The King’s Path

Edward felt like his entire body was being stretched thin, torn apart by the very fabric of reality as he was hurled into an infinite space. His surroundings glowed with the soft light of stars, swirling in a kaleidoscope of colors. It wasn't chaotic or harsh—it was strangely serene, like floating through a sea of memories.

Yet, Edward could feel the overwhelming weight of the place. It wasn't just space; it was knowledge. Knowledge so vast and incomprehensible that it threatened to crush him.

His feet touched an invisible surface, steadying him, though the stars continued to swirl around him like a living constellation. Then, the voice returned.

"You seek the truth, child. So be it. Witness the rise of kings and the fall of gods."

Edward had no time to question or protest as the stars around him began to coalesce into images—visions of a distant past.

Edward stood at the edge of a vast city, its golden ziggurats towering over sprawling streets bustling with life. The vision was so vivid he could almost smell the incense burning in the air and hear the faint hum of prayers whispered by its people.

"This is… Uruk," Edward murmured, recognizing the descriptions from ancient texts.

A powerful presence drew his attention to the city's center, where a grand temple stood. Within, a council of Sumerian gods sat on thrones carved from celestial stone. They were magnificent and imposing, their forms radiating an otherworldly light.

The gods conversed in voices that reverberated through the air, discussing humanity's future. Edward strained to hear their words, and as he focused, their intentions became clear.

"They designed him, and blessed him ," Edward whispered as the scene shifted to show a golden-haired man standing before the gods, clad in resplendent armor.

Gilgamesh.

He wasn't yet the king Edward recognized from his dreams. His expression was gentle, his eyes filled with a sense of purpose.

"He was their tool," Hastur's voice echoed in Edward's mind, cold and sharp. "Crafted to guide humanity, to shepherd them along a path chosen by divine will. A puppet bound by the strings of their greed."

Edward watched as the gods granted Gilgamesh power—strength beyond any human, wisdom far beyond his years, and authority over all men. The people of Uruk adored him, and under his rule, the city flourished.

Yet, even in this prosperity, there was a sense of unease.

The scene shifted again. Edward now stood in a shadowed hall, where several gods gathered in secret. Their forms, once radiant, now flickered with a sinister hue.

"These are the ones who struck a deal with me and my brethren ," Hastur's voice echoed .

Edward listened as the gods whispered of their plans to use the Outer Ones, beings of incomprehensible power, to destroy their enemies. The Sumerian pantheon had faced opposition from other gods—deities of the Slavic, Zoroastrian, and other ancient pantheons.

"The Outer Ones care not for our conflicts," one god hissed. "We will promise them what they desire—freedom to feast on the remnants. In return, they will ensure our dominion over the earth."

Edward's blood ran cold. He watched as the deal was struck, as gates were opened and the avatars of Outer Ones—eldritch beings of madness and destruction—descended upon the world.

The earth burned, civilizations were erased, and countless gods perished in the chaos.

The vision shifted again, this time focusing on Gilgamesh.

Edward saw him standing on a hill overlooking the ruins of a once-thriving city, his golden armor stained with ash and blood. His expression was one of despair, his shoulders heavy with the weight of loss.

"He thought he was doing the will of the gods," Hastur said. "He believed he was chosen to protect humanity. But the truth came crashing down on him, and it shattered him."

Edward watched as Gilgamesh confronted the gods, demanding answers.

"Why?" Gilgamesh shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "Why would you allow this destruction? Why would you abandon your people?"

The gods regarded him coldly.

"You are our servants," one of them said. "You exist to serve our will. Nothing more."

Edward's fists clenched as he felt Gilgamesh's fury. The gods' dismissive words, their callousness toward humanity's suffering, were too much to bear.

In the next vision, Gilgamesh stood in the ruins of Uruk, his once-gentle expression twisted into one of bitterness and determination. He vowed to uncover the truth—about the gods, about humanity's place in the cosmos, about everything.

Edward watched as Gilgamesh embarked on a journey that took him to the farthest reaches of the known world. He sought out ancient knowledge, traversed forbidden lands, and faced trials that would have broken lesser men.

Eventually, his path led him to the Outer Ones.

Edward's surroundings shifted once more, and he now stood in a vast void filled with shifting stars and incomprehensible shapes. In the center of it all stood Hastur, draped in his yellow robes.

"Gilgamesh sought me out," Hastur said. "He wished to know the truth, even if it destroyed him."

Edward watched as Gilgamesh confronted Hastur, demanding answers.

"You wish to know what the gods truly are?" Hastur asked, his voice echoing through the void. "Very well. I will show you."

What followed was a vision so horrifying that even Gilgamesh, the mighty king, fell to his knees. Edward saw it too—the gods weren't divine beings. They were aliens, a race of conquerors who had been banished from their own planets for their greed, cruelty, and corruption.

"They came to earth as refugees," Hastur explained, his voice cold. "And when they saw humanity, they saw an opportunity. They remade themselves in your image, shaping your myths and beliefs to suit their purposes. They turned you into tools, pawns in their endless games of power."

Edward felt his stomach churn as the visions continued. He saw the gods manipulating history, shaping humanity's progress to suit their whims. He saw them discarding civilizations when they were no longer useful, letting them crumble into dust.

And he saw Gilgamesh rise from the ground, his red eyes burning with newfound purpose.

Gilgamesh stood before Hastur, his voice steady but filled with resolve.

"I will not be their pawn," he said. "I will not let them use humanity as their plaything."

Hastur regarded him with something that might have been respect. "And what will you do, king of men? Will you defy the gods themselves?"

"I will do whatever it takes ," Gilgamesh declared . "If humanity is to be free, then I will carve a path forward with my own hands."

The vision faded, and Edward found himself back in the void of stars for a brief moment.

Edward blinked as the visions shifted once more. The void of stars was replaced by the golden splendor of Uruk, but it was no longer the peaceful city he had first seen. The grand ziggurats were marred by signs of conflict—scorch marks, shattered stones, and hastily erected barricades. The air was heavy with despair and determination, as if the entire city braced for its last stand.

In the heart of it all stood Gilgamesh, no longer the kind and gentle ruler Edward had seen earlier. His golden armor now shone with the luster of defiance, and his eyes burned with an intense, crimson resolve. He stood on a raised platform, addressing his people as they gathered below.

"My people!" Gilgamesh's voice boomed, commanding the attention of every man, woman, and child in Uruk.

"The gods have deceived us," he declared. "They claimed to be our protectors, our saviors, but they are nothing more than parasites. They came to this world not to guide us, but to use us—to make us tools in their schemes, pawns in their wars."

The crowd murmured in confusion, their faces a mix of fear, anger, and disbelief.

"They stole our ancestors' freedom," Gilgamesh continued. "They erased the truths of this world and replaced them with lies. But no more! We will not bow to them. We will rise! We will carve a future free from their chains, a future of humanity's own making!"

Edward could feel the weight of Gilgamesh's words, the fire in his speech igniting something within the hearts of the people. Though some wept in despair, others raised their fists and cried out in agreement, their voices swelling into a chorus of rebellion.

"We will fight!" one man shouted.

"For Uruk!" another cried.

"For freedom!"

Gilgamesh raised his arm, his golden gauntlet glinting in the sunlight. "Then let us raise our banners high! Let the gods see that we are no longer their slaves—we are humans who will surpass them !"

Edward barely had time to process the scene before the skies above Uruk darkened. Thunder rumbled ominously, and the clouds churned with divine fury.

The gods had responded in kind .From the storm descended two monstrous beings.

The first was Gugalanna, the Bull of Heaven—a colossal creature with horns that glowed like molten metal and hooves that cracked the earth with every step. It bellowed, and the sound alone shattered windows and sent waves of terror through the people of Uruk.

The second was Humbaba, the Forest Guardian. Its body was a grotesque amalgamation of roots, bark, and flesh, with eyes that glowed like emerald flames. The air around it warped, thick with the scent of decay.

"They have sent their beasts to punish us," Gilgamesh growled, his lips curling into a smirk. "Let them try."

He descended the platform, drawing a massive, golden blade from one of his countless portals. The crowd parted as their king strode toward the monstrous invaders, his presence alone filling them with courage.

Edward watched in awe as Gilgamesh faced the two divine beasts. The ground trembled beneath Gugalanna's charge, but the king met it head-on, his blade flashing like a bolt of lightning. The clash of metal against divine hide sent shockwaves through the city, but Gilgamesh didn't falter.

With a deft strike, he severed one of the bull's horns, causing it to roar in pain. He dodged its thrashing hooves, moving with the precision of a warrior who had fought countless battles.

Humbaba attacked next, its twisted limbs lashing out like whips. Gilgamesh leaped onto its back, driving his blade into its core and unleashing a torrent of golden energy. The beast howled as its body began to crumble, its divine essence scattering into the air.

Within a day , both monsters lay defeated, their massive forms reduced to lifeless husks.

But the gods were not finished.

As Gilgamesh returned to his people, triumphant but weary, another figure descended from the heavens.

It was Enkidu, the Chains of Heaven.

Edward's eyes widened as he recognized the figure. Enkidu was a being like no other—neither man nor god, but a weapon crafted by the gods themselves. His body was made of divine clay, and his movements were graceful yet unnatural, like a puppet guided by unseen strings.

"He was their answer to Gilgamesh," Hastur's voice explained, echoing in Edward's mind. "The gods created him to be their ultimate weapon, a chain that could bind even the mightiest of foes."

Enkidu raised a hand, and golden chains erupted from the ground, wrapping around Gilgamesh. The king struggled, but the chains tightened, draining his strength and rendering him powerless.

For days, the two fought—a clash of ideals as much as weapons. Gilgamesh, the defiant king, and Enkidu, the perfect servant of the gods.

But even chains could not bind the truth.

Through their battles, Gilgamesh's words began to reach Enkidu. He spoke of the gods' lies, of humanity's suffering, and of the need for freedom.

"You are no different from me," Gilgamesh said during their final clash. "You are a tool, created to serve their whims. But you have a choice, Enkidu. Stand with me. Fight for a future where we are no longer slaves!"

Enkidu hesitated, the golden chains trembling in his hands. For the first time, doubt flickered in his eyes as he saw the destruction and death .

In that moment, he cast aside his loyalty to the gods.

Together, Gilgamesh and Enkidu waged war against the gods. The chains that had once bound Gilgamesh now became his greatest weapon, wielded by Enkidu to bring down their divine oppressors.

Edward watched as the two fought side by side, slaying countless gods and reducing their temples to rubble. Each fallen deity left behind a glowing essence—a fragment of divine power.

The vision shifted again, this time to a massive forge at the heart of Uruk. The room was illuminated by the glow of molten metal and the flicker of dying starlight.

At the center of the forge stood a man, his muscular frame glistening with sweat as he worked tirelessly. His features were sharp and striking, but his eyes held a bitterness that spoke of years of rejection and pain.

"That's…" Edward began, his voice trailing off.

"Ahnavat," Hastur confirmed. "The bastard son of a god and a mortal nymph. Neither heaven nor earth accepted him, so he forged his own place in the world, quite literally. You are fortunate to hold his will , child."

Edward watched as Ahnavat worked, his hammer striking against a slab of glowing metal. The forge itself was extraordinary, its flames fed by the embers of a dying star.

"He forged the weapon that would change everything," Hastur said.

For seven days and seven nights, Ahnavat toiled, shaping the divine essences Gilgamesh and Enkidu had gathered into a single weapon. When he finally stepped back, the result was unlike anything Edward had ever seen.

The weapon wasn't a traditional sword. Its blade was segmented, cylindrical, and blood-red, pulsating with a divine energy that seemed almost alive. At the head, it had a sharp, pointy finish. The hilt was also forged from the heart of a star, radiating a warmth that could melt steel.

Gilgamesh approached the forge, his crimson eyes gleaming in delight as he beheld the weapon.

"This…" Gilgamesh said, his voice filled with awe. "This is not just a sword, my friend . This is a miracle."

Ahnavat smirked, exhaustion evident on his face. "Even the gods couldn't create something like this."

Gilgamesh laughed, his voice ringing out like a battle cry. "Then let us show them what miracles humanity can achieve."

Edward stared at the weapon, his mind reeling. This was the legacy of Ahnavat, the heroic spirit he had awakened. This was his power, his potential.

And he had a feeling his journey was just beginning.