The King’s Path

Edward stood frozen in the swirling void of stars, his senses overwhelmed as the vision unfolded. He could feel the suffocating weight of divine power, an oppressive force that pressed against his very soul. The divine council, the mightiest of gods from every pantheon, gathered in a space that defied mortal comprehension.

They sat on thrones carved from cosmic stone, wreathed in celestial fire and pulsating with the essence of creation itself. Each deity radiated an aura so immense that Edward felt like he would crumble under their gaze.

At the head of the gathering sat Zeus, the King of Olympus, his thunderous presence filling the air with the crackle of lightning. His golden eyes burned with authority, and in his hand, he gripped his mighty thunderbolt.

Beside him was Odin, the Allfather of the Norse gods, his single eye glowing like a dying star. He leaned forward on Gungnir, his legendary spear, his expression calculating yet grim.

On Odin's left sat Chernobog, the Slavic god of darkness and chaos, shrouded in an oppressive black mist. His glowing red eyes pierced the void like twin beacons of malice.

Lugh, the Irish god of light and war, stood tall and radiant, his spear Brionac shimmering with golden energy. He exuded an air of righteous fury, his sharp features tense with resolve.

At the far end sat Izanagi, the Shinto creator god, his form serene but unyielding. His katana gleamed with a purity that seemed out of place in such a grim gathering.

They had come together for one purpose: to face the one who dared to challenge the divine order.

Before them stood Gilgamesh, alone yet undaunted. His golden armor gleamed like the rising sun, and the faint smirk on his lips spoke of his indomitable spirit. His crimson eyes, once gentle, now burned with defiance and disdain for the beings who claimed dominion over humanity.

"King of Uruk," Zeus thundered, his voice echoing across the expanse. "You have committed unspeakable crimes. You have slaughtered your gods, defied the divine order, and threatened the balance of this world. Do you have anything to say before we pass judgment?"

Gilgamesh's smirk widened. "Judgment? From you hypocrites?" He raised his arms, gesturing to the divine assembly.

"You speak of balance, yet all you've ever done is tip the scales in your favor. You enslave humanity, bend them to your will, and discard them when they no longer serve your purpose. You're no gods—you're just alien parasites."

The council bristled at his words. Odin narrowed his eye, his grip tightening on Gungnir. "You speak boldly for a mortal. Do you truly believe you can stand against the might of all the gods?"

"I don't just believe it," Gilgamesh said, his voice steady. "I've already done it. Your 'might' is nothing compared to the will of humanity."

With that, the battle began.

Zeus hurled his thunderbolts, each strike a cataclysm that split the ground and shattered mountains. Odin unleashed the power of the runes, conjuring storms and binding magic that could tear apart reality itself.

Chernobog unleashed waves of shadowy energy, suffocating everything in darkness, while Lugh and Izanagi charged with blinding speed, their weapons cutting through the air like divine judgment.

But Gilgamesh was undeterred.

He called forth the King's Domain , summoning an endless array of weapons—blades, spears, axes, and bows, each imbued with the essence of forgotten heroes. The golden portals surrounded him, firing volleys of divine weapons that clashed against the gods' attacks.

For days, the battle raged. The ground shook, the sky burned, and the stars themselves seemed to dim under the sheer intensity of the clash.

Edward's heart ached as he watched Gilgamesh fight. No matter how many gods he struck down, more took their place. Their combined power was overwhelming, and even the mightiest of kings had his limits.

Gilgamesh stood battered and bloodied, his armor cracked, his weapons depleted. The gods surrounded him, their expressions a mix of anger and triumph.

And yet, Gilgamesh laughed.

"So, this is it," he said, his voice weak but filled with mirth. "The mighty King of Heroes, brought low by a pack of cowards." He raised his head, his crimson eyes gleaming with unyielding defiance.

"But remember this: no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try to erase me, humanity will rise again. They will remember the truth, and they will finish what I started."

Zeus scowled and raised his thunderbolt. "Your arrogance ends here, mortal."

With a deafening roar, the gods unleashed their combined power. Edward could only watch in horror as Gilgamesh's body was obliterated, his golden light consumed by their divine fury.

But the gods weren't finished.

Gilgamesh's soul, still defiant even in death, was bound in enchanted chains—the very same chains wielded by Enkidu. The gods cast him into the deepest pits of Niflheim, an icy prison from which no soul could escape.

They bound Enkidu's soul alongside his, ensuring that the two rebels would remain trapped for eternity.

In their anger and fear, the gods decided to erase all traces of Gilgamesh's rebellion. They unleashed a great flood, one that swept across the earth, drowning cities and civilizations alike.

The few humans who survived were those who continued to worship the gods, their faith unshaken by the destruction. These survivors rebuilt the world under divine rule, their memories of Gilgamesh and Uruk erased from history.

But the gods' victory was short-lived.

The Outer Gods, no longer content with their limited influence, broke their oaths and descended upon the earth. The gods, weakened from their battle with Gilgamesh, were ill-prepared to face such an onslaught.

Edward watched in horror as most of the divine council was torn apart, their once-mighty forms reduced to ash and dust. Humanity, abandoned and defenseless, was left to fend for itself. Well, not truly defenseless, as countless heroes were born to protect them.

Amid the chaos, one man rose to defy both gods and Outer Ones: Solomon, the Magic King.

Edward saw him standing atop a mountain of corpses, his expression grim but resolute. Solomon had awakened to the truth of humanity's plight—that they were nothing more than tools, used and discarded by the gods.

Using his immense power, Solomon severed the gods' authority from the divine system. He created a new system, one that resonated not with the gods, but with the spirits of fallen heroes.

Thus, the Heroic Spirits were born, their power drawn from the sacrifices of those who had fought to protect humanity. Through this system, humanity gained the strength to stand against the Outer Gods and reclaim their world.

But the cost was steep. Nearly every hero perished in the final battle, their souls bound to the system Solomon had created.

Edward's chest tightened as he realized the weight of their sacrifice.

Hastur's voice returned, echoing all around him.

"Now you see, Edward Ludovic, why he chose you. Gilgamesh's dream is not yet realized, and you are the vessel through which his will may endure."

Edward clenched his fists, his mind racing with everything he had seen.

"But why me?" he asked, his voice trembling. "I'm no king. I'm not strong like he was."

Hastur's laughter filled the void, cold and mocking. "You underestimate yourself, child. The question is not whether you are worthy of his legacy. It is whether you have the will to pursue the truth, no matter the cost."

The stars began to swirl around Edward, the void collapsing into itself.

"Remember this, boy," Hastur said, his voice fading. "The truth you seek is a weapon. Wield it wisely, or it will destroy you."

The stars around Edward began to dim, and the void collapsed into darkness. He gasped as he was yanked back into reality, his mind reeling from everything he had witnessed.

The truth was far more horrifying than he could have imagined.

Humanity's history had been rewritten, its heroes erased, its triumphs overshadowed by the lies of the gods.

And now, as the successor of Gilgamesh and the vessel of Ahnavat, Edward carried their will.

Edward gasped as he stumbled back into the dark corridor of Inferno Park, his body trembling. The visions, the knowledge—it was all real.

He leaned against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. His mind was a storm of questions and doubts, but one thing was clear.

Gilgamesh had chosen him for a reason, and Edward was no longer just a boy trying to figure out his place in the world.

He had a path now, a mission. To uncover the truth. To defy the gods. To carve out humanity's freedom.