Ultimately, while Rowe did not share Gilgamesh's deep-seated, all-consuming hostility towards the gods residing in the high heavens, his lack of reverence for them was an undeniable fact.
As a soul transmigrated from a modern world steeped in skepticism and humanism, Rowe found it fundamentally difficult to grant genuine faith to these so-called deities. His initial decision to become a priest of the pantheon had been a calculated move, a means to get close to Gilgamesh and further his own unique goals.
His subsequent acceptance of the Key of the Heavens was similarly pragmatic; it was a tool to grant him autonomy, to move freely without the oppressive suppression of divine aura, allowing him to seize every possible opportunity for his sought-after demise.
In a strange way, it was precisely his distrust of the gods that led him to accept their 'gift'—he half-hoped it was a trap, a conspiracy that would finally deliver the glorious end he craved.
However, this pragmatic acceptance never meant he would tolerate them high-handedly deciding his fate or viewing his existence as a mere utility. Mortals, at their core, value the self. And the self, in its purest form, values freedom above all else.
...
In the Demonic Beast Forest west of Uruk—a landscape already ravaged and transformed by the previous cataclysmic battle between Gilgamesh and Enkidu—the scene that now unfolded was one to strike awe and terror into the heart of any beholder. The very air crackled with power that defied mortal comprehension.
Enkidu, having fully unleashed its nature, no longer manifested as countless divine weapons of earth. Instead, its physical form vanished from the spot, replaced by a single, magnificent chain of shimmering silver-white. This chain, the very essence of the 'Chains of Heaven,' pulled itself from the ground as if it were the world's own spine, soaring upwards to pierce the clouds.
Above, golden light shimmered in overwhelming layers. The Gates of Babylon rippled across the sky, not as individual portals but as a continuous, dazzling tapestry that enveloped the ascending chain. The power of the 'Wedge of Heaven,' Gilgamesh, formed a stable, brilliant passage connecting the earthly realm to the heavens above—a road forged by a king's authority.
And at the center of it all was Rowe.
He held the confluence of both the Wedge and the Chains. His body hung suspended in the very core of the converging energies, his gaze turned upwards, locked onto the vague, shimmering outlines of divine eyes that had manifested in the high firmament.
From a distance, the entire construct resembled a grand, otherworldly flower unfurling from the depths of the world. The giant silver chain was the flower's mighty stem. The rippling golden gates were its radiant, overlapping petals. And Rowe, the suspended 'Key of Heaven,' was the brilliant, pulsating heart of the bloom. It was a sight both magnificent and terrifyingly beautiful.
'What is he doing?' The divine thoughts were no longer calm, tinged with a flicker of uncertainty.
'What do these tools intend to achieve?'
'Paving a path with the Wedge... using the Chains as a guide... and the Key as the door itself...'
'They intend to shake the very heavens!?'
The realization was followed by instantaneous, incorporeal wrath.
Presumptuous mortals!
BOOM—!
Divine curses, given form as thunder that tore through the fabric of the sky, erupted instantaneously. The gods, finally comprehending the audacious intent of the trio below, responded with pure, unadulterated fury. The wrath of gods offended by mortals manifested in the world as a sudden, violent squall and a sky bruised with angry, purple clouds.
But neither the deafening thunder nor the lashing winds could halt the progression of their united will. Rowe, feeling the immense power coursing through him, extended the conceptual form of the Chains of Heaven further upwards, a silver spear aimed at the heart of the divine.
"Hmph hahahaha...! A bunch of rotten, incompetent fools!" From his throne aboard the Vimana, Gilgamesh's laughter grew even more joyous and derisive.
"Useless mongrels who only know how to hide behind layers of reality and vent your impotent rage! I, the King, am right here! If you have the courage, then descend and face me in a battle to the death!"
The Gods: "..."
The collective, silent frustration was palpable.
This guy is so infuriating, I truly wish to strike him down... but we cannot manifest directly. What is to be done?
Forget him! Focus on the Key!
Rowe glanced sideways at Gilgamesh, who was laughing with wild, unbridled freedom, and couldn't help the faint, genuine smile that touched his own lips. This… this exact feeling of defiant, unrestrained liberty was what he had always yearned for!
Boom! Boom! BOOM!
The thunder rolled more violently, a clear indicator of the gods' escalating, frantic anger.
And at this precise moment, Rowe acted. He tightened his metaphysical grip on the 'Chains of Heaven' that Enkidu had become, and with a final, monumental surge of power from the united trio, he thrust it upwards like a colossal, heaven-piercing spear!
BANG—!
The concussive force shattered the manifested thunder into harmless, sparkling motes of light. The oppressive clouds and howling winds were swept aside as if by a divine broom. Rowe, holding the chain, became the focal point of a single, concentrated thrust that pierced through the long sky, its tip aimed directly at the shimmering, observing 'eyes' of the gods!
'Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT—!'
'How dare they! How dare this wretched creature...!'
'Our last remaining conduit to observe the human world! It must not be destroyed!'
In that suspended, earth-shattering moment, a novel emotion permeated the celestial chorus: genuine, unadulterated fear. The gods, bound by the constraints of the fading Age of Gods, were unable to descend to the mortal plane in their true, overwhelming forms.
Their 'eyes' in the firmament were their last, best conduit for observing the human world.
If even these were blinded, they would be rendered utterly blind to the affairs of men, incapable of any meaningful interference. Not every deity could descend via possession; suitable vessels like the one Ishtar used were exceedingly rare and imperfect. The thought of losing their primary window to the world they sought to control was intolerable.
So yes, they were afraid.
The sky itself convulsed violently under the swaying of the colossal, silver chain. The disturbance was no longer contained to the Demonic Beast Forest; the very earth beneath their feet groaned and trembled, and the dome of the heavens above quivered as if struck. The delicate, conceptual boundaries separating the Three Realms—the lofty Heavens (Anu), the mortal Earth (Ki), and the subterranean Netherworld (Kur)—were being violently stressed by the combined, focused effort of the Key, the Wedge, and the Chains of Heaven!
'Let us withdraw for now...!'
'Their power, while alarming, cannot yet reach the celestial realm where our true forms reside!'
'Withdraw, withdraw—!'
The gods, prioritizing self-preservation over pride, made their decision. The shimmering, oppressive 'eyes' that had been glaring down from the firmament flickered and then vanished in rapid succession, their divine presence receding from the mortal plane.
Rowe was not surprised by their retreat. He had never truly intended to drag the celestial realm down from its heights and cast the gods into the dust. His goal was more about making a statement than achieving a total victory.
At most, he had hoped to make the heavens tremble a few times, to force a flinch from the seemingly omnipotent. The Wedge, the Key, and the Chains indeed possessed immense potential, but the three of them had not yet matured to the point of wielding that power to its absolute, world-rewriting extent.
However, this act perfectly served his deeper purpose: it showcased his defiant determination and, more importantly, was a superb way to earn the gods' undying enmity!
From this moment forth, the primary focus of the gods' conflict and resentment would shift onto him. A former Divine Attendant, now a blatant turncoat. The pantheon would undoubtedly despise him to the very core of their divine beings. Naturally, Rowe would become their most wanted, most targeted individual.
'This way,' he mused, 'perhaps the fates of Enkidu and Gilgamesh can be altered, right?'
In the original epic, Enkidu ultimately withered and died, a victim of the gods' cruel curse. Rowe hoped with all his being that they would redirect that fatal attention onto him instead.
'I certainly hope the gods are up to the task—'
Yet, in his triumphant calculation, Rowe failed to notice—or perhaps, in his single-minded focus, simply did not care—that the violent reverberations of their united strike did not only affect the Human World and the Celestial Realm. The shockwaves traveled through the very foundations of the world, reaching a third, forgotten domain.
The Underworld.
...
The Underworld—
A sound…? From above?
In the perpetual, suffocating darkness of the cold wilderness, an endless chill permeated a landscape desolate and utterly devoid of life. Only a few clusters of eerie, blue ghost fires drifted aimlessly, their faint light doing little to pierce the oppressive gloom.
A shadow stirred. Ruby-like, magnificent eyes opened, their glow cutting through the darkness. Scattered strands of long, golden hair swayed and settled around a form that had known only stillness for eons.
How long had it been since she had heard a sound from the world above? It must have been a very, very long time… ever since the soil that truly belonged to the gods had receded from the surface world, severing the old connections.
The Goddess of the Underworld, Ereshkigal, looked up.
And she saw it. A crack. A single, brilliant sliver of light piercing the once-impenetrable ceiling of her domain, marking the 'path' that led to the human world.
'Is this… not a dream?' she murmured, her voice a whisper rustling through the eternal silence. A single, crystalline tear traced a path down her pale cheek—a profound sigh of emotion from one who had believed herself condemned to solitude forever, now seeing a glimpse of the world above after untold ages.
This was the deepest, most isolated throne of the Netherworld.
...
And above that deepest throne, on a layer closer to the human world, another ancient being was stirred.
"The vast heaven and earth tremble because of their actions," a weathered voice intoned. "The boundless territories shake without cease. The gods are angered by their contempt for divine authority, and shocked by their wanton actions, yet they find themselves helpless."
A figure stood tall, leaning on a massive, ancient sword planted firmly in the nether-soil. "Because this land no longer belongs to them. Because their era has long passed."
He watched the shimmering fissure with eyes that had witnessed the dawn of history. "The gods retreat, divine authority is shaken. The three Originals, united… Heroes who shook the very multitude of deities."
A rare, genuine smile touched his aged lips. "This body, which has walked through long, weary years, can actually still bear witness to such a sight… to you all…"
"I, Ziusudra, am truly honored beyond measure."
Ziusudra—the immortal sage of Mesopotamian legend, the survivor of the Great Flood, a being who now resided in the liminal spaces of the Netherworld.
With a decisive clank of metal on stone, he pulled the greatsword from the ground. He stepped forward, his heavy, ancient armor grinding and clanking with each movement.
Guided by the eerie blue firelight of the underworld, he walked steadily, purposefully, toward the newfound light, and toward the world of men he had once left behind.