[He would've killed him. He should've killed him. Gilgamesh has never placed faith in promises before—certainly none for mercy—so why here, why now, why with this man? He burns with the same rage he's had since the beginning, for all that's been taken away from him. He would've ended the bout in an instant with his Gate. Ea would've cleaved this wretched world apart for its sins. It's more than killing intent that radiates him: for a moment, it's an urge to destroy anything and everything, and it's colossally terrifying.
But perhaps what makes this man so special is that his presence steadies rather than destabilizes. That he can endure the peak of the storm and see it all the way through to its calm. In this moment, Gilgamesh is not thinking at all. It feels more like floating, where he's going, and in this moment, he recognizes yet another loss. That's fine. He's used to that bitter taste, anyway. He lets go of the rage, just lets go outright.
Gae Dearg manifests itself anew. The arm holding Ea drops and its opposite flares out to catch the spear, against fate, against its own abilities. Gilgamesh makes his own rules. He may break them as he pleases. He succeeds in the catch, but fails in the follow-through, in the destined blow that's diverted only slightly from its path. Only slightly, yet enough to prove the true depths of Gilgamesh's strength.
The armor shatters where he's struck and Gilgamesh bleeds. He bleeds at his palm and at his neck, both wounds superficial... except there's a third, the hideous mark of a blackened bite that's aggravated again by contact and exposure. This was no injury caused by Diarmuid. It reeks of foulness, of otherworldly power beyond them both.
Gilgamesh staggers back, but it's too late. This is the true loss, the far greater humiliation. Diarmuid has seen what he was trying to hide from everyone. This is the debilitating bite of the Black Shuck, and it marks him for death.]
no subject
But perhaps what makes this man so special is that his presence steadies rather than destabilizes. That he can endure the peak of the storm and see it all the way through to its calm. In this moment, Gilgamesh is not thinking at all. It feels more like floating, where he's going, and in this moment, he recognizes yet another loss. That's fine. He's used to that bitter taste, anyway. He lets go of the rage, just lets go outright.
Gae Dearg manifests itself anew. The arm holding Ea drops and its opposite flares out to catch the spear, against fate, against its own abilities. Gilgamesh makes his own rules. He may break them as he pleases. He succeeds in the catch, but fails in the follow-through, in the destined blow that's diverted only slightly from its path. Only slightly, yet enough to prove the true depths of Gilgamesh's strength.
The armor shatters where he's struck and Gilgamesh bleeds. He bleeds at his palm and at his neck, both wounds superficial... except there's a third, the hideous mark of a blackened bite that's aggravated again by contact and exposure. This was no injury caused by Diarmuid. It reeks of foulness, of otherworldly power beyond them both.
Gilgamesh staggers back, but it's too late. This is the true loss, the far greater humiliation. Diarmuid has seen what he was trying to hide from everyone. This is the debilitating bite of the Black Shuck, and it marks him for death.]