The space outside the God's Domain, a battlefield of Sunny and Edgar, was now a stage for a grim and horrifying spectacle.

Edgar was no longer toying. He was no longer testing. Instead he was executing. He swung, his blades a blur of multiple laws, aimed not at the four bodies of Sunny, but at the barrier just behind them, the barrier which protected what Sunny cherished the most.

Edgar knew they would intercept. He knew they had to.

Two of Sunny's bodies moved as one. They raised their hands to defend. The scythes, carrying the weight that defied even the law of weight, met their hands.

The sound was a wet thud that echoed in the minds of all who watched. The hands of both clones slowed the blades for a fraction of a second before they were cut clean off, leaving behind blood that splattered across the space.

But the scythes did not stop. They continued their path, slicing through the foreheads, their chests, and only stoping near the abdomen of Sunny, but that was enough.

Two of Sunny's bodies were split in half. They gurgled and then dissolved into a fading mist of golden light.

"Only two left this time," Edgar's voice was a satisfied whisper, his crooked red smile widening.

He turned, his massive form radiating malevolent energy, and raised his scythes to strike the barrier again.

He knew the remaining two clones would be forced to defend, to sacrifice themselves just as the first two had.

And he would kill them too, and then break the barrier and have fun with all the remaining Gods.

But just as he raised his hands to strike, two new portals tore open in the void beside him.

From them, two identical, cosmic-robed figures stepped out, their power similar to the two other bodies in the battlefield.

Edgar froze, his scythes held high, his mind failing to process what he was seeing.

"Are you sure," Sunny's voice echoed in the space sorrounding Edgar, "there are only two left?"

Edgar, a being who had consumed the power of gods, stumbled backward. He shook his head, a gesture of disbelief.

He even looked at his own scythe-like hands, the weapons that had just killed two of his opponents.

"There is nothing wrong with your hands, Edgar," the four-fold voice of Sunny continued, reading his thoughts, savoring his confusion.

'It is me who is weak,' Sunny's main soul thought.

'It is me who is weak, that I must die, over and over, just to protect my home.' He had felt the shadow of the death, the brief sting of annihilation, and then the warm rush of rebirth, fueled by the faith of a billion worlds.

'Death… it isn't as bad as I imagined.' Or perhaps, it just wasn't bad when he knew, with certainty, that he was going to revive right back.

'Focus,' his four minds thought as one. The fleeting thoughts vanished, replaced by a sharp focus.

The only thing that mattered was the demon in front of them.

Edgar was trapped. He knew, with a sickening horror, that he had stumbled into a meat grinder.

He had hit a hard stone, a god who would not stay dead. But he was just as terrified to return to the demonic realm.

He was a general who had failed his mission, a hunter who had been defeated by his prey.

He could picture the disappointed gaze of Deimos, the mocking laughter of Ichor, the eternal torment that awaited a coward.

His only option was to fight. Sunny's only option was to protect.

Two opposite paths, locked in a mysterious harmony.

That was a day that would never be mentioned in the Holy Book of Genesis. It was a blank page, a memory so traumatic that it seemed too horrifying for the mortal mind.

The only thing that remained was a single, silent memory, accessible only to the Gods under Sunny: a memory of their Emperor, a being that they can only look up to, dying.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Edgar, in his insane fury, unleashed hell. Sunny's head was sliced from his shoulders, the cosmic robe crumpling as the body dissolved.

The remaining three clones stalled with their perfect defence, until a portal opened and the fourth body returned.

Edgar, screaming in frustration, tore two of them apart, limb from limb, a display of brute force.

The remaining two held the line, their hands bleeding as they blocked his scythes, until two portals opened and the two bodies returned.

It was a loop of thousands of deaths.

Sunny was split in two. He was chopped into pieces. He was impaled, incinerated, and corroded.

And every single time, without fail, a new whole, and determined Sunny stepped through a portal, his words always remained same: "Again."

The battle, which had begun as a clash of titans, had devolved into a bloody one sided battle.

Edgar was a butcher, trapped in an endless, horrifying slaughterhouse, forced to kill the immortal, mocking sheep, over and over.

And with every kill, with every punch he threw, with every desperate slash of his scythes, his own colossal form was shrinking.

His stolen power, his very life force, was burning away, spent on a foe who simply would not die.

"I SAID, LET ME GO, YOU BRAT!" a furious, high-pitched, and now tiny voice shrieked.

Sunny's eyes snapped open. He was back in his main body, seated on his throne in his God space.

His head was pounding, his soul aching, his mind was bloodshot from the backlash of soul splitting and dying over and over again, by his count, he had died 4,728 times.

A blood-frenzied rage, a shadow of the battle, still thrummed in his veins, and he wanted to kill something or someone really bad.

"Shut up," he roared, his voice a thunderclap that shook the God space. The shrieking instantly stopped.

He looked down. At the foot of his throne where a sturdy-looking cage was placed.

The cage was forged from a SSS-Grade metal, a material known as 'Iron of Sealing Dao,' one of the countless treasures Nexus was now harvesting from the Realm of Advancement.

And inside this cage, with the size of a common house cat, was Edgar.

His colossal form was gone. His power was spent, his energy reserves were empty. He was a tiny and pathetic creature, his crooked red smile was still there, but it was more of a frown than smile.

Sunny stared at the creature, the source of his death-loop, and then at his own faith reserves.

He had earned over five hundred trillion faith just from the broadcast of that final, gruesome battle.

The awe, the terror, the sheer gratitude from the Gods, as they watched their Emperor die for them, again and again, had been a great faith-generation event.

"It was," Sunny thought, a victorious grin spreading behind his mask, "a win-win."

He knew what he had to do next. The tournament was over. The demons were still out there. And his Gods, his loyal, motivated Gods, were not strong enough.

He looked at his clones, the 12 who were patiently waiting to begin their training. He looked at his new artifact, the Timepiece, which could create a world where a century passed in less than a day.

"It's time to open that Realm for the Gods," he said. He named this new realm, the "God-Maker" realm.

A place where his Gods could go, for a very low price, to train for centuries, to emerge as the true warriors his empire needed them to be.

The Gods, having just seen their Emperor die thousands of times, were finally on the right track. And their training was about to begin.

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