"Mammon," Sunny whispered.
The word didn't travel through the air. Instead, it rippled through the intricate mental connection that connected Sunny to his creations.
It was a bridge of pure Faith, a spiritual tether that bypassed the physical limitations of space and the prying eyes of the void.
"Greetings, my Master," Mammon's voice replied, saturated with a tone of ecstatic relief.
To Mammon, it had been centuries since his master had last reached out.
For a creation, silence from the Creator was not merely a lack of instruction; it was an existential void, a punishment that made physical torture seem like a mild inconvenience. Every year of silence felt like an eon of abandonment.
"I require a report," Sunny said, his voice cold and empirical. "How many demonic cities have been successfully subverted and placed directly under our covert control?"
