"Who among you is ready to take responsibility for investigating these new anomalies?" Deimos asked, his voice calm, yet carrying the weight of command that silenced the others.

He knew the sudden appearance of millions of new Gods, coupled with the strange ability of some to simply vanish with their entire worlds, was a significant shift in the cosmic game.

"These… coincidences… across multiple multiverses demand scrutiny."

"I will go," Ichor snarled, his slimy form practically vibrating with eagerness. He slammed a corrosive fist onto the bone table, leaving another sizzling scar.

"I am tired of this endless waiting in Ashgar. Maledictus, will you join me?" The prospect of hunting, of corroding new worlds, was a delicious temptation he could no longer resist.

"Certainly," Maledictus replied, her voice a melodious purr that promised slow, agonizing curses upon any who crossed their path.

"Be careful," Deimos warned, his black eyes fixing on the two departing Lords. "Do not interfere too overtly. Do not kill any of these fledgling gods… yet. Observe. Understand. If possible, corrupt them first. We need information, not mindless slaughter."

With a final nod, Ichor and Maledictus dissolved into shadows, their malevolent presence vanishing from the hall as they began their journey across the cosmos, two ancient predators embarking on a new hunt.

Meanwhile, back in the Arena of Epiphany, the battle between Vel and Lux reached its stunning climax.

The elven king, pushed to his limits by the human prodigy's seemingly absolute defense, had unleashed a power born of the void itself.

Vel pressed his advantage. Another void-laced spell shot forth, invisible, undetectable.

It appeared directly inside Lux's body. Lux screamed as the chaotic energy exploded within him. His world went black.

His lower body disintegrated in a shower of gore. He was teleported back to the stands of Asura's world, a mangled, unconscious wreck.

"Good fight!" Sunny declared from his high throne, his voice booming across the arena.

He manifested an S-Grade Pill of Life, a miniature sun of pure healing energy, and sent it flying towards Lux's broken form.

The pill melted upon contact, and in a matter of seconds, Lux's body reformed, perfectly whole… but completely naked, his assets now on glorious display for the entire universe.

A wave of shocked gasps, followed by muffled laughter, rippled through the audience.

Before Lux could even regain consciousness to register his cosmic embarrassment, Thea discreetly teleported him back to his private chambers on Kshara. "Good luck living with your assets exposed," Sunny chuckled to himself.

The tournament raged on. The battles grew fiercer as the numbers dwindled. Twenty-five million champions became twelve point five million. Then six million. Then three.

The arenas echoed with the clash of steel, the roar of magic, and the desperate cries of the fallen.

Sunny's champions continued their dominant run, but even they were not invincible. Atlas, the Titan leader, found himself matched against another Titan from Veridia.

Recognizing his leader, the second Titan immediately bowed and surrendered, a display of loyalty that drew respectful applause.

Such internal matches became more common, resulting in strategic forfeit that preserved the strength of Veridia's core champions, but also eliminated some promising contenders.

Finally, after weeks of brutal combat in the arena's accelerated time, only five hundred champions remained. The best of the best. The survivors.

And the next matchup displayed on the cosmic screen sent a shockwave through the entire arena, silencing all of the spectators. It was a battle whispered about since the parade, a clash of lineage, power, and pride.

Thalorax versus Volthrax.

In Sunny's stand, Nova let out a low sigh, a sound like shifting mountains. Her heart of a dragon, felt torn. "Who should I support?" she murmured, her gaze shifting between the two names. "Both are my children."

One, the leader she had chosen for the Dragonborn, the race born from her very blood. The other, the first true dragon born on Veridia, Thalorax's own son.

The two champions materialized in the arena. Recognizing the significance of this duel, Adam had dismissed the thousand smaller arenas.

Now, only one grand stage remained, a vast, empty expanse under the watchful eyes of six billion Gods.

On one side stood Thalorax, the leader of the Dragonborn, his humanoid form radiating a quiet, unshakeable strength, his hand resting calmly on the hilt of his greatsword.

On the other, Volthrax hovered in the air, a magnificent dragon whose scales shimmered with the contained fury of a thunderstorm, lightning crackling around his horns, fire smoldering in his eyes.

"Father," Volthrax's voice rumbled, a sound like distant thunder. "Are you not going to transform?" It was not just a question; it was a challenge, a plea, and a statement of fact.

"No," Thalorax replied, his voice firm, unwavering. "I stand here today representing the Dragonborn. To transform into a dragon would be to admit my race is weaker. I will not do that." His pride, the pride of a king, would not allow it.

"Father, you have never won a single sparring match against me without transforming," Volthrax pleaded, a genuine concern in his voice warring with the competitive fire in his eyes. "Please, reconsider. This is not a game."

"Enough talk," Thalorax said, drawing the massive greatsword Sunny had gifted him centuries ago, its surface gleaming under the arena's light. "Let us fight."

He took a defensive stance, his S-Grade Absolute Defense shimmering around him like invisible armor.

He knew his son. He knew Volthrax was arguably the most powerful mortal champion in Veridia, a creature born with an innate mastery over fire and lightning, blessed with talents that made him a walking natural disaster.

Winning this fight as a Dragonborn would be the greatest challenge of his life. But he would not yield. He would prove the strength of his people.

Volthrax roared, a sound that shook the arena, a blast of pure, draconic fury and frustration. He attacked.

He descended like a meteor, his massive claws aimed at tearing through Thalorax's defense.

Thalorax didn't meet the charge head-on. Instead, he moved. His Space Affinity, a gift inherited from Nova, flared to life.

He simply ceased to be in the path of the attack, reappearing instantly a hundred meters away. Volthrax crashed into the ground where his father had stood, sending shockwaves and debris flying.

Before Volthrax could reorient himself, Thalorax counter-attacked. He warped. Space bent around him, and he appeared directly above his son, his greatsword descending in a blinding arc, infused with his Absolute Strength.

Volthrax reacted instantly, his own innate draconic senses screaming danger. He twisted, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow, but the sword still grazed his side, tearing through his thick scales and drawing first blood.

Volthrax roared again, this time in pain and fury. He unleashed his Dragon Breath, not a simple gout of flame, but a concentrated beam of pure lightning plasma, hotter than the surface of a star.

Thalorax met it with his own breath weapon, a blast of raw, spatial energy that didn't burn, but warped, distorting the lightning beam, sending it harmlessly careening off into the empty sky.

The battle became a breathtaking dance of power and strategy. Volthrax, the embodiment of elemental fury, unleashed storms of fire and lightning, his size manipulation allowing him to shift from a colossal behemoth to a lightning-fast wyvern in the blink of an eye.

Thalorax, the master of space and defense, moved like a phantom, appearing and disappearing, his sword strikes precise and deadly, his Absolute Defense absorbing or deflecting every blow that managed to get through his spatial distortions.

It was a clash between raw, overwhelming power and perfect, calculated control. Father versus son. Dragonborn versus Dragon. The fate of their pride, their lineage, hung in the balance, played out on a cosmic stage for the entire universe to witness.

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