Within the suffocating embrace of the negation domain, Sunny moved like a ghost through a sea of black ink.
Every day spent drifting through this viscous non-space felt like a year of physical toil. His resolve, however, did not crack; it crystallized. The initial shock of losing his connection had passed, replaced by a cold fury.
"When I first breached the boundary, my senses flared with the aura of billions," Sunny thought, his jaw tight. "Billions of Old Gods, Yet, after days of wandering this graveyard, I have only stumbled upon Chronos. The scale of this trap is staggering."
He knew the mathematics of his survival were grim. If he spent centuries wandering blindly to find every fallen God, he would eventually run out of the very thing he was trying to preserve: time.
