In the evening, the clamor faded, and Samael bid farewell to the familiar ghosts of the underworld before setting off toward the Temple of Fire.
But when his eyes happened to fall upon a figure standing in the depths of the valley, the ancient serpent paused, turned, and stepped forward to greet him.
"Old man, you're here too?"
Ziusudra turned his head, nodding slightly. His gaze on Samael carried an unreadable weight.
"Yes. I came here specifically to wait for you..."
"Wait for me?"
Samael was puzzled, even a little flattered.
This long-lived survivor of humanity's Golden Age—who had endured the great flood of West Asia—was a treasure of wisdom in his own right. The three Noah's Arks that saved tens of thousands of Sumerians had been built under Ziusudra's command. The plan to sever the shackles of destiny had also succeeded thanks to his repeated assistance.
For reasons he could not explain, Samael often felt as though Ziusudra would grant him anything he asked, showing him a favor that was difficult to put into words.
"That's right. My mission has reached its end. The Spirit Origin that sustains me will now give you its final farewell."
Ziusudra walked forward slowly, his tone solemn and low.
Spirit Origin? So this old man really did merge with him...?
Samael narrowed his eyes, testing the name of the last hidden Heroic Spirit—the one unknown even to Merlin and Leonidas.
"The Old Man of the Mountain—Hassan-i-Sabbah?"
The word "Assassin," or "Asashin," was derived from the Assassin sect of the Middle East. The "Old Man of the Mountain," Hassan-i-Sabbah, was its very founder. One could say Hassan himself was the embodiment of the Assassin class, qualified even to bear the title of Grand Assassin.
Judging from his display at the Temple of Ea, he had used "Presence Concealment" to evade even Marduk's perception, striking with flawless timing. That alone was proof enough—he was the finest assassin, the unparalleled blade who had helped Samael achieve the feat of cutting through the shackles of destiny.
Now, as the True Name slipped from the serpent's mouth, a black, deathly aura like smoke and mist coiled around Ziusudra, igniting into a pale blue flame. From the haze stepped forth a figure clad in black armor and cloak, face hidden behind a twin-horned skull mask, leaning upon his sword.
"As you see—racing forth from the abyss of the valley, from the shadowed death itself—I am the Old Man of the Mountain!"
Samael's pupils shrank at the sight of the ominous figure. There was no doubt—Ziusudra truly bore the possession of the Grand Assassin.
But recalling the intertwined fates of those familiar figures, questions clouded the serpent's mind. At the dawn of the Third Storm, Gilgamesh had gathered the priestesses to perform a massive Spiritual Descent ritual. The summoned allies had all been tied intimately to the coming disaster.
Merlin, a Grand-class magus, shared with Gilgamesh the "Clairvoyance" that could pierce the fabric of the world. Ana was the goddess larva of Gorgon, deeply tied to the fallen Goddess of Demonic Beasts. Leonidas, a descendant of Zeus and heir of Heracles, stood as a natural counter to the Gorgon sisters, blood of Typhon, and was linked by bloodline to the persecution and exile of the beast goddess at the hands of the God King Zeus.
But then, what foundation had allowed this Old Man of the Mountain to descend into Mesopotamia?
Suddenly, Samael seemed to realize something. He slowly lowered his head, looking at himself with a startled expression.
The Old Man bowed slightly, his tone low and resonant.
"I need no title of Grand. The only proof I seek lies in the single stroke that severs destiny's chains. Everything shall be as you will it..."
As his voice faded, the spectral swordsman anchored to Ziusudra dissolved into drifting points of pale-blue light, leaving behind only words echoing in Samael's ears.
"Remember—destruction births creation. Without death, there can be no life."
"One thought may lead to heaven, another to hell."
...
As dusk fell, the brilliance of the Temple of Fire dimmed, and the underworld sank once more into silence and darkness.
Leaning against a courtyard pillar, Samael mulled over the words he had received earlier that day, his eyes reflecting deep thought.
"Eeya~..."
After a moment, the stone door creaked open under a slender hand.
Ereshkigal, wrapped in a bath towel, stepped gracefully out of the bath. She reached out and lightly touched the serpent's furrowed brow with her fingertips, her voice carrying concern.
"What are you thinking about?"
Samael smiled faintly, the furrow in his brow easing.
"I just think it's really necessary to further refine Purgatory, Hell, and Paradise Lost.
Isn't Gilgamesh idle? The judgments of the Seven Gates of the Underworld are too one-dimensional. We might as well make him the chief judge.
And Shamhat, Enkidu, Siduri—they could all help manage the Underworld. That way, things would be easier for you.
As for Paradise Lost, we can just let Ishtar handle that however she likes."
Ereshkigal listened attentively, nodding again and again, though in the end she still sounded a little uncertain.
"Why are you suddenly thinking about all this? Are you really alright?"
Samael lifted his hand and rubbed his chin, his expression carrying a deeper meaning.
"For now, everything's fine. But later... who can say?
Marduk is still alive, and with the Mother Goddess in self-imposed exile, it's only a matter of time before someone with ill intent tries to exploit that.
That's why we need at least some ability to defend ourselves—and a path of retreat, just in case."
Ereshkigal nodded without hesitation, choosing to fully support him.
With the promise of the goddess of the underworld, the ancient serpent's restless heart finally steadied. His wandering gaze drifted, then stopped on the large bed behind them.
"It's late. Let's get some sleep."
"Mm..."
"Wait a moment, I'll transform first."
Samael noticed his master's shy expression and the blush warming her pretty face. With a knowing look, he decisively prepared to turn into a beast.
But before he could act, Ereshkigal's soft hands clutched his tightly.
Then came a whisper, faint as a mosquito's hum, brushing his ear.
"Tonight... tonight you don't need to transform..."
"Yes, we haven't had a proper talk in a long time."
At her words, the ancient serpent's expression shifted. He turned to her, his gaze calm and serene.
"Yes, that's right. Talking... a good talk."
Relieved, Ereshkigal nodded, the tension leaving her. Her pretty face softened, and a gentle smile bloomed.
As night settled in, the two figures leaned against each other, their closeness deepening.
In the darkness, silence lingered until Ereshkigal, her beauty almost too much to bear, broke it first.
"Samael..."
"Yes, I'm listening..."
"Your hand..."
"Oh, that. Sorry. We used to be so close, I touch you without thinking. Just an old habit."
Without changing expression, Samael withdrew the claw that had been sliding along her thigh.
But the goddess turned her head, biting her lip, her eyes lowering—resting quietly on the chest that had grown broader.
"I mean the other one..."