Xu Zhi felt a subtle stirring of emotion as he gazed down at this remarkable man.
Gilgamesh had already been defeated—but from beginning to end, he had shown not even a trace of fear, despite facing overwhelming power.
This complex, imposing figure radiated genuine charisma: supremely confident, arrogant, domineering. Seeing him now, Xu Zhi experienced a mixture of admiration and pity, a sense of regret for this aged hero approaching his final moments.
Yet Xu Zhi knew he could not alter Gilgamesh's inevitable fate.
Gilgamesh had failed to truly transcend—unable to integrate a third gene—and thus could only age and perish. Xu Zhi had come simply to bid farewell, never anticipating that Gilgamesh would strike out against him.
Nearby, Ishtar coughed violently, spitting mouthfuls of blood.
Her chest rose and fell painfully, yet when she raised her eyes toward the towering giant above, they held no fear. From the outset, she had accepted death—Sumerian warriors did not fear dying.
She gave a bitter laugh. "So, this was the gap between us... What exactly did we think we were challenging?"
"Now, do you regret it?" Xu Zhi asked softly, sighing. Golden light wreathed his colossal form, a vast and majestic being who seemed to stand among the clouds like an ancient titan bathed in mysterious radiance.
"Regret?" Gilgamesh rasped through blood-stained lips, smiling faintly. "It was merely a choice."
He spoke no further.
The entire Sumerian civilization had suffered defeat—utterly crushed beneath the presence of this wise giant. Against such unfathomable strength, their loss was absolute, and everyone knew what their failure meant: a catastrophe on the brink of world-ending annihilation.
Xu Zhi turned slowly to regard the fleeing army. Their desperate cries echoed madly, words like "destruction," "extinction," and "annihilation" erupting as fear drove them into chaos and despair.
"I never imagined I'd personally decide the fate of millions—the rise and fall of an entire civilization," Xu Zhi murmured quietly, looking down at the dying hero king. He recalled the mocking cries of the insect-apes at their birth—calling him "baldy," daring to taunt their own creator.
At the time, he had seen them as a cruel, selfish species. Now, sadly, their mockery had proven true.
"Will we face destruction?" Gilgamesh asked hoarsely, bones shattered, voice weak yet defiantly calm. He laughed bitterly. "Just as we destroyed countless species, will you destroy us to avenge them?"
He showed no fear—even as death approached, pride prevented him from begging.
Xu Zhi considered, then answered calmly, "Since you rejected my counsel, I will indeed destroy you. You have ravaged this world's ecosystems, exterminating numerous species. I cannot allow your unchecked destruction to continue."
Gilgamesh chuckled bitterly before suddenly speaking again. "Once before, you answered my question about civilization. Now, may I ask three final questions?"
All fell silent beneath the towering giant. For several seconds, nothing stirred. Finally, Xu Zhi's deep voice echoed softly from the clouds: "Speak."
The world seemed to freeze—soldiers and survivors paused, even their breaths halted, awaiting the exchange between the dying king and the immense being.
Ishtar coughed more blood, gazing upward with a tragic smile.
Gilgamesh's first question: "By what means will you destroy us?"
Xu Zhi surveyed the carnage and replied evenly, "By water. A great flood will sweep over this civilization, washing away all traces of your existence."
A stunned silence followed. How could a wise giant conjure a flood that could cover the entire world? Such power surpassed that of any creature—this was surely divine.
Gasps and panicked breathing spread among the survivors.
Gilgamesh's second question came hoarsely: "This world is vast, yet we've never found any trace of you before now. Where did you come from? What exactly are you? You gave us the spark of civilization, yet forbid us from dominating other races. You claim all life is equal—savage beasts, wise beings, even plants. Then, what is this land to you?"
Xu Zhi gazed down at Gilgamesh and across the ruins of Uruk. With a calm yet profound voice, he answered, "This world is my creation. All life—savage beasts, wise beings, plants—are my children. To me, every life is equally precious."
An oppressive stillness descended upon the world. The stunned breaths of survivors grew into frantic panting.
Gilgamesh stared upward, eyes wide in disbelief, before suddenly erupting into wild, bitter laughter. "Ha ha ha! Incredible! Who were we fighting, after all? Our legendary wise beast—our so-called beast—is not a beast at all, but the omnipotent creator of everything, our true Maker, our God!"
His laughter reverberated across the ruined city, echoing sorrowfully.
Xu Zhi stood motionless, towering silently above.
Gilgamesh's third and final question was quiet, his voice almost reverent. "How many days did it take you to create our world?"
Xu Zhi thought briefly of his frailty after chemotherapy—how he had spent an entire week clearing brush, shaping earth, and sculpting mountains by hand—and answered simply:
"I created this world in seven days."