For Gilgamesh, misfortune had struck at the most inopportune moment. Xu Zhi, enjoying a peaceful countryside meal with Chen Xi, was blissfully unaware of the calamity unfolding in the distant lands of Sumer. The simple meal—nutritious and satisfying—was accompanied by idle chatter, with Xu Zhi teasing the shy girl who tried, unsuccessfully, to feign indifference. For a moment, all seemed right with the world.
But even in this fleeting moment of peace, a harsh truth echoed in Xu Zhi's mind: all life inevitably succumbs to old age and death. No one, not even the greatest of beings, could escape this fate.
Not even the former Queen of the Tyranis, whose ambitions had driven her to seek the legendary land of Eternia, a place said to hold the key to immortality. If her life had truly been eternal, she wouldn't have sought out that distant, mythical realm. She must have craved more time, just as every being does when confronted with the reality of death.
And so, Xu Zhi, terminally ill with cancer, knew that his days were numbered. Unlike the Queen, he would never even have the luxury of dying from old age. His death would come swiftly, without the grace of time to prepare for it.
"And this king of the sandbox," Xu Zhi mused aloud, his voice tinged with a hint of sardonic humor. "He led a glorious and prosperous life, with a nation that will mourn his death. His legend will be told for generations. How enviable!"
He chuckled, savoring the irony of it all. Gilgamesh's life had been one of unparalleled achievement. He had been a king, a hero, a figure whose name would echo through the ages. Three hundred wives, the foundations of civilization—what more could one ask for?
"Nothing," Xu Zhi concluded, his voice soft as he leaned back in his seat, savoring the quiet joy of his simple meal.
Were he, Xu Zhi, to become a Bugape—a creature of myth and power—he would trade it all for one glorious, fleeting moment. To live as Gilgamesh had lived, to wield power and shape history... it would be the ultimate power trip. Yet, as it stood, Xu Zhi was content. He had lived his life fully, and he had no regrets.
"Let's go into town and buy a washing machine," Xu Zhi said, standing and brushing off his clothes. He ran a hand through his thick, black hair, enjoying the feeling of normalcy amidst the chaos of his thoughts.
"Then get on my scooter!" Chen Xi laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischievous energy. "Actually, I still have a lot of questions about my studies. After all, you're an alumni from my college, and I picked the same major as you!"
"That's good," Xu Zhi smiled, his heart lifting at the thought of a leisurely afternoon.
Xu Zhi didn't own a car—his savings were limited, barely enough to cover the costs of his treatments. After his chemotherapy drained most of his funds, he had nothing more than a bicycle. He shared Chen Xi's scooter when they went out together. They set off for town, enjoying the simple pleasure of shopping for home appliances. Xu Zhi's life on the farm was made easier by modern conveniences, but he never took them for granted. Life without such luxuries would be unimaginable.
As they rode together, Xu Zhi reflected on Gilgamesh, who, at this very moment, was likely preparing for his inevitable demise. He thought the mighty king would, like any other, accept the end with grace. After all, Xu Zhi had made peace with his own fate, accepting death as an inescapable part of existence.
But Xu Zhi had underestimated the insatiable nature of human desire. For Gilgamesh, facing death for the second time, something had changed. No longer willing to surrender to the inevitability of his own mortality, he sought the impossible: a third life.
The Year 102 of the Sumerian Dynasty
Gilgamesh, now 142 years old, had lived three times the normal human lifespan. But time had not been kind. His once-mighty form was now frail, and his mind, sharp as ever, was clouded by the terror of impending death. Desperation overtook him, and he issued a royal decree: the search for the Great Beast of Wisdom would begin, and the one who found a trace of this legendary creature would be richly rewarded.
In the depths of the primordial forests, sages and scholars labored, concocting potions and performing dark rituals. Great beasts were slaughtered for their horns and organs, and the once-proud Arrah beasts were driven to extinction. The world descended into an age of tyrannical city-states, ruled by black mages whose power spread like a plague.
The Year 113 of the Sumerian Dynasty
A breakthrough came. A court mage created a life-extending potion using the horn of an Arrah beast, the sap of the white-bearded grass, and the organs of various behemoths. For a time, it worked. But as Gilgamesh consumed the potion again and again, its effects began to wane. His vitality ebbed once more, and the fear of death crept back into his heart.
Death, it seemed, was the one thing even Gilgamesh could not conquer.
The Year 145 of the Sumerian Dynasty
The king's strength failed him, and he was once again faced with the inevitable. Sitting motionless on his throne, his once-lustrous white hair now dull and brittle, Gilgamesh decreed: "Begin selecting candidates to become the next king."
The announcement reverberated through the kingdom, a shattering blow to the people who had long looked to their king as eternal. Fear spread like wildfire. Gilgamesh's former son, Agga of Kish, had once been named heir, only to be slain by his father after Gilgamesh's miraculous return to life. No one dared claim the throne, for fear that they would meet the same grim fate.
The king, ever wise, devised a plan: "Candidates for the throne will receive the Blood of the Conqueror. If you possess power equal to mine, you need not fear me. You will also be granted the right to build a new city beyond Uruk, to rule as a king in your own right."
The nation was in turmoil. Men and women alike rushed to the royal palace, eager to claim the throne. Many died after drinking the Blood of the Conqueror, but two emerged unscathed: Enkidu, the forest warrior, and Ishtar, the grassland barbarian. These two would establish their own city-states, destined to lead Sumer into a new era.
The Year 175 of the Sumerian Dynasty
Three royal cities stood united, ruled by the three kings. But for Gilgamesh, death was still a shadow at his heels. Desperate to stave it off, he had his craftsmen build a grand temple in honor of the Great Beast of Wisdom—a towering monument more magnificent than the royal palace itself.
There, in the temple's heart, stood the statue of the Wise Beast, a deity whose power dwarfed even Gilgamesh's. The aging king, accompanied by his ministers and millions of subjects, led the nation to worship at the temple, pleading for a final audience with the creature who had once crossed his path.
"If only I could see the Great Beast of Wisdom once more," Gilgamesh cried, his voice trembling with desperation. "Great and wise one, I beg you—let me see you again."
The King of Sumer, at the end of his days, sought the impossible: a final meeting with the entity he had once believed could offer him immortality.