Shock held Gilgamesh’s tongue for a long moment, but a fierce, deep-rooted rejection soon overrode it. “No… I have the name. I am the rightful hero.”

  “That is why he was given the name of the Usurper. A king of the gods in and of himself, who possesses a claim to the Divine Right to Rule.”

  “I am-!”

  “Yours is a stolen name.” The sheer weight and severity of Shamash’s bluntness silenced Gilgamesh. “Marduk has the fate of the Chosen Hero, even now. Do not be fooled by temporary victory against fate. It is just an illusion. A hollow charade that will not last.”

  Malice and Fear overcame Gilgamesh. Malice towards the one who had all he wanted, Fear towards the path ahead that he now knew was impossible to traverse. They clashed so fiercely within him that it gave rise to an intolerable confliction.

  “I…. Iiiiiiaaaaahhhhckk!”

  Gilgamesh’s hands clutched his head as he felt the walls of his mind start to crumble and something foreign invade. It tainted every part that it caressed and set those dissenting thoughts against each other. His mind had become a swirling fray that danced and wailed itself into a sea that sought nothing but to drown.

  “...I! I…”

  Gilgamesh’s eyes had rolled into the back of his head. His posture had become wretched and unsightly as if to mimic that within.

  But within the turmoil, there was one constant. One guiding mote of light, no larger than a speck and no more significant than a fleeting moment. And it gave Gilgamesh a ledge to hold onto.

  “I…” Gilgamesh strained out the words as sanity and purpose returned to his frayed eyes. “I… am Gilgamesh. I will be the hero.”

  Shamash had not averted his eyes during the wretchedness, nor did he now look with anything more than a dull tranquility. “See, nephew. Is it not as I said? Now that you know fate has turned its back on you, do you not reject it with all your heart?”

  Turmoil still squirmed and spasmed in Gilgamesh’s expression as he strove to set himself right with each passing moment.

  “I ask you again, Gilgamesh. What do you think of the Prophecy?”

  Gilgamesh did not answer. The knot of feelings woven within him was far too entangled to articulate. Then, at that moment, the crowd roared louder than it ever had. Gilgamesh’s eyes were drawn to the arena, and there they sharpened as keen as daggers.

  [ Attila Atreus vs Rama Pandava ]

  Rama stood on one side, as disdainfully composed as before, and on the other stood Attila. Even before a fellow hero of grand bearing, he seemed unrivaled. Attila did not try. He did not flaunt or demand. It was as if the whole world revolved around him, and he simply was.

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  The Puppet Emperor raised its arms, and Attila’s head snapped back. Such was the force of Rama’s sudden arrow that it nearly bent him back at the waist and forced him to take a heavy step back in the sway of the impact.

  Rama struck more arrows in rapid succession, each battered Attila back further like a flailing puppet controlled by violent strings. Rama first struck his torso and limbs, then he aimed for his eyes, throat, and finally his mouth. But Attila leaned back upright each time, completely unharmed and his eerily calm smile unchanged.

  Rama was not discouraged. He had only sought to test the Atreus’ Indestructibility as well as his Attributes. He nocked another arrow with a more intense derision than before. “You Atreus are not invincible.”

  Faintly glowing azure aura enveloped the arrow and then he loosed it. A spiritual explosion erupted on Attila reminiscent of the self-destructing ghosts Melinoe had struck Marduk with.

  Attila burst out of the azure mist faster than even the Training Dummy’s charge, only to be halted in place by the impact of another arrow. A second knocked him further back, and a third curved around to knock him off balance to the side. Attila looked ahead and a second Soul Arrow erupted on him.

  “If you have any fighting spirit, wield it now.” Rama said as he barraged Attila with normal arrows. “I have tested my Soul Arrow extensively. It takes no more than three to destroy a soul, even for an angel.”

  Though his expression was unchanged, Attila’s body endeavored. The vast might contained in his limbs was obvious even at a glance, yet he was helpless against Rama’s arrows. They battered him around, never letting him gain firm balance for even a moment.

  A curving arrow to the side of his head almost knocked Attila over and in his off-balance sight, a giant mass of azure mana sailed forth in his slowed vision. The Soul Arrow detonated clean, but when the azure mist dispersed, Attila stood as calmly as ever.

  Rama was silent. He narrowed his eyes and unleashed a fourth Soul Arrow, and then a fifth. But nothing changed. Rama grew more intense. A sixth arrow struck. Then a seventh, and an eighth. Rama’s expression strained to one of scathing hostility and the ninth arrow struck, but still it had done nothing.

  With the last of his mana, Rama planted his feet and loosed a tenth, but it had done no more harm than any of the others. Let alone wounded, Attila did not even seem the slightest bit concerned.

  Rama’s expression became grim in disbelief, and Attila lunged with all his strength. The speed of Attila’s grasping hand widened Rama’s eyes. He leaned himself out of the way, but only just barely. Attila’s mauling hand grazed his shoulder, and the impact of that sent him crashing away.

  Rama rose from the dust with a trail of blood running down his face and a mangled arm. His spirit was not broken, but neither did his ego consume his reason.

  “I yield…”

  Rama vanished from the arena to the jubilant roar of the crowd. Attila lingered for a few moments, then vanished as well. And Gilgamesh’s intensity rose. His rejection of the undeniable dominance grew closer to something.

  “Truly an aberration…” Shamash solemnly commented. “I am certain he possesses no Zoraster blood, but he resembles the visage of the First Hero so perfectly. Perhaps he is Enkidu, or even Gugal. Marduk will be stronger in time, that is without doubt. But in this moment at least, Attila is the strongest.”

  “I… am Gilgamesh.” Gilgamesh said clearly as his gaze still latched onto the arena where the strongest had stood. His mind was firm once more and his resolve focused not only on the walls before him, but on what lay beyond. He turned to Shamash with a conviction that could be felt in the air.

  “I will achieve all I want. I will attain all I desire… No matter what stands in my path.”

  Shamash looked back in silence for a long while. “May you find meaning in the struggle, nephew.”

  With those words, Shamash vanished from the stands. Gilgamesh lingered a few moments more before he, too, vanished and returned to the Training Grounds.

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