The moment of recognition died like starlight swallowed by storm clouds, and with its passing, Enkidu's features twisted into something that barely resembled the friend Gilgamesh had loved beyond life itself. Marduk's corruption flowed through him like molten gold, and when he moved, it was with the savage unpredictability of the wilderness unleashed—no longer the noble wild man who had learned civilisation through friendship, but something feral and divine and utterly merciless.
"Then die, fool king," Enkidu snarled, launching himself forward with the explosive force of an avalanche. His fists, now wreathed in divine power that crackled like lightning, moved in patterns that had no regard for honor or restraint—this was the fighting style of apex predators, of creatures that killed not for sport but for survival, brutal and efficient and absolutely without mercy.
