Felix lowered his head slightly, a quiet sense of fulfillment rising within him as he gazed upon the world he had created.
From nothing, he had shaped this place. From instinct, he had cultivated reason. He had watched thought emerge, ambition bloom, and civilization ignite.
Before him stood a white-haired old man, tears streaking down his weathered face.
Gilgamesh.
Once, he had been a young Bugape—fiery, reckless, standing atop the Divine Tree with a sword raised high, swearing to change the world. Felix could still remember holding that tiny creature in his palm.
Now, that youth was gone.
Only an aging king remained, standing at the edge of death.
To Felix, it had all happened two days ago.
To Gilgamesh, it had been a lifetime.
"Gilgamesh," Felix said softly.
His voice rolled across the sky, heavy clouds parting as it echoed through the holy city of Uruk.
"How have you been… all these years?"
Gilgamesh's body trembled. His fingers tightened around the Sword of Damocles.
"I… I have lived well," he answered hoarsely.
He lifted his head, eyes wide with reverence.
The titan before him pierced the clouds, vast beyond measure. His body seemed to prop up heaven and earth alike, wreathed in pale divine light. His face was too brilliant to look at directly, like the sun itself.
Those eyes—deep, distant, eternal—swept across Uruk.
Majestic.
Overwhelming.
Unreal.
Mortal language failed.
"Oh God…"
"He truly exists…"
The city had fallen silent.
Merchants. Slaves. Nobles. Commoners.
Millions stood frozen, gazing skyward.
"The Great Beast of Wisdom…"
"The one who gifted us civilization…"
"A colossus taller than ten thousand feet…"
Their awe condensed into faith. Their fear turned into worship.
Even the royal court dared not breathe.
Gilgamesh steadied himself. The feeling was familiar—this crushing reverence. It was the same awe he had felt when he was young.
"Great Beast of Wisdom," he said, voice trembling with longing, "I have fulfilled the mission you set for me."
Felix looked down at him.
"Your deeds will be recorded in the Epic of Genesis," he said evenly.
"You will be remembered as the first and greatest king of Sumer.
The King of Heroes."
Gilgamesh shook his head violently.
"No," he said. "I don't want to be remembered after death."
His voice cracked.
"I don't want to become a story."
Felix's gaze lingered on him. "Then what do you desire?"
"I want to be like you!" Gilgamesh cried.
"Eternal life! I will give up everything—power, wealth, my kingdom! I beg you—grant me the Three Treasures of Immortality!"
Silence fell.
Felix said nothing for a long moment.
Gilgamesh had everything. Glory. Women. Power. Worship. An empire that bowed to his name.
And still—it wasn't enough.
Felix shook his head.
"You are too greedy, Gilgamesh," he said calmly.
"I do not possess the Three Treasures of Immortality. Even I cannot break the cycle of life and death."
Gilgamesh's face twisted.
"No… you're lying!" he shouted.
"You must be able to do it! You are a god! You are eternal!"
His voice rose, burning with fury and despair.
"You have such power—how can you abandon me to decay?!"
Felix's expression darkened.
"I came to see you off," he said.
"And to deliver a warning."
"A warning?" Gilgamesh laughed bitterly.
"You came to watch an old man die."
Felix's voice remained gentle—yet carried unquestionable authority.
"Your civilization is brutal.
You consume forests. Slaughter beasts. Grind life into dust.
No civilization built on endless destruction can endure."
"Stop killing?" Gilgamesh laughed hoarsely.
His white hair fluttered as he stepped forward.
"No. Killing is my reign."
He raised the Sword of Damocles.
"The sword you gave me has hung over my head for centuries.
It granted me power."
His eyes burned.
"And now—I will pull it down myself."
He turned.
"Akkad," he said.
The historian stepped forward silently, unfurling a grey leather scroll.
"Record this."
Akkad raised his quill.
"Let it be known," Gilgamesh declared, his voice echoing across the plaza,
"that the struggle of man against nature is a tale of defiance."
"The Epic of Genesis exists so future generations may know our courage."
He leaned heavily on the sword.
"Era of Genesis. Year 175 of the Sumerian Dynasty."
"One hundred years after slaying the behemoth Fenba, the Hero King—having sealed his sword—now prepares for battle once more."
His gaze lifted to the sky.
"He calls upon the strength of his nation…
lures out the Great Beast of Wisdom…
and prepares to strike him down."
The wind carried his words across time.
This was not a plea.
It was a declaration.
The final chapter of Gilgamesh had begun.