The movie had lost its novelty. What had begun as a fascinating historical epic for Sunny had, over the last one hundred thousand years of viewing, become a grueling spectacle of decay. The initial shock had faded, replaced by a cold, analytical dread. He was watching a slow, grinding infection consume the entire cosmos.
The Demon Lords' strategy was brutally effective. After Deimos, the Lord of Discord, was reborn, Beelzebub, the Lord of Gluttony, soon followed. The chaos in the multiverses, the raw hunger for power among the warring Gods, was a feast that had called him back from oblivion.
The two worked in perfect, horrifying harmony. Deimos would whisper the poison of discord into a God's ear, and Beelzebub would amplify it with a fever of greed, a ravenous hunger for more power, more territory, more everything.
