After a long silence, the expected terror never arrived. Shamhat, pale and with her soul-flame flickering, let out a long sigh of relief, the color slowly returning to her face.
"You almost got us killed just now, you idiot!"
The man, seeing Shamhat's genuine fear, immediately lowered his head in apology, his eyes filled with remorse.
"Sorry, teacher."
Her anger easing slightly, the sacred prostitute gave a heavy, earnest warning.
"Good thing we were still in the Underworld. This place is self-contained—it blocks the will and authority of the gods. If we'd been anywhere else, we'd be in serious trouble!"
"We'll be returning to the surface soon. If you want to live long, you'd better take my advice to heart."
"Never call out the true names of gods so carelessly!"
"Especially when there's hostility involved or secrets at stake!"
"That kind of thing resonates easily. If those lofty beings up there notice a freak like you, they'll have you stewed before you know it!"
The man nodded seriously. True names did hold immense power, especially in the Age of Gods.
What he'd done earlier had indeed been reckless. He needed to remember this and tread carefully from now on.
Once, Ereshkigal had been forced to become the pillar of the Underworld—but in exchange, she'd been granted tremendous authority. Even Ishtar, her heavenly counterpart of equal rank, was sealed without resistance when she barged in, and ended up battered and broken for it.
Thanks to the protection of his master and the fact that, as a serpent, he rarely spoke, he'd managed to break the rules a few times without catching the attention of those lurking in the unseen.
But now, the surface world was in utter chaos. Unlike the self-contained Underworld, it lacked secrecy.
This era marked the slow severing of ties between gods and humans, though the connection hadn't been completely cut off yet.
How much the gods still paid attention to the current state of Mesopotamia—no one could say for sure.
Unfortunately, from what he knew, most gods were absurdly petty.
And going forward, Ereshkigal wouldn't be able to use her authority in the Underworld to protect him anymore.
Still, on reflection, he had done one thing right—by changing his name, he'd hidden his true past!
Samael, the name he'd deliberately taken on, was a lie—but one that served to protect his secrets and cloak his movements.
If they wanted to act against this name, as long as they couldn't link it to the snake who shed its skin, they'd have nothing to go on.
Just to be safe, from the moment he walked out of the cave, Ian was no more. All he needed to remember was the name he'd go by from now on.
The ancient snake whispered in his heart, burying every trace of the past deep within.
(From here on, now that the ancient snake has taken human form, he'll go by the name Samael. It's easier to follow, and anyway, the name Ian was only ever bait for Tiamat—it has no purpose anymore.)
Though the thoughts seemed complex, they took only a brief moment. By the time Samael looked up, Shamhat had also calmed down and slowly began to speak.
"The first Tablet of Destinies appeared during the great creation war that shaped Mesopotamia..."
"At the time, it was worn by Kingu, the son of Tiamat, as a symbol of authority and the proof of his dominion over the world."
"But you already know how that war ended. The Tablet of Destinies was taken as spoils by the King of Kings."
"From that point on, during the Age of Gods, the transfer of divine authority—from the Mother of Genesis to the King of Kings—was set in motion."
As he rushed along, Samael listened closely to Shamhat's explanation, gradually piecing together the fragmented history of the Mesopotamian divine era.
According to the mythic epic Enuma Elish, after the Babylonian gods committed the patricide of Apsu, they enraged the Mother Goddess Tiamat.
In response, the Goddess of Beginning created the Eleven Offspring to wage war against the Babylonian gods.
Knowing the overwhelming power of Tiamat, the Babylonian gods joined forces to seek a divine ally who could turn the tide of battle.
It was then that Marduk, son of the earth god Enki, answered their call. In exchange for his help, he was promised the position of chief among gods—the King of Kings.
Because of Tiamat's compassion and mercy, and the fact that the rebellious gods had identified her weaknesses and come well-prepared, the Mother of Genesis was eventually defeated and stripped of her divinity.
Afterward, Marduk, growing stronger through each battle, confronted Kingu—who continued to lead the Eleven Offspring in rebellion—and thoroughly subdued him.
Ultimately, the new generation's Marduk achieved a total victory. He forcibly took the Tablet of Destinies from Kingu's chest, stamped it with his own seal, and wore it himself.
In mythological terms, this signified the transition from matriarchy to patriarchy.
After the war, Kingu's remains were reshaped into humanity, destined to bear burdens in his place.
Under Marduk's rule, the Babylonian gods lived in leisure and ease, while humans were born into suffering, tasked with pleasing the gods above.
Gradually, the structure of Babylonian mythology became clearer in Samael's mind, and he began to grasp the significance of the Tablet of Destinies.
The Divine Authority Seal—the Fate of All Things!
Shamhat's description of it was remarkably accurate.
The original Tablet of Destinies legitimized the gods' seizure of power, serving as proof of their divine right to stand above all and monopolize all resources.
Marduk, the King of Kings, was both the tablet's new master and its greatest beneficiary.
As the world took shape, this tablet functioned like a supercomputer managing the Mesopotamian world server, recording the fate of all things.
Predictions and classifications of the four human civilization eras—Gold, Silver, Bronze, and Iron—were all encoded into the programs written on the Tablet of Destinies.
Thus, the gods had long been fully aware of the triple storm that would sweep through Mesopotamia. They even adopted a laissez-faire attitude, all to ensure the system's uninterrupted operation.
Because only by allowing destiny to unfold could these vested powers remain intact.
As for the fate of those two-legged beasts on the surface—well, if one group died, another would take their place.
Why would the gods ever care about the thoughts of ants?
Additionally, Samael's review of Mesopotamian history further confirmed this idea.
The so-called Sumerian civilization was actually a loose collective of independent city-states.
Because of their polytheistic faith, nearly every city had its own guardian deity.
For example, Kutha belonged to Ereshkigal, while Uruk's city god was Ishtar.
Babylon, now a ruined capital laid waste by the Magical Beast tide, had been under the protection of Marduk, the King of Kings.
During the early stages of the catastrophe, Uruk remained untouched by any major assault. There, shrine maidens conducted rituals to commune with the gods and summon divine spirits.
So then—how could Babylon, completely surrounded by Magical Beasts, not have prayed to their patron deity?
And yet ironically, even as Babylon fell and became a den of monsters, their city god never stirred.
Widening the scope, city-states like Nasha and Eridu surely couldn't have kept such a disaster from the gods.
But no matter how desperately people prayed, pleaded, or wept, none of the gods they had once worshipped ever responded.
The only one that did appear was Ishtar—summoned in Uruk, a city still safely out of harm's way.
That silence... raises some very unsettling questions.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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