The familiar, exhilarating rush of a new talent settling into his very being washed over Sunny. It was a sensation of pure bliss.

He felt his consciousness connect to a new, fundamental law. It was a cold, profound, and absolute authority.

He wanted to dive into the description of his new, evolved Sovereign's Domain immediately, but the battle on the arena floor was not yet over.

Volthrax hovered, his massive draconic form battered and bleeding, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

He stared at his father, who stood amidst the smoking rubble, his one remaining arm held loosely at his side, his entire being radiating an aura of calm, unshakeable invincibility.

"Was that… Dragon Words?" Volthrax's voice rumbled, his mind struggling to comprehend what he had just witnessed. "Or… the Reality Talk of that half orc, Ragnok?"

"It is neither of those," Thalorax replied, his voice serene. His Sovereign's Domain, still active, flooded his body with a limitless, healing energy.

The mangled stump of his left shoulder was already reforming, new scales, flesh, and bone weaving themselves into existence at an alarming, visible pace. "It is a kind of domain. I will explain it to you, my son, after the tournament ends."

"Ends…" Volthrax repeated, the word heavy and final. "I am lost, aren't I?" He had given everything.

He had unleashed a blast of chaotic, combined elemental power that should have annihilated any being. And it had done nothing.

His mana was spent. His body was broken. He, the first true dragon, the apex of evolution, had failed.

"Do not worry," Thalorax said, his voice softening, the king replaced by the father. His missing arm was now fully restored, his bruised body returning to its previous majesty as the domain's power healed him.

"Everyone in the multiverse saw this battle. They know how powerful a true dragon is. You have brought honor to our lineage."

Volthrax was manaless, injured, and defeated. The victor was clear. Adam, watching from above, knew the young dragon's immense pride would never allow him to surrender.

With a subtle, invisible gesture of his own divine power, he pushed a gentle wave of exhaustion onto Volthrax.

The dragon's eyes fluttered, his massive form swayed, and he collapsed into a deep, unconscious slumber.

"That is why dragons are the most difficult to handle," Adam sighed to himself, a small smile on his ancient face. "Far too much pride."

His voice then boomed across the cosmos. "Thalorax has won this match!"

A thunderous, universe-spanning roar erupted from all of the lifeforms. The demigods in the stands, however, were silent, their gazes fixed on Thalorax with a new, profound respect that bordered on fear.

This was a true rival, a being who had just manifested a conceptual power in the middle of a fight.

Thalorax just smiled, gave a slight, respectful bow to the cheering crowd, and his form was teleported back to the stands.

Nova, in her humanoid form, rushed to him, her usual aloofness gone, replaced by a mother's frantic worry, her hands scanning his newly healed body.

"I am fine, Mother," Thalorax reassured her.

Nova let out a shaky breath of relief.

She remembered, just moments ago, seeing that cataclysmic blast form in Volthrax's jaws, an attack she knew Thalorax could not block.

She had been about to teleport into the arena herself, to violate the rules and save her son.

But Sunny's voice had echoed in her mind, calm and absolute. "I don't sense any danger to his life, Nova. Let him be. He will come out of this stronger."

His statement, which had seemed like madness at the time, had been proven true. Her master's foresight was as terrifying as his power.

The battles continued, but the energy in the arena had changed. After the sheer, reality-bending spectacle of the father-son duel, every other fight, no matter how skilled or powerful, felt… bland.

The crowd watched, they cheered, but it was unlike the battle between Thalorax and Volthrax. They had already seen the true climax of the tournament.

In the end, as predicted, the final battle came down to Thalorax, the indomitable king, and Kalzarin, the silent, terrifying ice dragon. It was a brutal, grueling war.

Thalorax's new Sovereign's Domain was on a lengthy cooldown, and he was still weary from his previous fights.

But Kalzarin's absolute zero, a power that had annihilated a million champions in a breath, could not harm Thalorax's Absolute Defense.

It became a tactical masterpiece: a battle of spatial-warping, feints, and combat skill.

In the end, Thalorax, the superior and more experienced warrior, found an opening, his faith-infused greatsword bypassing Kalzarin's icy defenses and ending the match.

The final rankings were a testament to Veridia's overwhelming power. Thalorax was champion. Kalzarin was second. Anaske, Atlas, Vel, and the other dragons and champions of Veridia filled out the top twenty. Of the 420 worlds on the line, Sunny had, won 210.

And while the remaining 210 were the rewards of tournament of demigods.

Adam announced the results, and a respectful silence fell over the six billion Gods.

Sunny stood, his cosmic robe swirling around him. "It was a beautiful tournament," his voice echoed, carrying to every God. "As for the 210 worlds that my champions have won… I will give them to you. I do not need them."

A collective, psychic gasp erupted from all the gods.

"We will hold a poll," Sunny continued, his voice calm, as if he were discussing a minor trade. "All lifeforms across the universe will vote for the champions who impressed them the most. The top twenty highest-voted champions will be gifted these worlds, distributed according to their ranking."

The Gods were stunned. They had been prepared to accept their loss, to watch the Emperor's empire swell to even more unimaginable proportions.

But this… this was an act of generosity so profound it bordered on madness.

He had already gifted them more than millions of worlds, to those Gods that have developed good seedlings for the future of the empire. And now these 210 worlds, which are filled with lifeforms of the previous Gods.

Sunny, however, merely smiled behind his mask. 'Heh. Happy with a few million worlds?' he thought, his mind already calculatinv the benefits. 'It wouldn't even cost me a trillion faith to create that many from scratch.'

He had already earned over fifty trillion faith points from the sheer excitement and engagement his champions had generated during this tournament.

His total reserves now stood at over four hundred trillion. This wasn't generosity; it was the single greatest business decision he had ever made. He had traded a handful of dirt for an ocean of loyalty.

'It's a win-win,' he mused. 'And now, with their loyalty absolute, my faith generation will only increase.'

His gaze drifted into the void. His plan was working. He would fill Adam's multiverse with his creations, his subordinate Gods, his loyal races.

And then… then he would look beyond. He would invade other multiverses, copy new power systems, and grow his strength.

The journey was long, but the path was clear. The thousands of demon gods polluting his realm were the only problem in his way.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Adam's voice boomed again, pulling Sunny from his strategic reverie. "The Tournament of Lifeforms is finished! And now… the tournament which you have all truly been waiting for. The tournament of your role models! The tournament of your protectors! The Tournament of Demigods is about to begin!"

The old god laughed, his own excitement palpable. "It will be only one match at a time, so you can all enjoy every glorious fight!"

With a wave of his hand, the arena transformed. The thousand biomes vanished, replaced by a single, colossal stage that seemed to shift and change before their very eyes.

One second it was a living hell of fire and lava; the next, a frozen, wind-scarred desert of black glass.

As the new, terrifying arena settled, two beams of pure light lanced down from the heavens, striking the demigod stands.

The audience watched as the beams fell on two DemiGods. The lifeforms and Gods alike gasped, their eyes darting from the arena to the high throne of their Emperor.

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