The wind howled across the jagged peaks of the mountainous region, whipping the dark hair of the men perched upon the cliffs.
Standing at the precipice, Supreme Commander Gilgamesh peered down into the valley. Nestled in the basin was what appeared to be an ancient, crumbling town—a collection of half-built houses and weathered stone that looked like a relic of a forgotten era.
Gilgamesh glanced to his right.
The higher ridges were teeming with the men of the Iron Halo, their black tactical armors gleaming under the cold light, weapons at the ready.
With a sharp, predatory glint in his eyes, Gilgamesh raised his hand high, the metal of his gauntlet catching the sun, and dropped it in a swift signal to fire.
"Shoot!"
The command triggered a mechanical symphony.
Hundreds of soldiers raised their rifles in unison. At the muzzles of the guns, swirling blue spheres of condensed vana formed, humming with volatile energy.
Then, they unleashed.
Hundreds of thousands of energy bullets rained down on the town like a localized meteor shower.
The projectiles streaked through the air, slamming into the valley with deafening explosions. Dust and debris geysered into the sky as the half-built houses were pulverized, leaving nothing but a smoldering crater where the town once stood.
Gilgamesh stood at the edge, one leg elevated on a jagged rock, his hand resting casually on his knee. A smug smirk stretched across his face as he watched the smoke clear.
"Got e—"
His words died in his throat.
As the dust settled, his smirk curdled into a mask of disbelief.
The figures in the valley were not piles of ash.
They were standing.
Though some looked slightly battered or singed, the vast majority were perfectly fine.
Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes, leaning forward until he was nearly hanging off the cliff.
As he paid closer attention, he realized why.
The Apollo members were also encased in black armor, but theirs was different. Unlike the matte finish of the Iron Halo gear, the Apollo suits were traced with glowing blue circuits along the edges and a pulsating core in the center.
Gilgamesh's teeth ground together with a sound like crushing stone.
"Why... why the hell do they have that armor?"
"Supreme Commander Gilgamesh!"
A soldier came sprinting up the slope, his breathing ragged. He skidded to a halt, his face pale behind his visor.
"It's not just the armor, Sir! Intelligence just confirmed—they're armed with Grade 1 weapons."
In a blur of motion, Gilgamesh lunged forward, snatching the soldier by the collar and hoisting him off the ground.
"How the fuck is that possible?!" he roared, his voice shaking the loose shale.
He threw the man aside like a piece of trash and let out a jagged sigh, his mind racing.
'How did they steal this much? Just what the fuck are those two assholes at the top doing?'
Below, the valley had turned into a hive of activity.
The men of Apollo weren't retreating; they were charging, surging out from the ruins and rushing toward the Iron Halo positions from all sides with terrifying coordination.
"Supreme Commander, we need orders!" a captain shouted over the rising din of clashing metal.
Gilgamesh's assistant stepped close, his voice urgent.
"Sir, we must retreat. Even if we achieve victory here, the projected casualties are catastrophic. We aren't equipped to trade blows with Grade 1 gear."
Gilgamesh's fists clenched, the hydraulics in his suit whining.
"Push forward."
"What, Sir?" the assistant asked, blinking in shock.
"Are you deaf?!" Gilgamesh screamed, turning a face of pure, unadulterated fury toward him.
"Attack! Overpower them through sheer force! Do not let a single one of those rats escape this valley!"
"Sir, please reconsider—"
Gilgamesh shoved the assistant back with a violent thrust.
"If we crawl back now, it'll be a humiliation I won't stomach! The Leader of the Iron Halo running away despite having the numbers? Never!"
He stepped to the very lip of the mountain's edge, his cape billowing.
"And besides... I'll stand at the front. I'll minimize the losses myself."
He opened his palm.
In a swirl of greyish-brown energy, a massive, thick sword materialized.
Its surface wasn't smooth steel; it was covered in rugged, overlapping scales, looking more like a dragon's limb than a blade.
Gilgamesh leaped.
As he plummeted through the air, two colossal, leathery wings of the same greyish-brown hue erupted from his back.
He took a short, powerful glide to stabilize his descent before snapping the wings shut and flapping them with a thunderous crack.
He shot forward like a living missile.
He hit the Apollo front lines with the force of a falling star.
Raising his scaled sword, he spun in a vicious arc, cleaving through tens of enemies in a single, brutal motion.
He didn't stop, rushing deeper into the fray, his blade a blur that cleared a wide path for his men.
"As long as I am here, I will protect everyone!" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield. "My brave soldiers, charge forward! Take the heads of the enemies!"
The display of raw, overwhelming power acted like a shot of adrenaline to his troops.
The Iron Halo soldiers let out a collective war cry, motivated by their commander's strength, and surged down the slopes.
The war began in earnest.
An Iron Halo soldier engaged an Apollo member, swinging his standard-issue blade with all his might.
The metal clanged against the Apollo suit, but it couldn't bite through the blue-lit plating.
In return, the Apollo member thrust his Grade 1 spear; the high-frequency edge slid through the Iron Halo armor as if it were parchment.
"Surround them! Aim for the heads!" someone shouted amidst the chaos.
Seven Iron Halo soldiers quickly swarmed two Apollo members.
While the Apollo fighters were occupied with the swordplay in front, the others stepped in from the flanks.
They thrust their spears upward, finding the unarmored gaps at the neck and base of the skull.
The spears went in smoothly, emerging from the other side.
As the weapons were ripped back, grey fluid and blood dripped from the spearheads, and the Apollo members slumped to the dirt.
Gilgamesh, soaring just above the melee, watched his men fall.
"You assholes... do you really think I'd let you win?"
He took a deep, massive breath, his chest puffing out to an unnatural size.
With a roar of fury, he exhaled.
A concentrated stream of white-hot fire erupted from his mouth in a straight line, incinerating several hundred Apollo enemies instantly, turning them to charred husks before they could even scream.
He punched the air in frustration, hovering mid-flight.
"Damn it... if I try to cover a wider radius, my own soldiers will get caught in the blast."
Back in the hidden room, Dennis stood up.
He smoothed out the golden-sun robe, pulling it over his shoulders with a slow, deliberate grace.
"Seems like Sir Gilgamesh has finally realized he's fallen into a trap," Dennis remarked to the empty walls.
In the valley, Gilgamesh slashed through another opponent, his mind spinning.
'What if we actually lose?'
A moment later, a dark, arrogant smirk returned to his face.
Dennis, miles away, picked up his flat black mask.
He spoke slowly, savoring each word.
"So... 'What if they all die? I'll just use my powers to the full extent and escape.' That's what Gilgamesh would be thinking right now."
Dennis chuckled, a dry, hollow sound.
"Geez, he is so easy to read. These dragons and their misplaced pride."
He placed the mask over his face.
Instantly, his voice shifted, losing its humanity and taking on the distorted, commanding resonance of the King.
"Shall we begin, then?"
In the valley, Gilgamesh was becoming frantic.
Everywhere he looked, his people were entangled with the enemy.
He couldn't use his fire breath without burning his own men.
He couldn't even descend to fight on foot properly because his massive wingspan would strike his own soldiers in the cramped melee.
"No worries," Gilgamesh muttered to himself, preparing to unleash a different technique.
But before he could act, thousands of thin, jet-black threads erupted from the shadows beneath him.
They lashed out like vipers, wrapping around his limbs, his wings, and his neck, binding him tight.
Gilgamesh's eyes went wide.
"What the hell?!"
The ground beneath the shadow of the threads suddenly shattered, turning into a swirling vortex of darkness.
With a violent, irresistible force, the threads yanked downward, pulling the Supreme Commander toward the earth.
Gilgamesh's pupils contracted to pinpricks as he watched the figure in the golden robe glide toward him through the wreckage of the valley. The man moved with a terrifying, ghost-like fluidity.
"You're the leader?" Gilgamesh spat, his voice trembling with a cocktail of adrenaline and rising irritation.
The masked man didn't utter a word; he simply offered a slow, chilling nod.
Gilgamesh forced a jagged laugh, pulling himself upright. "Good. At least I can use my powers freely here without worrying about the collateral."
He threw his head back and roared. A sound like grinding continental plates echoed as the black tactical suit he wore shattered from the inside out. In its place, thick, obsidian-like scales erupted from his skin, knitting together into an impenetrable biological armor. His wings shed away, unnecessary for the ground-based slaughter he intended. He surged forward, a juggernaut of scale and muscle. The black threads that had previously bound him lashed out again, but the moment they struck his new hide, they slid off or snapped, unable to find purchase on the reinforced dragon-glass scales.
Underneath the flat black mask, Dennis' eyes ignited with a predatory neon-blue glow. He watched the Supreme Commander's charge, his mind a cold, calculating machine.
Five steps wouldn't do, he thought, his gaze tracking the micro-fluctuations in Gilgamesh's stride. He's too confident in those scales. I'll go for a ten-step instead.
Dennis flicked his wrists. Threads like piano wire whipped out, not to bind Gilgamesh, but to snag his shoulders and yank him forward, accelerating his own momentum. Using that borrowed speed, Dennis launched into the air, pivoting to deliver a thunderous double-kick into Gilgamesh's chest.
The impact sent Gilgamesh hurtling backward, his body smashing into a jagged rock wall with enough force to splinter the stone. Dust billowed. Gilgamesh stepped out of the crater, completely unbathered, a sadistic smirk playing on his lips.
"Is that all you've got? I expected more."
Dennis didn't answer. He blurred. He appeared in Gilgamesh's personal space, his fist a streak of motion aimed squarely at the Commander's face—the only section where the scales hadn't fully fused. Gilgamesh's hand shot up, catching the fist in a crushing grip.
"It's not that easy, right?" Gilgamesh sneered.
Suddenly, Dennis' left hand flicked downward. Threads snaked around Gilgamesh's ankles, and with a violent jerk, the Commander was hoisted into the air and hung upside down.
Dennis didn't waste the opening; he drove a brutal punch into Gilgamesh's gut. The scales held, the impact sounding like a hammer hitting an anvil. Dennis' knuckles split, blood spraying from the impact with the razor-sharp biological armor, but he didn't flinch.
He jumped back as the threads snapped, Gilgamesh flipping through the air to land back on his feet. The Commander laughed, a booming, arrogant sound.
"Is that all?"
Dennis lunged again, his fist cocked for another strike at Gilgamesh's face. Gilgamesh raised his hand, ready to catch the strike and crush Dennis' arm. But halfway through the motion, Gilgamesh's survival instincts screamed. A primal chill ran down his spine. He tried to jerk his head to the side, but the "fist" was a feint.
Dennis' fingers straightened into a needle-thin spear. He missed Gilgamesh's left eye by a fraction of an inch, but his fingers sank deep into the right socket.
A horrific, wet pop echoed in the silence.
"AGHHHH!"
Gilgamesh recoiled, clutching his face as blood welled between his fingers. In a blind, agonizing fury, he inhaled until his chest seemed ready to burst. He unleashed a devastating torrent of fire. A straight pillar of white-hot flame roared across the valley, incinerating several hundred meters of earth in a heartbeat.
'Did he get faster?' Gilgamesh thought, his mind reeling as he gasped for air, his vision a blur of red and black.
'How did he get this fast?'
Dennis closed in again, but Gilgamesh was done playing. He hardened his muscles to the breaking point, and in a violent expulsion of vana, his scales detached and flew outward in every direction like a thousand obsidian daggers.
"Die!"
Dennis reacted instantly, weaving his threads into a dense, vibrating wall that caught the scales mid-air. Gilgamesh clicked his tongue in annoyance and launched forward with his scaled sword. Dennis wrapped his threads around his forearms, hardening them into makeshift bucklers, and the two collided in a frantic, high-speed exchange.
Clang.
Shing.
Snap.
The sword moved in a blur, but the threads were always there, parrying, redirecting, and lashing back.
What is this insane skill? Gilgamesh's remaining eye widened. It's like he can read every attack before I even think of it. Nothing is working! But as long as my scales keep regenerating, he can't kill me.
Suddenly, Dennis' speed doubled. He became a shadow in the periphery of Gilgamesh's vision.
"I have to focus on the assault!" Gilgamesh hissed.
As their weapons collided again, Gilgamesh didn't pull back. He opened his mouth and released a point-blank breath of fire. Dennis leaped backward, using his threads to swing away from the trajectory. But Gilgamesh smirked.
He manipulated the vana, causing the fire to curve, circling around Dennis and trapping him in a roaring ring of death.
Gilgamesh stood in the center, panting. He looked around, but Dennis was gone.
"Leech! Show yourself!"
Suddenly, threads cinched tight around his neck. Dennis had emerged from the earth beneath him. Gilgamesh sliced through them instantly, but the distraction was enough.
Threads grabbed his legs and pulled him violently upward, dragging him through the dirt and onto the surface of the ridge.
Gilgamesh scrambled to his feet and froze.
His army was gone.
The Iron Halo forces had been annihilated, reduced to heaps of black armor and ash. Yet, many Apollo soldiers still stood, their blue-lit armor glowing through the smoke.
His grip tightened on his hilt until the metal groaned. Dennis stood before him, the flat black mask staring back, impassive.
"How..." Gilgamesh's voice was a ragged whisper, blood streaming from his ruined eye.
"How did you get those weapons? Who gave them to you?"
Dennis offered no answer. He launched forward, a silent executioner.
"Fine!" Gilgamesh screamed, his remaining eye bulging with tight, red veins. "It's good! Now I can finally go all out!"
He unleashed a breath so fierce it defied logic. A wall of fire erupted from him, sprawling out with enough intensity to scour a continent. It turned mountains to slag and trees to ash in seconds.
The few remaining Iron Halo survivors and the Apollo soldiers were caught in the blast; they didn't even have time to scream before they were vaporized into nothingness.
Gilgamesh slumped onto one knee, using his sword to prop himself up. His chest heaved.
"Their sacrifice... will be remembered," he wheezed.
He looked around the blackened wasteland.
That bastard must be dead. No one survives that.
Suddenly, a cold flash of steel.
Gilgamesh's right arm flew into the air, severed at the shoulder.
He stared at the stump, his mind failing to process the agony for a split second.
He targeted my blind spot... No... how did he pierce my regenerated armor?
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded his heart. He tried to release his remaining scales in a desperate burst, but he was too late. His movements were frantic, his defense wide open. His scales were still mid-growth when Dennis moved.
Dennis covered his hand in a concentrated spiral of threads, turning his limb into a drill of pure kinetic energy. He thrust.
His hand went straight through the center of Gilgamesh's chest, exiting through the back.
Gilgamesh looked down, his mouth hanging open, coughing up a thick spray of crimson. Dennis hastily pulled his hand back, the threads dissolving into the air. The obsidian scales on Gilgamesh's body vanished as his vana flickered out. He fell back onto his hips, his hands shaking as he tried to cover the gaping, cavernous hole in his chest. Blood poured over his fingers, hot and endless.
"How?" Gilgamesh whispered, looking up.
Dennis reached up and slowly peeled the mask away. His eyes were glowing a terrifying neon red. Gilgamesh's remaining eye shot through with blood as he recognized the face. He tried to scream, but only a gurgle of blood came out.
"De... nnis..." he mumbled. "How dare you..."
Dennis smirked, a dark, jagged glint in his eyes.
"Why don't you beg, Gilgamesh? Perhaps I'd take you to Sable Veil. Maybe they can stitch a monster back together."
Gilgamesh crawled forward, his fingers clawing at the dirt, and grabbed Dennis' leg.
"You... asshole... I would never—"
Dennis kicked him in the face with just enough strength to send him reeling back into the dirt. He walked closer, his boots heavy on the scorched earth.
"You don't know how bad I've wanted this day to come. Every second of every year."
"Yo-you traitor," Gilgamesh coughed, his vision beginning to fade.
"I didn't betray anyone," Dennis said, his voice dropping to a low, melodic hiss. "I just followed a mission. But that mission gave me the very purpose I've always wanted to achieve."
Dennis crouched down over the dying commander. He reached out and gently moved a stray lock of hair from Gilgamesh's eyes, his touch almost mocking.
"Fucking disgusting."
Gilgamesh managed a weak, blood-stained smirk.
"Does it... remind you... of when you let Rachael die?"
The world seemed to stop.
Dennis' eyes visiblely shot red from all the veins.
He didn't scream. He didn't speak. He delivered a kick directly into the gaping wound in Gilgamesh's chest.
"Gah!"
Dennis scrambled on top of him, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated insanity. He began to kick and stomp Gilgamesh with mechanical, rhythmic fury, targeting the hole in his chest over and over.
"How dare you mention her name!"
Kick..
"How does someone with the same blood as her get to be this disgusting?!"
Kick.
"I want you to die again!" Dennis roared, his voice finally breaking. "Again! Die again! If you're reborn—"
Kick.
"—I wish you live a life so painful that this feels like a mercy!"
Kick.
With each impact, Gilgamesh's broken body slammed against the stone. He had died after the first few strikes, his spirit fleeing the ruined vessel, but Dennis didn't stop.
Tears began to stream from Dennis' eyes, mixing with the blood splattered across his face. His rage-filled roar collapsed into a broken, sobbing mess, but his legs never stopped moving.
He looked down. Gilgamesh's torso was gone—turned into a horrific mesh of pulverized flesh, bone fragments, and ruptured organs. Dennis fell to his knees in the gore. He reached out and grabbed Gilgamesh's head, which had been kicked clean off the shoulders.
He used both hands, his threads flaring one last time, and crushed the skull. Brain matter and bone shards sprayed across his golden robes.
Dennis buried his face in his blood-slicked hands. Then, he pressed his face directly into the crimson slurry of what used to be Gilgamesh's chest, weeping in a raw, agonizing crescendo of pain and long-delayed vengeance.
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