortality and fueled by the faith of an entire universe, could be reborn, over and over and over. And so does the clone which was anchored with that very divine soul.

The reborn body, with a simple thought, manifested a new set of cosmic robes and mask.

A portal, a gateway back to the battlefield, tore open in front of him. He looked at the vast battlefield. where his three other selves were now engaged in a battle against Edgar.

He knew that a long battle awaited him. With this realisation in mind he stepped through the portal.

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