Chapter 18 — A Rain of Divine Weapons
"Human," the dream demon Incubus growled, his tongue sliding from his mouth like a serpent's whip, "that gaze of yours irritates me. Get on your knees and lick my boots clean, and I might spare your eyes."
A vile aura rolled from his body in waves. It wasn't just evil—it was laced with a toxic, mind-shattering miasma. The pressure crawled under the skin of the proud human before him, triggering a sensation akin to thousands of ants clawing through his veins. Every breath was agony.
But the man didn't flinch. Instead, he raised one hand—and snapped his fingers.
The surrounding space shimmered, not with force, but with elegance. The air rippled like calm water touched by a golden drop. From the golden ripples emerged two short swords.
Brünnhilde gasped, both nervous and exhilarated. Gilgamesh was finally revealing the secret of his divine execution—the very force that had slain the sky god Anu.
With a scoff and a condescending smile, Gilgamesh flicked his wrist. The blades vanished—but not disappeared. They had launched, tearing through the air at such velocity that golden trails remained in their wake, aimed straight for Incubus.
"What? What happened to my sight?!" Incubus cried out in panic. Then his face contorted.
"AAAH! My eyes! My eyes! It hurts—it hurts so much!"
He clutched at his face, hands trembling. But before he could reach his sockets, his fingers brushed the sword hilts—embedded deep in his eyes.
"You damn human, I'll—!"
His threat was cut short by a terrifying cacophony—the sound of sharp steel puncturing flesh. Brünnhilde's eyes widened at the spectacle: Incubus's body now resembled a pincushion of divine weapons—swords, spears, lances, glaives—pierced through his limbs, torso, and head.
Blood gushed like a ruptured dam.
Among the arsenal, one blood-red spear stood out—it hummed with divine power, identical to the one used to pierce the sky god. A god-slaying artifact.
Gilgamesh hadn't just attacked—he had unleashed a barrage of artifacts.
The room fell silent. Only the sound of blood dripping to the floor remained.
Gilgamesh didn't even glance at the twitching corpse. To him, Incubus was nothing—beneath notice.
Gray, who'd been frozen in place, clapped a trembling hand over her mouth to muffle her scream. Her entire body quaked.
That man was terrifying—like a ruthless tyrant who killed without emotion.
Brünnhilde herself had paled, chilled by the ruthless efficiency.
Gray forced herself forward, stepping protectively in front of her sister.
"P-please don't hurt Brünnhilde. Incubus came here on his own—she didn't summon him!"
Her voice was barely more than a whimper. Her legs trembled wildly.
Gilgamesh observed her calmly, with a glint of mischief.
"You've wet yourself."
"W-what?!"
She looked down, panicked—but no, she was dry. She looked up again and saw him smirking.
That teasing smile made her face flush bright red.
"So… the Ragnarök battle, is it? Fine. I understand now."
"W-wait! King of Uruk!"
Brünnhilde reached out. His body shimmered with light particles—becoming translucent. He was fading—leaving.
Her hand grasped only air. The chair where Gilgamesh had sat was now empty. His amused chuckle lingered in the silence.
Had he returned to history? Left the room entirely?
She checked the summoning system—his summonable status remained.
So, was he refusing to fight for humanity?
Brünnhilde let out a bitter smile. She wasn't surprised.
But she wouldn't give up. When the war began, she would summon him again. No way Gilgamesh would ignore a true battle.
After all, his silence didn't mean refusal—just royal pride. He wouldn't act simply because someone asked.
In modern terms… he was totally tsundere.
She exhaled and turned to a far messier task—the body.
Chapter 19 — Shadows of the Supreme Pillars
The golden ripples faded, and the weapons began to sink back into them—like treasures being reclaimed by a divine vault.
Gray gasped. "Brünnhilde! Look!"
The battlefield cleared, revealing only Incubus's mutilated body.
One by one, the divine weapons vanished. When Brünnhilde reached out to touch one, her hand passed through the ripples. Illusions—or beyond mortal grasp?
In a flash, all was gone.
"Ugh…"
Gray watched, stunned, as Brünnhilde stuffed the corpse into a trash bag—like discarding garbage.
"I'm going to throw this out," she said plainly.
Gray twitched. Her sister's approach was… intense.
Sometimes forcefulness was useful. Other times, it was dangerous.
With a sigh, Gray hurried after her to keep watch.
They exited into a long corridor—a stretch so endless it felt unreal. Gray kept her eyes alert for other gods.
Nothing yet.
A spiral hallway appeared ahead.
Suddenly—terror.
A monstrous aura swept the space.
"Who—who's there!?"
She spun around and collided with Brünnhilde's soft chest.
She'd caught up that fast?
Before Gray could speak, a shadow entered her peripheral vision—and her body froze.
A man. Red hair. Golden eyes. Clad in white.
Just a glance, and she felt her life drain from her soul.
In his hand was a colossal, intricately forged hammer—Mjölnir.
This wasn't just anyone.
This was Thor, god of thunder. The strongest god of Norse legend.
His appearance stopped Gray cold.
"Lord Thor," Brünnhilde muttered, her posture transforming from high-born pride to respectful humility.
Gray wanted to bow, but her limbs wouldn't move. Her sweat poured uncontrollably.
Would he mistake her paralysis for defiance? Would he smash her into a pancake?
No… no…!
Thor walked past—seemingly ignoring them.
Relief flooded Gray's body.
Until he stopped.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"Brünnhilde. What are you doing?"
The cold edge in his voice made her tremble.
He had seen the bag. Of course he had. It leaked blood. The head had burst through.
Brünnhilde hadn't even bothered lifting it—just dragged it, leaving a crimson trail.
"I'm disposing of a corpse," she said casually.
Gray nearly fainted.
Couldn't she word that better?
"You killed him?"
Thor's voice was neutral, but the air itself trembled.
"I wanted to," Brünnhilde replied, "but I know the Valhalla Constitution. I wouldn't break it lightly."
She noticed Thor's expression begin to shift—his patience thinning.
"The one who killed Incubus was a human."
Thor's eyes flickered.
"A human? One of yours?"
"Yes. He struck so swiftly, Incubus never had a chance to resist."
Silence.
Charged silence.
Electricity danced around Thor's body. His power twisted the air.
Then—it dissipated. He had suppressed his fury.
"Very well," Thor said. "I don't know what game you're playing, but your chosen human had better satisfy me. Or I'll crush you."
With one swing, Thor launched the bloodied bag down the hallway.
"Don't make me wait."
And then, he walked away without another word.