Adam, the referee and the host of the tournament of Gods, floated serenely at the center of the arena, a calm anchor in a sea of anticipation.
A gentle, knowing smile touched his lips as he let the cheers wash over him.
"Before we begin the final round," his voice boomed, a sound that was both a gentle whisper and a cosmic thunderclap, reaching every soul in the assembly, "let us have a break. For one month, all remaining champions, both demigod and mortal, shall rest, heal, and prepare for the final ascent."
A collective, universe-spanning groan of disappointment erupted from the stands. Trillions of voices, united in their desire for entertainment, booed the ancient God.
But Adam simply laughed, a warm, genuine sound that seemed to carry the weight of a billion years. He saw their impatience not as disrespect, but as passion.
He looked at the tired but triumphant demigods and the battle-worn mortal champions in the stands, and he knew this rest was a necessity.
