"Seven days. God made the world in only seven days."
Gilgamesh stood frozen, eyes wide.
Then he laughed.
Loud. Broken. Unhinged.
Tears streamed down his face as something deep within him finally shattered.
Crack.
His pride.
His legacy.
His belief that civilization belonged to him.
All of it broke like glass.
"Seven days…" he murmured.
The laughter faded, dissolving into the haze of death. His thoughts drifted backward—to a distant childhood memory. To standing atop the palm of a god, gazing upward with innocent awe.
"What is civilization?"
He had asked.
.
"Civilization is fire. Civilization is knowledge. Civilization is order. Civilization is the greatest weapon an intelligent species can wield."
.
"A shield?"
"Something to protect ourselves with?"
.
Hahahahaha!
The dying king burst into laughter once more—mad, resounding, eternal.
It echoed across the world.
Over wind-scoured hills.
Over snow-capped peaks.
Through rushing rivers and whispering forests.
Across golden wheat fields and the endless steppes.
In the royal city.
In nomadic camps.
In distant mountains.
Every Sumerian paused.
They looked to the sky, hearts trembling, as if all had heard the same final, defiant laughter. A wordless grief washed over them. From cracked lips, they sang a mourning dirge no one knew the name of.
The Hero King—Gilgamesh—had died at the gates of Uruk.
Felix watched from above, his eyes dim with regret.
"I never wanted to fight you," he said softly.
"I told you the truth. I never possessed the Treasure of Immortality. Why couldn't you believe me?"
"The king is dead!"
"Our Hero King challenged the Creator—and fell!"
"We are finished!"
Panic swept the land. Soldiers scattered like leaves in a storm.
Felix did not pursue them.
Where could they flee?
To the edge of the world?
"Unbelievable… this is… unbelievable…"
Akkad, the royal historian, stood atop Uruk's walls, trembling. Cold sweat soaked his robes. He had just finished recording the battle against the Great Beast of Wisdom. With shaking hands, he turned the page.
The truth had to be preserved.
In the Epic of Genesis, he wrote:
> The Great Beast of Wisdom was none other than the Creator God.
In arrogance, Gilgamesh pointed his sword at divinity, seeking God's blood to gain eternal life.
Seeing sin in the hearts of man, the Creator decreed judgment—a Great Flood to end the age of Sumer.
Wails erupted throughout the city.
Men and women collapsed into the mud. Some laughed hysterically. Others screamed. Many simply wept.
"God says the world is filled with sin!"
"Repent! Repent before it's too late!"
"The Great Flood is coming!"
Terror spread like wildfire. Even the air seemed to tremble.
Then, through the chaos, a young man wearing a black turban stepped forward. He carried a bundle wrapped in blood-soaked cloth. With reverent care, he laid it at Felix's feet and unwrapped it.
A severed head.
"Great Beast of Wisdom," he said, voice shaking.
"The King of the Forest, Enkidu, begs for your mercy."
Felix's gaze sharpened.
So that was why only two kings had come.
Utnapishtim fell prostrate, pressing his forehead to the ground.
"We are not all savages," he pleaded.
"My teacher defied the king's command. He chose death over injustice. He would not raise his sword against the one who gave us civilization. Please… spare the innocent."
Felix sighed.
He had never intended to destroy them all. But arrogance and cruelty had poisoned this world.
"You may cut down the Divine Tree," he said at last.
"Use its wood to build a great ark. Gather seeds and breeding pairs of every living creature. The remaining space is for your people."
"When you are ready," he added, turning away,
"the flood will come."
Behind him, the survivors fell to their knees—not in terror, but in gratitude.
"We may have lost… but this is not the end."
"The Creator has shown mercy."
"It's because of Enkidu!"
"Praise the King of the Forest!"
Akkad wept as Felix's towering figure faded from sight. With trembling hands, he wrote:
> The virtue of Enkidu moved the heart of the Creator.
He stayed His hand and allowed a remnant to survive.
Utnapishtim was chosen to build the Ark and carry forth the seeds of the new world.
.
Back in the real world, Felix stepped into his courtyard.
He brushed dust from a high-pressure water gun resting in the corner—something he had bought long ago with Ellie on a whim. He had never imagined it would become the instrument of a biblical flood.
Ten minutes passed outside.
Inside the sandbox, one hundred and twenty days passed.
The Sumerians labored without rest.
The Divine Tree was felled.
A colossal ark rose from its remains.
Seeds were gathered.
Young beasts were herded aboard.
Scrolls of knowledge were sealed away.
Felix lifted the water gun.
"Time to clean up."
A jet of high-pressure water roared into the sandbox.
Cities collapsed in an instant. Forests snapped like twigs. Animals fled in terror, only to be swallowed by the deluge. The land vanished beneath white torrents as the sky itself dissolved into rain.
> God saw the sins of man and cleansed the earth with water.
On the ark, Utnapishtim and his people huddled together.
Above them, the heavens broke.
The flood poured down without mercy.
Everything—everything—was drowned.
Only the ark remained, drifting alone across a boundless sea.