[Gilgamesh needs to win. Gilgamesh has to win. He's offered Diarmuid plenty of pretty words to last him a lifetime, but he remains utterly and destructively competitive at his core. Red eyes flare with a worrisome sort of madness, and up close Diarmuid's granted a frightening reminder of just where Gilgamesh draws the bulk of his power from—utter insanity that set in over thousands of years.
Diarmuid's buckling. He's breaking. He won't hold up for much longer. Gilgamesh has no need to act, grits his teeth in Diarmuid's stead until they're nearly like fangs. He revels in the pain Diarmuid must be feeling, finds joy in the promise of pending victory. He can have this much, at least, he can do this, he can win...!]
...tch.
[He's been thrown off balance.
He can still do this. He can win. Run him through the shoulder, logic hisses in his ear. Clip him in the chest, reason snarls in the other. Ea yearns for blood, to cut through flesh and snap bone. It was not meant for acts of mercy. It was meant to undo and recreate. He's thrown off balance, only a little, and he can win so long as he's willing to spear Diarmuid fast in retribution. He can win so long as he's willing to really and truly hurt him.
Will you suffer again? Like on that day.
Ea could destroy you. I could destroy you.
But there's still more you have to do, right? In that case...
I think it would be a shame if you were to fall here, Diarmuid.
But he hesitates. It leaves Diarmuid only a brief window, only with seconds to spare, but it's there. Gilgamesh has failed to act. All that remains is to exploit it.]
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Diarmuid's buckling. He's breaking. He won't hold up for much longer. Gilgamesh has no need to act, grits his teeth in Diarmuid's stead until they're nearly like fangs. He revels in the pain Diarmuid must be feeling, finds joy in the promise of pending victory. He can have this much, at least, he can do this, he can win...!]
...tch.
[He's been thrown off balance.
He can still do this. He can win. Run him through the shoulder, logic hisses in his ear. Clip him in the chest, reason snarls in the other. Ea yearns for blood, to cut through flesh and snap bone. It was not meant for acts of mercy. It was meant to undo and recreate. He's thrown off balance, only a little, and he can win so long as he's willing to spear Diarmuid fast in retribution. He can win so long as he's willing to really and truly hurt him.
Will you suffer again? Like on that day.
Ea could destroy you. I could destroy you.
But there's still more you have to do, right? In that case...
I think it would be a shame if you were to fall here, Diarmuid.
But he hesitates. It leaves Diarmuid only a brief window, only with seconds to spare, but it's there. Gilgamesh has failed to act. All that remains is to exploit it.]