In the protection of the god's domain the Gods of the Pantheon watched, their bodies having forgotten to even breathe.
They had just witnessed an act of agonizing self-mutilation.
Their Emperor, God Cosmos, had, before their very eyes, torn his own soul in two. The scream from his torment, a pain that overshadowed what they have seen in their entire life, still lingered in the air, a chilling show of his unshakeable will.
Finally, as the second, ethereal form of Sunny stabilized, the six billion Gods let out a collective sigh of relief.
Sunny, the main soul, looked at his identical twin, his other self, and smiled. "Go," he commanded. "Occupy the body of clone number one."
The second soul, a perfect copy of his will and his power, and his purpose, simply nodded.
It moved as a streak of cosmic light, and phased into the body of the waiting clone.
The clone, which had been standing by like a mindless, robotic sentinel, suddenly twitched.
