A cold, palpable fury radiated from the King of Uruk.
The source of his wrath was twofold. Primarily, he had activated his Sha Naqba Imuru, the very Clairvoyance that could pierce the veils of future possibilities, and in doing so, he had 'seen' the divine messenger, Enkidu.
Yet, the true objective of his search had not been this god-sent creature. His focus had been singular: to find traces of Rowe's current whereabouts within the tapestry of the future.
After all, the insolent priest had been missing for seven days. Seven days prior, he had ventured into the western Demonic Beast Forest to suppress the uprising and had subsequently vanished. Despite numerous search parties dispatched to scour the woodland, no trace of him had been found—no body, no shred of his distinctive linen robe.
While the fellow was impertinent and chronically disrespectful, he was, in Gilgamesh's own declaration, his subordinate. In the King's worldview, no one but he himself had the right to punish, let alone dispose of, what belonged to him.
Therefore, he would find him. If Rowe was alive, he would be dragged back to Uruk to account for his absence. If he was dead, then the King's judgment would fall upon whatever mongrel had dared to lay hands on a possession of the throne.
The bitter irony, however, was that Gilgamesh's all-seeing eyes had failed to locate Rowe. Instead, his vision had been drawn to the very spot of the priest's disappearance, where he perceived the vibrant, potent aura of a 'messenger' freshly dispatched by the gods.
Gilgamesh was unaware that this messenger had spent the last week under Rowe's diligent tutelage. He did not know that Rowe now wielded the 'Key of the Heavens,' a conceptual existence that placed him on a similar, if not more unique, level as the Wedge and the Chains, effectively shielding him from the passive sweep of the King's clairvoyance.
Had Enkidu not been gradually awakening to the full power of the Chains of Heaven during these same days, its own brilliant presence would have been far harder for Gilgamesh to pinpoint so accurately.
Sha Naqba Imuru is not true omniscience; it is normal for it to be unable to clearly perceive those of a similar or obscured nature. Furthermore, though Rowe had not ceased using the Babylon Treasure Vault during this time, he had employed it conservatively—for swift movement through the canopy or to summon basic necessities, never unleashing the full offensive might of its contents. This low-level usage provided no distinct magical signature for the King to lock onto.
Blinded by his inherent and profound aversion to the divine, Gilgamesh connected these dots into the most damning conclusion. His mind immediately leapt to the belief that the gods, those 'corrupt and useless wretches,' had already taken action against Rowe, the 'blasphemer' who had disrupted their Pantheon Festival.
They had murdered him, erasing his existence so completely from the world that not even a future echo remained. If that were truly the case, the full, unbridled wrath of the King of Heroes would be unleashed upon the heavens themselves.
....
West of Uruk, on the outskirts of the Demonic Beast Forest, the azure sky stretched over the vast wilderness like an immense, unblemished curtain.
At the edge of the now-peaceful, lush woodland, the stone walls stood tall and imposing, with guards remaining ever vigilant at their posts.
Since Rowe had ventured deep into the forest, the rampant riots had ceased entirely, leaving an unnatural calm. But the duty of the border guards was to prevent trouble before it could begin, and so, for these seven days, their watch had continued unabated.
In addition to sending search parties into the forest's depths, the defensive perimeter was maintained with even greater strictness than before.
It was at this very moment that a soldier standing atop the wall felt a shift in the air, a pressure that made his skin prickle. He instinctively looked up.
What he saw stole his breath.
A Vimana—a Star-Boat of the gods. Its form was a marvel of the Age of Gods: vast, green, crystalline wings flanking a main hull of brilliant, shimmering gold. It was propelled by a star-core engine radiating immense, ancient magical power, and it flew high in the sky, a symbol of absolute authority.
In all of Uruk, there was no one who did not know that this vessel was the King's favorite personal mount. Its appearance here, now, could mean only one thing…
"The King!?" the guard exclaimed, his voice a mixture of awe and shock. But before he or any of his comrades could fully process the sight, the Vimana transformed in the air. It became a streak of burning, golden light, like a meteor descending in reverse, and shot with impossible speed into the heart of the Demonic Beast Forest, vanishing from their view.
The commotion and speculation this caused among the border guards were immediate and intense, but they were of no concern to the King.
...
High above the forest canopy, Gilgamesh sat enthroned within his resplendent Vimana, a figure of incandescent wrath. His fingers drummed a slow, ominous rhythm on the golden armrest, each tap echoing his simmering impatience.
His appearance was a declaration of war in itself. His normally flowing golden locks were swept back, revealing a brow etched with the sharp, unforgiving aura of a king descending to deliver judgment.
He was clad in his full golden battle armor, a masterpiece of divine-era craftsmanship that was both impossibly heavy and dazzlingly brilliant, making him appear as a god of war descended to the mortal plane. This was the regalia he reserved for one purpose: to personally pass sentence on those foolish enough to incur his divine wrath.
With a final, decisive tap, his celestial mount surged forward, piercing through the sky until it came to an abrupt, hovering stop high above a secluded clearing. He had arrived at the precise location his clairvoyance had revealed.
Then, his voice, cold and resonant with absolute authority, boomed across the forest, shaking the very leaves on the trees.
"Having witnessed This King's glorious and magnificent presence, do you truly believe you can continue to cower like some insect festering in shadows and filth?"
The King's gaze was a physical weight, piercing through the canopy. "Show yourself, you mongrel sent by those corrupt and indolent deities!"
Rustle, rustle…
Below, amidst the dense foliage, the sound reached a solitary figure. Enkidu looked up from its quiet contemplation, its vibrant emerald eyes clouded with innocent confusion.
Rowe said he was going to fetch water from the stream because he was thirsty… it thought, its logic simple and pure. So why hasn't he returned yet?
Its gaze, peering through thick, swaying strands of green hair, then fell upon the magnificent golden-and-green vessel hovering in the sky. Having never seen such a creation, it was momentarily captivated, a childlike wonder momentarily overriding other concerns.
"Hmph? So you finally dare to reveal yourself, you cur born of the mud?" Gilgamesh's sharp eyes had also locked onto the figure below.
He saw a 'maiden' clad in a loose, plain white priest's robe that was clearly too large for her slender frame. She had flowing, verdant hair and a face of such delicate, ethereal beauty it seemed sculpted by divine hands.
But it was the aura of potent divinity radiating from her and the unmistakable fact that the robe she wore belonged to Rowe that solidified the King's conclusion. This was the gods' creature, and it stood clad in the spoils of his missing vassal.
At that moment, the killing intent in Gilgamesh's heart ignited into an inferno. The serpentine pupils within his crimson eyes narrowed to slits, gleaming with a coldness rivaling the millennia-old ice of the deepest underworld. His wrath was a palpable, chilling force.
Facing this undisguised, overwhelming malice, Enkidu's delicate brows furrowed slightly. The seven days under Rowe's guidance had not been in vain; it was no longer the completely naive newborn. In terms of awareness and burgeoning wisdom, it was now the equal of any human. It did not know who this golden man was or the reason for his rage, but one lesson from Rowe had been etched into its very being.
"That is… 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.'"
If the other party attacked, it would retaliate in kind, and with greater force. That was the principle it had been taught. Even though this golden being possessed a power that felt strangely akin to Rowe's, the sensation he projected was nothing like the comforting, intimate bond it shared with its 'key.' Because of that dissonance, it felt no hesitation.
"Not only do you refuse to prostrate yourself in surrender, but you dare to contemplate resisting This King's judgment?" Gilgamesh slowly rose from his throne, a motion filled with terrifying grace.
"Then, tell me, are you prepared to bear the eternal sin of having provoked the great me…?"
As he spoke, the air around the Vimana began to shimmer. Golden ripples spread across the sky as the Gate of Babylon yawned open.
From within this dazzling display, a single, brilliantly sharp divine sword—a treasure even amongst his boundless collection—descended and landed perfectly in Gilgamesh's waiting hand. His grip tightened around the Noble Phantasm's hilt.
Below, Enkidu stood its ground silently, the plain white robe fluttering around its slender form. As it gathered its own power, the shadows around it seemed to writhe and flow like turbulent mountains and seas, stirring the very dust from the forest floor.
Though not a single blow had yet been exchanged, the immense magical energy radiating from both of them instantly transformed the clearing into an epicenter of pressure. Their auras clashed, forming a terrifying, invisible torrent that made the very ground of the vast forest tremble and sent frantic, concentric ripples across the surface of a nearby, gently flowing stream.
Miles away, Rowe, who had been carefully filling an earthen water jar, paused. He stared at the suddenly agitated water, the perfect circles disrupting the calm surface. He stood up abruptly, his own senses stretching out, and his gaze sharpened as it focused on the distant, shimmering point of immense power.
"Gilgamesh is here?" The realization struck him like a physical blow.
Gilgamesh had arrived. He had found Enkidu.
And they were already on the verge of combat.
With a decisive clang, Rowe dropped the water jar, its contents spilling forgotten onto the riverbank. He had anticipated this moment, planned for it. Now, it was time to execute the final stage of his strategy. He turned and began to run, not away from the cataclysm, but directly towards its heart.