"After seeing this sight, how does it make you feel?"
"…You… are Ishtar?"
That loud, boisterous voice—one that had shouted in her ears every few days—was far too familiar. Ophis recognized it almost instantly.
Yet… something was off.
The presence behind her felt steadier, calmer—if only slightly.
Just a little.
But the most striking difference was the aura itself: thick with death and shadow, utterly unlike Ishtar's.
Turning, Ophis found herself face to face with a girl who was both familiar and strange.
Indeed, appearance-wise, she was Ishtar—yet her hair and clothing were entirely different.
Her once-black hair had reverted to its original golden hue, and her attire was no longer the flashy display of beauty she usually flaunted. Instead, she wore a black dress with a red mantle draped over her shoulders.
…Still rather revealing, though.
This was undoubtedly Ishtar's body.
Ophis was sure of it—the faint scent of Uruk still lingered on her.
Or more precisely, the scent of Ophis herself.
Even a goddess's divine vessel might repel ordinary traces, but Ophis's power exceeded that limit. It was natural that her lingering aura clung faintly to a goddess she'd once fought.
Yet even so, Ophis was equally certain: this was not Ishtar.
One embodied light, the other darkness—their natures stood in absolute contrast. While some deities possessed dual aspects, Ishtar certainly was not one of them.
"Oh? You noticed right away."
The Ishtar-like girl laughed softly.
"Not Ishtar… then, Ereshkigal?"
After frowning for a moment's thought, Ophis reached the only logical conclusion.
It wasn't hard. Ereshkigal was Ishtar's elder twin sister, and in this age, that fact was hardly secret knowledge.
The deaths of these priestesses… the report from Kutha…
After examining the bodies herself, Ophis had already determined their souls had been taken. It was highly likely the same had happened in Kutha.
And Kutha's guardian deity was Ereshkigal—the goddess of the Underworld.
Harvesting souls was precisely her domain.
Add a face identical to Ishtar's, and the answer was self-evident.
Of course, it wasn't absolutely certain—but the girl before her confirmed it readily enough.
"Ugh, recognized right away? How dull…"
Muttering a complaint, Ereshkigal's expression then turned solemn.
"That's right. I am the Mistress of Death, Lady of the Underworld, She Who Crushes the Sacred Peaks—Ereshkigal, one of the pillars of the Three-Goddess Alliance."
Three-Goddess Alliance…?
Ophis caught the unfamiliar term immediately.
"So then," Ereshkigal continued, "you still haven't answered my question. After seeing this sight, how does it make you feel?"
"How I feel?"
Ophis looked around at the lifeless priestesses, tilting her head slightly.
"I feel… it's meaningless."
Yes—meaningless.
That was, in truth, Ophis's opinion of all the gods' actions thus far.
Their destruction of humanity, their cities, their nations—none of it had purpose.
And afterward? Nothing gained. Nothing left. Merely the fleeting satisfaction of the powerful crushing the weak.
Once, she'd thought the gods acted from resentment—punishing humanity or dragging them down together into ruin after their sealing.
But after meeting Ishtar, Ophis realized differently.
That goddess didn't even seem aware the worlds of gods and humans had already diverged. Perhaps her summoning had been incomplete… or perhaps her intellect had taken a sharp downturn.
Comparing the two sisters, Ophis began to suspect that whatever reason or insight Ishtar had once possessed had instead manifested in this one before her.
Even so, Ophis's conclusion didn't change.
Meaningless. All of it. Even the hundreds of corpses at her feet.
"Yes… meaningless indeed."
Ereshkigal's tone cooled, her face carrying a mix of grief and disdain.
"From your perspective, we gods have never needed meaning to justify our deeds. We act as we please. That is why humans call us cruel—why they see us as beyond reason."
Her gaze met Ophis's directly.
"Precisely because of that, I cannot accept you, Ophis, King of Uruk. I cannot acknowledge what you did in ending the Age of Gods."
"Is that so?"
Ophis's voice was calm, indifferent.
The gods' arrogance had nothing to do with her. If Ereshkigal refused to accept her, then conflict was inevitable.
"That's right—you've overestimated humanity."
Ophis paused, her expression flickering slightly in confusion at those words.
"You're not even human. Do you truly believe they can embrace a world without gods so easily, so unprepared?"
Ereshkigal's lips curved into a mocking smile, her voice dripping with scorn.
"Humans aren't as fragile as gods think."
After a short silence, Ophis answered.
Normally, she wouldn't have bothered with words. Her usual response to provocation was simple—attack.
But something about Ereshkigal's words stirred her.
She felt compelled to answer clearly this time.
As for Ereshkigal discerning her non-human nature so easily—Ophis didn't care. It wasn't difficult to tell anyway.
"From the gods' view, humans might seem as brittle as clay. But to me, their resilience far surpasses that of the proud and unyielding gods."
"Is that so? Is that what you've seen, O Wedge of Heaven?"
Ereshkigal's mocking expression softened slightly—but only slightly.
"If a king like you says so, perhaps it's true. But even then… since you're not human yourself, what reason do you have to stand for them?"
Ophis was silent for two seconds before replying.
"…I love humanity. That alone is reason enough."
"Ha… with that borrowed 'love'?"
Ereshkigal laughed outright.
"Absurd. Arrogant! Who do you think you are? You think such borrowed feelings can stand against us—against the eternal will and proud faith of the gods?"
Her voice, dripping with disdain, rang through the temple like a curse.