"So… last time, you killed your own son.
Now, you want to kill me?"
Felix looked down at the white-haired king below, his expression calm—almost thoughtful.
There was no shock. Only quiet realization.
In truth, this outcome had been inevitable.
From the very beginning, Felix hadn't chosen Gilgamesh merely for his strength. Among all the Bugapes, only this one had dared to look up at him—not with fear, but with defiance.
Even as a child, he had questioned a being tens of thousands of feet tall.
Fearless. Insolent. Ambitious.
Of course such a creature would one day raise a blade against his creator.
This was simply who Gilgamesh was.
"Gilgamesh," Felix said coldly, his voice rolling across heaven and earth,
"I will warn you one final time.
Stop this madness."
"This is not the conduct of a civilized being," he continued.
"If you take another step… you will pay a price you cannot bear."
Gilgamesh laughed.
"No punishment is worse than death."
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Those crimson pupils—once dulled by age—burned again with the madness and bloodlust of his youth.
"Today," Gilgamesh roared, "I will slay the Great Beast of Wisdom! I will seize your knowledge, your power, and carve immortality from your corpse!"
His pale body gleamed like polished ivory. Muscles rippled beneath skin as white as snow. With his silver hair whipping wildly, he looked less like a king—and more like a god of ancient war.
He raised the Sword of Damocles high.
"This is a war of civilizations!"
"You may have guided us once—but now, you are an obstacle!"
Stone bells tolled.
Deep. Slow. Ominous.
Across Uruk, gates burst open.
Hundreds of thousands of soldiers surged forth, ranks forming with terrifying discipline. Spears rose. War beasts roared. The ground itself seemed to shake beneath their march.
Felix exhaled softly.
"I should have known," he muttered.
"He's been preparing for this day for decades."
"This isn't a negotiation," Felix realized.
"It's an ultimatum."
If he refused to respond, this army—this civilization—would be hurled at him regardless.
Gilgamesh truly was a tyrant.
A brilliant one.
---
The Mesopotamian Plains — Near Ur
Ishtar stood atop her palace walls, gazing at the colossal silhouette piercing the clouds.
"What a magnificent life form…" she whispered.
Then her eyes sharpened.
"A man like Gilgamesh would never share the Blood of the Conqueror unless he was desperate. He's planned this for years."
With a light leap, she mounted her beast, Ara, pulling on her black felt hat. In her grip rested a war hammer of black stone, its haft carved from the bones of a colossal beast.
"Mother!"
She looked down.
Her children stood below, faces tense with fear.
"Is Zarn still alive?" she asked quietly.
A young man stepped forward, bitterness etched into his features.
"Father is dying. Age is taking him."
Ishtar's eyes trembled—but only for a moment.
"Wait for me," she said firmly.
"I will return with medicine."
She turned once more toward the titan.
"I am not Gilgamesh," she murmured.
"I will not slaughter my own blood for eternity."
Her grip tightened on the hammer.
"But I will not stand still either."
"If the Blood of the Conqueror exists…"
"Then perhaps the blood of the Great Beast of Wisdom does as well."
Her eyes burned.
"To war!"
Ara roared as she charged forward, steppes riders thundering behind her like a living storm.
---
The Divine Tree — City of Enkidu
Once abandoned, the colossal Divine Tree now supported an entire city within its vast branches.
On the highest balcony, Enkidu leaned on his wooden staff, gazing at the distant titan.
"Master," a disciple whispered, "the king's decree—"
"No," Enkidu said quietly.
"We will not answer his call."
Shock rippled through those gathered.
"But master," another protested, "with all three royal cities united—"
"We might win."
Enkidu closed his eyes.
"It is not fear of death that stops me," he said.
"It is the fear of becoming something worse."
He turned to his disciples.
"If we abandon grace and morality… how are we different from beasts?"
Silence fell.
Finally, Enkidu spoke again—his voice calm, resigned.
"If His Majesty survives this war…
Cut off my head."
Utnapishtim froze. "Master—!"
"If the Great Beast of Wisdom prevails," Enkidu continued softly,
"Take my head to him."
"Tell him we chose restraint.
Tell him we are not barbarians."
Before anyone could stop him—
Utnapishtim swung.
The blade fell.
Enkidu died peacefully, eyes closed, expression serene.
The heavens trembled.
---
"Fire!"
Red-hot arrows screamed through the sky.
Spears slammed into flesh.
The earth quaked beneath marching armies. Soldiers swarmed like ants around the titan's feet. Within Uruk, buildings collapsed one after another—stone reduced to dust like children's toys.
Civilians fled in terror.
Animals screamed.
Explosions echoed.
Laughter, rage, despair, and agony blended into a single deafening roar.
The glorious city of Uruk—
Had become a blood-soaked battlefield.