Zooming in, Anu's face darkened to a bruised blue, veins bulging at his temples as if ready to burst.
Crack! In his fury, he crushed the lever beside his throne. He rose to his full, towering height, and a terrifying aura exploded outward, rattling the entire celestial hall. The pillars trembled and moaned, as if ready to collapse.
"How dare—" whispered some gods.
He'd killed his own Bull of Heaven. A mere human had slain Gugalanna and even cooked it! What an unpardonable crime.
"W-what's happening?"
"Anu is angry?"
"Who dared offend the Chief God?"
The lesser deities stared, stunned, as that dread aura warped the very air. Some smaller gods froze like frogs caught in a snake's glare, paralyzed by terror.
Who had provoked their pantheon's lord? None had seen such wrath in ages.
Meanwhile, in another temple wing, the sudden shockwave of divine rage sparked panic deep inside. The goddess Ishtar, flushed with fear, burst from her chamber. She had no idea why Anu raged so, only that she must end her own debauched revelries at once.
But when she arrived at the throne room, Anu was gone—slipped to the mortal realm.
"It's been years since Anu last walked the earth—why now?"
"Which foolish human dared enrage him?"
"How could any mortal inflame the Chief God?"
The gods chattered among themselves, then plunged toward the world below.
Above Uruk, Anu hovered in the sky, eyes as cold as starlight. Beneath him, countless mortals cowered, breath caught in their throats, knees buckling as they prepared to kneel.
"None shall kneel without my command!" A single, measured voice—soft yet undeniable—echoed through the city. Limbs locked mid-bend.
That calm command, as if resisting divinity itself, coursed courage into the Urukites' hearts. Fear melted away, replaced by fierce resolve. One by one, they dared to meet the sky god's gaze.
Anu felt both admiration and fury in their defiance. His lightning-filled eyes turned to the mortal seated upon a ruined throne—Gilgamesh, unflinching as he gnawed on a chunk of meat. Such arrogance!
"Do you not know what it means to face a god?" Anu thundered.
"I don't," Gilgamesh snapped back. He rose, stretching his neck, the faint curl of a cruel smile on his lips. His ruby-red eyes shone brighter than the stars overhead, dulling their light.
"Can you come down here? My neck's tired of looking up."
Silence snapped like a sheet of ice.
A soft gulp—so loud it seemed to crack the stillness—came from Grea, Brünhilde's youngest sister. She glimpsed Anu's eyes flick toward her, and a chill raced down her spine as if the hand of death had brushed her back. Anu had sensed them outside time itself, suspecting some trickery that emboldened their king.
Anu laughed—a tremor that shook the heavens and drenched Grea in cold sweat. She clutched Brünhilde's robes, trembling. Even her sister showed beads of nervous sweat.
"Is your arrogance born of ignorance," Anu hissed, "or do you simply stare me down no matter who I am?"
Had killing the Bull of Heaven swelled his pride so? Did he think gods no greater than beasts? If so, it was the height of folly—Gugalanna and Anu were worlds apart.
Brünhilde, too, refused to believe Gilgamesh was that ignorant. He must have a plan. But what weapon could fell the sky god?
Gilgamesh watched Anu linger aloft, knowing he'd never stoop. With a swift motion, the king flung a silvery chain skyward—each end fitted with a differently shaped anchor.
It seemed a pathetic attempt to bind a god. Anu merely looked on with scorn, sure the chain would shatter instantly.
But it did not. Drawn inexplicably by divine force, the chain wrapped around Anu, tightening like a strangler's noose. Both Brünhilde and Anu shared a flash of shock.
Then, as if robbed of his power, Anu plummeted in a free fall—landing with a thunderous crunch upon the sacrificial altar only meters from Gilgamesh. Pain seared through him, and for the first time he gasped in agony.
No god could truly die from such a fall—his divine aura should have shielded him. Yet now, Anu could only writhe in mortal pain.
"Can this chain truly bind a god?" Brünhilde whispered, awestruck. A divine artifact indeed.
Atop the altar, Gilgamesh drew a long spear stained dark crimson. Anu fought the chains, but each tug only cinched them tighter.
Anu sensed death's approach. The king advanced, smile twisting into something cruel and beautiful, the red spear raised.
"Tell me—can this spear pierce your heart?" Gilgamesh asked.
His words trailed off as he drove the spear down with all his might. The point tore through Anu's chest, lodging in the stone beneath. Blood gushed from the wound. Anu tried to speak but only spasms rattled his body—then he lay still.
"Ugh—!" Grea stifled a scream, staring wide-eyed at the scene. Could it really be so easy? A chief god, slain in a single stroke?
Was this but an illusion to toy with Gilgamesh? Yet Anu's divine form had not vanished. His blood pooled atop the altar, his body cooling with true death.
"Did he…really kill him?" Brünhilde murmured, voice hazy as a waking dream. She had expected an epic clash of god and mortal, yet the king had swept the god aside in an overwhelming instant. It was as if Gilgamesh were the deity and Anu the mere human.
That spear was no common weapon—how had a human-crafted tool pierced, then ended, a god's soul? Yet end it he had. Brünhilde, Valkyrie of fate, felt it: Anu's spirit was extinguished. The altar was the god's tomb, stained red by divine blood.
Brünhilde trembled—awed and terrified by Gilgamesh's might. He was exactly the champion she had sought.
"Hahaha… we hit the jackpot, Grea! With Gilgamesh in play, humanity holds the first victory!" she laughed, manic with excitement.
"B-Brünhilde…" Grea's voice wavered, unsettled by her sister's frenzy.