"Last time, you killed your own son. Now, it's my turn?"
Xu Zhi's expression was a mix of contemplation and disbelief. But his surprise quickly melted into understanding. Gilgamesh's audacious course of action was inevitable.
Perhaps, he should have anticipated this from the start. Xu Zhi had chosen Gilgamesh not just for his strength, but because the king had been the only Bugape to dare challenge him, where all others quaked in fear. Even as a child, Gilgamesh had summoned the courage to hurl insolent questions at a towering, godlike colossus who stood tens of thousands of feet high.
Fearless, even reckless, it was clear now that he would one day raise his sword against Xu Zhi.
And so it was—this was simply his nature.
With a voice as cold as ice, Xu Zhi spoke: "Gilgamesh, I warn you for the final time—cease this madness. This is no way for a civilized being to act. Your next move will cost you dearly."
Gilgamesh's lips twisted into a sardonic grin. "No punishment could be worse than death."
Slowly, he opened his eyes—those piercing red eyes that had once burned with youthful fury. Today, the bloodlust and madness of his prime surged back to life. "On this day, I will slay the Great Beast of Wisdom. I will claim his knowledge, seize his power, and achieve immortality!"
With rippling muscles and skin as pale as snow, Gilgamesh resembled a god of old, drawn from the pages of Norse myth. He lifted his sword high, his voice ringing out like a war cry.
"I will lead my people and challenge you!" His white-silver hair whipped in the wind as he spoke. "This is a battle of civilizations—ours against the Great Beast of Wisdom. You may have once guided us, but now you stand as an obstacle!"
The distant toll of stone bells began to echo through the city of Uruk, signaling the rising tide of war. The mighty city stirred to life. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers surged from the gates, forming ranks with military precision.
Xu Zhi watched the unfolding scene, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "I should have known. Gilgamesh must have been preparing for this day for over a decade, conscripting the entire nation. Today, he only wanted to force my hand. If I refuse to meet his terms, his army will be my executioner."
Gilgamesh's courage and cunning were undeniable. In a twisted way, he was an admirable tyrant.
On the Mesopotamian Plains, near the royal city of Ur
Ishtar stood before her palace, her eyes fixed on the distant titan that loomed above the clouds, his face obscured by the holy light that crowned him.
"What a majestic, absolute life form," she murmured, her voice soft with awe. But her gaze hardened as she narrowed her eyes. "It's time. A tyrant like Gilgamesh would never have shared the precious Blood of the Conqueror unless he was desperate. He's been preparing for this moment all along."
With a graceful leap, Ishtar mounted her beast, Ara, donning her black felt hat. She gripped the hammer made from black stone, its handle carved from the bones of a colossal creature.
"Mother!" A voice interrupted her thoughts. Looking down, she saw her children standing on the plains, their faces filled with uncertainty.
"Is Zarn still alive?" she asked, her voice carrying the weight of an ancient sorrow.
A young man stepped forward, his face twisted with bitterness. "Father is dying, Mother. It won't be long before age claims him."
Tears welled in Ishtar's eyes, but she quickly masked them with resolve. "Wait for me, my children. I, Ishtar, King of the Steppes, will return with medicine to extend your father's life."
Her eyes turned back to the towering titan. "I am not Gilgamesh. I will not kill my own children to achieve immortality. But I will not stand idle either. I must acquire more of the Blood of the Conqueror—or perhaps even the Blood of the Great Beast of Wisdom, the true blood of immortality."
Her voice rang with conviction. "To battle!" she cried, urging Ara forward, leading her steppes riders into war, their fierce courage and passion igniting the battlefield.
In the Divine Tree, near the royal capital
Once, after the Test of Wisdom, this colossal, ancient tree had stood empty, abandoned. Now, its vast branches cradled the flourishing city of Enkidu.
On the highest balcony of the treehouse, Enkidu leaned on his wooden cane, his gaze fixed on the distant titan. His disciples stood silently behind him, each waiting for his command.
"Master," one disciple whispered, "It's time. The promise we made to the king—"
"No," Enkidu interrupted, his voice heavy with wisdom. "We will defy his majesty's decree. We, the great forest city of Enkidu, will remain neutral."
A murmur of surprise rippled through the disciples. "But master," another disciple said, "With the three royal cities and their kings combined, we might stand a chance against the Great Beast of Wisdom!"
Enkidu sighed, his voice soft but resolute. "It is not fear of death that stays me, but something far worse. Without grace, without morality, we would be no better than the beasts that roam these plains." He turned to his disciples, his eyes searching each face. "Are we to abandon everything that makes us human?"
The disciples fell silent, the weight of his words heavy in the air.
Enkidu, one of the three mightiest beings in all the land, looked upon his disciples with the solemnity of a king. "I have sinned. Cut off my head, should his majesty prevail."
His most trusted disciple, Utnapishtim, stared at him in disbelief. "But master..."
"If the Great Beast of Wisdom wins," Enkidu continued, his voice barely a whisper, "Take my head to the titan. Ask for forgiveness on behalf of our city. Let him know that we are not barbarians—we are the inheritors of true civilization."
Utnapishtim's heart broke. With a single, swift motion, he severed Enkidu's head.
The great king of the forest, Enkidu, passed away peacefully, his expression calm in death. Utnapishtim wrapped his head in animal skins, his heart shattered by the loss of his teacher.
The heavens trembled.
"Fire!"
Red-hot arrows and spears tore through the sky, hurtling toward the mighty Great Beast of Wisdom.
The earth quaked beneath the onslaught. Soldiers swarmed like ants beneath the titan's immense feet. Within the city of Uruk, buildings collapsed one after another, falling like children's toys.
Civilians screamed, fleeing in panic. Explosions shattered the silence, and the cries of animals mingled with the desperate wails of the dying. A cacophony of sound filled the air—laughter, rage, terror—blending into a chaotic symphony.
The once-glorious royal city of Uruk had become a blood-soaked battlefield.