Of course, although Rovi had deliberately wanted to irritate Gilgamesh for his own twisted amusement, what he had said wasn't a lie.
At first he truly hadn't known that the "beast" falling from the heavens had begun showing abnormal signs. It was only when he was returning from his envoy mission, passing through the eastern plains of Uruk, that he sensed something amiss.
And once he sensed it, Rovi naturally couldn't ignore it—
Where there is danger, there he would be.
The greater the danger, the more eagerly he would step forward. How could he possibly miss such a golden opportunity?
Whether he would manage to die this time or not—
He would never allow even the smallest chance to slip away. And so he went, straight toward where the Bull of Heaven awaited.
...
Eastern Uruk.
Near the banks of the Euphrates, one of the two mother rivers of the Mesopotamian plain.
Rovi's sandals crunched upon parched soil, crossing jagged stone. And before him stretched wasteland without end.
The ground was cracked, deep fissures sprawling like shattered pottery, drawing a picture of desolation so sharp it stung the eye.
He stopped briefly.
There was no denying—
As the strongest of divine beasts, the Bull of Heaven's impact upon the world was overwhelming.
It was the concept of a god itself.
A "divine beast" did not mean something benevolent or kind. Gods were embodiments of nature, phenomena given personhood through human belief.
So too were divine beasts.
The Bull of Heaven was the incarnation of calamity—drought, storm, and sand.
Its forming naturally brought such phenomena.
As Gilgamesh had said, for a divine beast to descend, like the gods, it needed a vessel.
Once, gods could directly gather ether from the atmosphere to fashion a body.
But now, as ether thinned, they could only "possess."
And stripped of their magnitude, divine beasts were essentially similar to gods—yet one rank lower.
Thus, the Bull of Heaven could still use ether to shape a body, carrying its essence down into the world.
And in doing so, the concepts it radiated manifested phenomena all around.
"All things live, all things die."
The elder at his side spoke softly, voice raspy, ancient. "Beneath the vastness of the stars and cosmos, life is always brief."
"You need not be troubled—"
Since that "assassination" he had never left Rovi's side—Ziusudra.
"You say where there is life there is death," Rovi answered, turning to look at him. "So then—will you die?"
"Why don't we fight and see?"
He couldn't openly say kill me,
So he could only phrase it this way.
"I do not kill those whose destiny has not yet come. And I do not kill those who have no destiny." Ziusudra's face was calm.
"What, afraid you'll lose? Don't worry, old man, I'll go easy on you!"
The simplest, most worn-out of provocations.
It rarely worked, but all this time, Rovi had kept trying—
Trying to "anger" Ziusudra into striking him down.
If the Grand Assassin acted in earnest, even Eresh wouldn't be able to shield him from death.
To duel such a figure, and die by his hand—that would be glory enough to echo through eternity.
But alas—this old man had lived far too long. He would not fall for it.
Insults, jibes, provocation—all were ignored.
"Hahaha, youth's vigor truly is a blessing! But I really am too old now, no match for the young," the old man admitted frankly. "Besides, I was never one for fighting at all."
Not fighting—only killing, is it… Rovi narrowed his eyes. This attempt's failure hardly surprised him.
"Fine, then teach me your assassination arts…"
So that he could teach them to someone else—
And let them kill him.
"You lack the talent." Again, Ziusudra refused.
Rovi sighed and gave up, turning his gaze forward once more.
In the end, he could only hope the Bull of Heaven lived up to its name…
Though truth be told, his mood was not good.
Along the road he had seen many bones—scattered remains of beasts and men alike, half-buried in the dry soil.
Natural calamities were always terrifying.
Barren earth, corpses piled high—this was nothing unusual.
Before seeing it, perhaps it was easy to shrug.
But once faced with it, no one could remain unmoved.
Because it was shocking.
Because, as a man, empathy made it cut deep.
This was why Ziusudra had told him not to dwell on it.
To one who had witnessed endless death, it was nothing to bear.
But Rovi felt he had reason to stop such calamities from spreading further—though this was precisely why he had stayed.
"There. Sound."
The old man's hoarse voice broke the silence, his steps halting. From beneath his black cloak, his aged face tilted up, eyes peering forward.
The sky blazed, the desert stretched endless.
The sun's glare was fierce, terrifying.
Rovi followed his gaze—
And saw them.
People.
A group of people, fleeing in panic.
Though far away, Rovi's sharp sight easily caught their emaciated, dehydrated forms. Faces sallow, cracked like the barren earth.
And behind them—roaring winds, surging air, the tremor of trampling disaster.
A spinning storm, pale and savage, tearing at everything. Devouring all moisture.
Where it passed, the land shriveled in an instant.
Life withered into dust.
"The Bull of Heaven?"
Rovi recognized it at once. That storm—it was the beast, not yet fully formed.
Only a cyclone's outline.
But like a mad beast, it chased the refugees, grinding them down.
Someone stumbled.
Someone screamed.
Their bodies shriveled before the eye.
The closer the storm drew,
The more their water was consumed.
"…Truly underestimating me, huh?" Rovi smirked, turning to Ziusudra.
"Old man, you want a piece of this?"
Ziusudra shook his head. "I have not heard the chime of that beast's destiny."
If destiny had not tolled, he would not raise his blade.
"Then at least don't interfere."
Satisfied, Rovi nodded. At least Ziusudra was a man of his word.
He exhaled, brushed his pale robe, and closed his eyes—only to open them again, black pupils burning with the shadow of the Key of Heaven.
Ziusudra stood still, watching.
Watching Rovi spread his arms wide, to meet the storm head-on—
To clash with the unformed divine beast.
This was for "death."
But in another sense, it was Rovi venting all the frustration pent up along his road.
Those with power always stood above.
Such was reality.
Such was the age.
But Rovi resented it—resented that gods decided the lives of mortals on whims of temper.
Resented that they saw life as dolls to be broken.
The gods who sent down this Bull of Heaven—did you think… only you wield such power!?
He raised his hand.
His robe whipped in the gale.
An invisible "gate" opened.
Light gathered into his palm.
Blazing brilliance, condensed.
"…Mere mongrel trash, and you dare trample this land?"
"Who..."
"Gave you the courage!?"
Merciless ridicule.
Rovi stepped forward.
The world boomed, thunderous.
The fleeing people turned, instinctively—
And they saw it.
A vision beyond anything in their lives.
Blazing radiance forming a colossal gate, blocking the frenzied storm. A lone figure floated before it, arms spread wide.
With nothing but flesh and blood, he stood like a towering wall—
And collided with the descending calamity.
---
T/N: MONGREL!