video; [KINGOFHEROES]

[babbylon]

[The feed opens to Gilgamesh lounging on a couch, wine in hand, smirking faintly at nothing in particular. A snowy white lion which some of you may recognize lies curled on the floor, napping away; as for Gilgamesh himself, he's as relaxed as could be. Quite a far cry from his time in imprisonment.

And indeed, when he speaks, he sounds confident as ever—albeit in a lazy sort of way, words flowing like syrup.]

What does "heroism" mean to you?

[An open-ended question he allows to hang, for a moment or so, before continuing on.]

Would you consider what we're doing here to fall along those lines? Or, perhaps... yes, I'm aware some of you are new to this little group activity of ours, regarding the sun. And doubtful that you're all as sincerely invested as ALASTAIR wishes us to be. It does seem a bit trifling.

[Only Gilgamesh could consider the death of light itself to be trifling. He yawns, then rolls over, kicking his feet impatiently like a child awaiting entertainment.]

If they all died, it wouldn't really matter, would it? ALASTAIR would spirit us away to the next grand adventure and the cycle starts anew.

[In his obstinance, Gilgamesh dumps his wine right on the floor. He seems to revel in it, in the mess he's made. In the mess he intends to make.]

So I suppose what I'm asking is [smile blossoming into a grin] do you believe it's possible to save everyone, at the expense of yourself? Is that the proper way of a hero, or just someone naive enough to pursue "goodness"? To those we put atop pedestals, were they ever worth admiring at all?

[His eyes narrow at his jewelry. To call them serpentine would be an understatement.]

To those who believe firmly in the principles of justice—do you earnestly think you were doing the right thing all along? I wonder.

Comments

[babbylon]

Such insolence...!

[It makes Gilgamesh quiver with anger. It cracks the glass in his hand and he's half-tempted to throw it, except to do so would make this seem like even more of a tantrum. Gilgamesh's pride wins out and he refuses the embarrassment. He settles down, albeit with a volatile twitch to his lip.]

While you may be a figment of fiction, I exist in reality as Gilgamesh, ruler of Uruk, the first and most famous among Heroes, King among them all. You are bold indeed to claim my title and I would expect earnest explanation for it.

[Those eyes are beautiful. He dislikes them on principle.]

From one king to another, of course, if I am to accept you as one of my own.

[sunderings]

Gilgamesh. Uruk. [ If the words roll oddly off his tongue, it is only testament to the fact that Sion knows nothing of them, has never heard them uttered in any language, nor seen them scribed in any text across the whole of the continent. ] We are well met, then, for your name is as foreign to my ears as Sion Astal must be to your own.

You exist nowhere in my realm. Legends of old do not praise you, and there are no songs of your great deeds and heroic exploits. Instead, they tell stories of Sion Astal, who sundered the darkness of a draconian era to bring forth light and hope.

[ And he will not stop there. ]

I do not require acceptance from you, Gilgamesh, understand this. My station is my own and it will not be usurped from me. I wished only to understand what it is that makes you a Hero, and I have not yet found my answer.

[babbylon]

Hmph.

[So that confirmed it, then. They were of different worlds, and therefore this Sion Astal did not hail from any Earth he knew of. There may very well be truth to what he says. Perhaps, where he's from, he's seen as a hero. A legend. Someone to be praised and to be admired.

Still, Gilgamesh won't yield any ground. He tips his head authoritatively and speaks just as smugly as before.]

You've an awfully high opinion of yourself for a mongrel. Time will tell if you can live up to your claims.

[It's as good as a dismissal. Gilgamesh moves along.]

The heavens divined me as such. One-third human, two-thirds god. He who cleaved the Bull of Heaven, who saw the deep. That is me, Gilgamesh.

[sunderings]

That is not enough. [ A splendid recovery by the one called Gilgamesh...! Sion admires it with a pleasantly tempered smile, a sigh upon his lips: ] If the heavens themselves foretold your greatness, it means only that you are not your own man. That you are one-third human, two-thirds god, means only that you are a mongrel yourself.

[ And Sion will trust nothing and no one who bears ties to the False Heavens. To the Mad Goddesses and Gods. ]

A Hero is not bolstered by these things, but by what he gives to his people. Have you nothing to offer, Gilgamesh?

[babbylon]

["How dare you challenge the likes of me!" he very nearly bellows, but Gilgamesh refuses this man the personal pleasure of a breakdown or a public tantrum. He keeps his cool and just huffs instead, not deigning the majority of those insults with a response, grating as they are.

But as for not having anything to offer...]

I built my city with my bare hands. I defended it. And they praised me as they praised the sun, so bright as to be blinding.

[...which was sort of a backhanded compliment in itself. He wanted an answer, though. He got one.]

[sunderings]

[ An answer which pleases him, truth be told. Is it enough? Goodness no, though perhaps it is a start.

There's no fussing to be had between them, at the very least. ]

So you know what it is, then, to protect. [ Wryly: ] I had started to question your character.

[babbylon]

[Defiantly:]

My character is unquestionable by any mortal man. You would've failed in your venture regardless.

[sunderings]

[ Mortal, is it? Lips twitching as if in response to some sordid, private joke, Sion seems subdued for a moment, lamenting something which he'd only brought upon himself: the loss of his humanity which he clings to, even now. ]

This mortal man who devours mad Goddesses and Gods. [ The Mad Hero, he ate gladly for the sake of power, and All Equations, he will subsume in order to remake the world. His world, far away from here ] Two-thirds should be nothing at all.

[ Not for a Hero of his caliber.

And always, Sion smiles: ] Do not become someone who I would wish to defeat, Gilgamesh.

[babbylon]

[Gilgamesh does not speak of it, but he remains just as human at his core. He despises that divine part of himself and shuns it outright. In the end, drawing his last breath, the King was only human, only mortal. And it shames him as nothing else could.]

Are you implying that I've gone mad?

[Gilgamesh sounds more curious than offended. It's an accusation that's been wielded against him before, so...]

That I am even capable of such a thing? I'm intrigued; how would you define insanity, then?

[sunderings]

Not so simply you, but...

[ His shoulder slope gently in a shrug. ]

By nature and by design, all Gods and Goddesses are mad. They are creatures who know nothing of reason, gluttonous and unrestrained, who bear no morality to speak of for they have never needed such a thing in the first place.

You are not to be blamed, should you ever walk down such a path—your lineage makes you weak to it, and should you succumb, I will save you.

[ Devour you, because the Hero King, Sion Astal, will never lose to madness. Not like his father and those before. Regardless of how many Goddesses he consumes and defeats, their insanity will not touch him.

It will not stain him at all.

Then: a slow smile, a light laugh. ]

Will you call me Hero, then?

[babbylon]

Well, you're not necessarily wrong.

[Which may surprise Sion a little to hear. How breezily he speaks of gods and goddesses despite the same blood running through his veins. He even appears to smile a little, as if remembering something special. Really, he's just remembering the time he socked one in the face with leg of their own bull.]

Those creatures we call "gods" are full of hubris. Chaotic in nature and believing themselves above humanity. But it couldn't be further from the truth. It's humanity that led to their downfall. Long ago, it was a human that turned against them and brought an end to their age.

[Gilgamesh offers no hints as to who this human was, and, as for his question, answers simply thus:]

I can sense the heart of a Hero when it presents itself to me. If yours beats true to this, then I will call you such.

[sunderings]

It is always humans, isn't it? Mortals who, in their weakness, possess the strongest power. The greatest faith. With will alone, a man can distort all the logic in the world, and all truths become his own. He can defy fear. He can scorn to compromise with death, and he can challenge the hand of fate.

[ —the words are lofty, if not romantic, yet somehow poignantly sad. ]

And so, it is humanity which makes a Hero. A love for humanity which is as deep and profound as life itself.

[ ...and so too can that love prompt the darkest, most horrific deeds. This, Sion knows.

For a moment, he seems to consider Gilgamesh, thinking on the Mad Goddesses and their defeat, what it would mean for the whole of Menoris.

(And the sacrifice necessary to ascertain his victory.) ]

Your 'long ago' is the present in my realm, and I will neither falter nor fail in my campaign. Though I wonder...

[ His golden eyes are wide, oddly solemn when he asks: ]

Do you love humanity, still?

[babbylon]

[Gilgamesh shuts his eyes.

And he smiles.]

I wonder about that.