20 advance chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido.
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In the silent vastness of the Black Sea, Gilgamesh trembled—not from fear, but from pure, seething rage.
"That brat… that brat," he muttered to himself, pacing across the void as if his steps could shatter the abyss beneath him. "How dare he disrespect me. Even the gods never dared test my wrath."
His golden eyes burned like molten suns. Never before had he been exiled like this—powerless, silenced, mocked. Mark had stripped him of dignity and thrown him into a place where he had no dominion. For the first time in centuries, Gilgamesh was not in control.
He swore that if the chance ever came, he would open the gates of his vault and drown the boy in a storm of divine treasures.
Then, after what felt like a small eternity, his soul was pulled once again into the group chat.
[Mark: Ah! Did you enjoy your stay in the depths of hollowness? I guess the company down there was quite interesting.]
The words landed like a slap.
Whether it was meant to mock or not, Gilgamesh felt his pride crack. Mark wasn't simply challenging him—he was reminding the king that his throne meant nothing here.
But Mark's tone shifted.
[Mark: Let's get back to business. So what do you offer, King of Uruk? Or do you wish to remain blinded from the world?]
Gilgamesh fell silent. The insult stung, but what hurt more was the truth in Mark's words. He was used to being the one who received—never the one who offered. Yet here he was, being forced into a deal like a common merchant.
After a long pause, he gave his answer.
Gilgamesh granted his ability of clairvoyance-Sha Naqba Imuru. A potent skill, once used to see across time and space. It was an incredible gift, yet to him, it felt hollow now.
Mark was surprised. Deep down, he had expected resistance. The offering was far more valuable than he'd anticipated, but the arrogance behind it dimmed his generosity. He gave Gilgamesh the world sight—nothing more.
No points. Not yet.
The others had already made their offerings.
Iskandar had gifted the Gordius wheel his divine chariot. Though a brilliant tool for transportation and combat, it didn't excite Mark much.
He awarded Iskandar the world sight in addition fifty points.
Ozymandias had shared an essence of his Divinity , allowing Mark to perceive and interact with spirits.
A rare and useful trait—but again, not quite enough to impress. He, too, was given fifty points and the world sight.
The Pharaoh accepted it, though unease flickered behind his calm expression.
[Solomon: This new world truly intrigues me. My children have inherited more knowledge than I ever imagined.]
[Iskandar: Hey kid! That thing on the wall—"God of War," is it called? I like the look of that. Kratos versus Zeus... now that is my kind of entertainment.]
Iskandar's attention had been caught by a poster above Mark's desk. The warrior spirit in him admired the fierce artwork of battle—gods, weapons, struggle. It stirred something ancient in his heart.
But before Mark could respond, a knock came at the door.
"Mark, are you still in there? You'll be late for school!"
The voice snapped him back to reality. It was familiar—gentle, yet commanding. His… mother?
Or rather, the mother of the boy whose body he now inhabited.
Mark blinked. He still retained the memories of this life, though it was jarring to hear her voice through a door instead of through memory.
He glanced at the clock.
"Oh no," he muttered. It was already past 8:00. He scrambled to pull on his uniform, stumbling over belts and buttons.
Outside the door, his mother spoke again.
"Young man, don't tell me you're watching those things again."
Mark froze.
He turned his head to the posters around the room—some were game-related, others… not so innocent.
[Artoria: Ahem.]
Her message blinked across the chat. The King of Knights had clearly seen more than she intended. Her silence up to now was broken by a sudden blush of embarrassment.
Mark couldn't help but smirk. A thought crossed his mind—maybe next time, he'd "accidentally" leave something on screen for her to witness.
He pushed the thought aside and rushed downstairs. The smell of breakfast filled the house.
His mother had made his favorite—waffles, golden and crisp, with honey-fried chicken on the side.
[Gilgamesh: This is the sort of food commoners eat now?]
[Solomon: A curious dish… It carries a strange elegance. A delicacy of modern mastery.]
[Iskandar: This? Looks like horse dung to me. Where's the mead? The roasted ox leg?]
[Ozymandias: It may not look like much, but I sense a charm in its simplicity. There's a certain classic feel to it.]
[Artoria: I must admit… it appears rather lavishing.]
Mark glanced at her message. He could tell she was trying to remain composed—but he'd read enough of her character to know one thing.
Artoria loved food. Of all the kings, she was the most gluttonous when it came to a good meal.
He devoured the breakfast hastily , then grabbed his bicycle and raced out the door. Madison High wasn't far, and biking through the streets of Metropolis had its own kind of thrill.
As he pedaled, something massive passed overhead. A blur of red and blue cast a shadow over him.
Mark looked up—and saw him.
Superman.
Soaring through the skies, cape fluttering in the wind, eyes scanning the city with serene vigilance.
[Iskandar: Men who fly? This world is growing more interesting by the second. I want to conquer it just for the spectacle.]
But before Mark could comment, something shifted in the air. He felt it—not through sight or sound, but something deeper. A ripple. A sense.
A truck.
Speeding down the street, heading toward a boy.
Mark blinked, and suddenly, he saw it. A white truck barreling forward. A child in a red shirt was chasing a ball into the middle of the road.
The boy never saw it coming.
Mark dropped his bike. He ran.
"Hey! Get off the road!" he screamed, but his voice was swallowed by distance.
The truck was close—too close.
He felt it then. A surge.
Electric. Powerful. It crawled through his veins like lightning.
His legs burned, then ignited.
The world slowed around him,then
in one blink he was in front of the boy.
He snatched the child into his arms and turned his body just in time.
The truck struck.
The impact hurled him several meters away. He hit the pavement with a grunt, shielding the child with his own body.
[Artoria: Are you alright, Mark?]
[Iskandar: Kid, you feeling okay?]
Mark looked down. The boy was crying but unharmed. The truck's front end was crushed, steam rising from the broken metal.
His own body pulsed with light—veins of golden energy danced across his skin before fading.
"What... was that?" he muttered rhetorically.
"Sir, are you alright? I'm sorry… I wasn't careful," the boy said softly, eyes glistening.
Mark pushed through the pain and stood, smiling gently. "It's okay. Just be careful next time."
The child wiped his tears and smiled back. Then the group chat arose with messages.
[Artoria: I was worried… but I gotta admit it was remarkable.]
[Ozymandias: To throw yourself in front of death for another… Rare are such men in any empire.]
[Iskandar: You have to join my ranks!]
[Solomon: Selflessness… This is the quality I once prayed my people would carry.]
[Gilgamesh: …]
Mark's chest tightened—not from pain, but from something else.
Pride.
Then a shadow passed overhead.
"Good job, kid. You saved him before I could."
Mark looked up—and the boy beside him did the same. Their eyes widened at the sight of a red cape swaying above their heads.