Gilgamesh

The King of Heroes from the dawn of human history, hailing from a world beyond the stars.
Being two-thirds divine and one-third mortal, he claims a natural-born prerogative to rule over all of creation.
Today, as ever, his boisterous laughter echoed through the heavens... until a certain goddess and eternal rival dragged him into a foreign realm.
Now, he sets forth once more to reclaim all that belongs to a king.

"He beheld the ocean's deepest abysses and the very foundations of the Earth; he knew where all secrets lay, and all things were revealed to him."
The epic records the king's final chapter: he attained absolute wisdom, witnessed every treasure, and unveiled the mysteries of the gods.
He returned from a thousand-mile journey utterly spent, yet blessed with a peace transcending all earthly things, and set down the story of his life.

"Hmph, what a shallow, pitiful fool you are.
"Are you seriously suggesting that I was somehow mightier in that withering, aged form than the perfected one standing before you?"

No, no, no! Of course not!
Perhaps that introduction was a touch one-sided. Allow me to try a different angle.

Gilgamesh, history's most ancient King of Heroes. Unlike the countless heroes throughout the ages driven by lofty ideals, his power springs from an appetite that can never be sated.
From the ocean where the sun rises to the snow-capped peaks where it sets, every facet of human civilization was shaped under his guidance: boundless cities, boundless orchards, boundless mines...
With superhuman vigor, he commanded everything his eyes could survey. Yet the very king who made the whole world flourish also worked his subjects to the bone...

"Watch your tongue. How dare you let such clumsy metaphors reach my ears. One wrong word, and you'll lose your head.
"But this once, I'll show mercy and spare your life."

Huh?

"At least you faithfully documented my great deeds... Hmph, though in truth, you've barely scratched the surface.
"Indeed... Ultimate power, ultimate extravagance, ultimate authority, this is my way.
"If such a ruler did not exist in this world, those mediocre fools who cower before tyranny yet lack the spine to strike down my head would have perished long ago, crushed beneath the gods' pathetic whims."

As you can see, dear reader: Gilgamesh is the sort of stubborn character who takes "doing whatever he pleases" to its absolute extreme.

Now, in that age when gods treated mortals like weeds and beasts roamed the land unchecked, the king's logic held some water... but everything has its limits.
When even newlywed couples had to revolve around the king like spinning tops, the people's complaints rose to the heavens themselves.
Pushed by the goddess Ishtar, the gods — already fearful of humanity's relentless progress — decided to forge an unbreakable "Enkidu" to rein in the arrogant King.

And so, filled with joy, Enkidu descended to the mortal realm.

"The Epic got it right: our first encounter was indeed before the altar of the sacred marriage ceremony."
"Hmph... To think a mere clod of dirt would dare spew such nonsense, claiming he would 'correct my arrogance.'"
"Utterly absurd."

Despite these words, the king — for reasons unknown, though I boldly guess it was out of sheer surprise or even rage at meeting a worthy opponent for the very first time — finally took the fight seriously.
Enkidu's form ebbed and flowed at will, shaping incalculable weapons that swept toward the king like a torrential storm. In the face of this desperate impasse, the king, in a rare moment of imitation, did the unthinkable: he flung wide the gates of his treasury, heartlessly casting forth his riches as a hail of stones.

"If it's an opponent of equal standing, it wouldn't matter even if the coffers ended up completely empty."
Reaching this point in the story, the king added this unprompted remark. His perpetually furrowed brow seemed to relax a fraction as he shifted his gaze to the sky outside the window.
Soon, the tale resumed: Despite pulling out all the stops, the king simply couldn't suppress that "mere clod of dirt."
The battle ended without a victor.

"Back then, we had yet to understand what survival even meant."
"To keep fighting would have only added two more foolish corpses to the pile."

The clay tablets bearing the epic are hopelessly fragmented here, so no one knows why Enkidu agreed to make peace with Gilgamesh. Perhaps the old adage of "friendship forged in battle" is the best explanation we have.
Regardless, Enkidu joined Uruk. For the very first time, this great city had someone who could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the king.

The king remained as willful as ever. Only this time, the people of Uruk could finally find genuine joy in his antics.
Together with Enkidu, he slaughtered the demonic beast Huwawa in the cedarwood forest, and later struck down the Bull of Heaven, Gugalanna, sent by the goddess Ishtar in a fit of spite. The list of such heroic legends is endless...
In this crisis-ridden world, they briefly became champions whose names thundered across the lands.

"To truly practice what they call 'protection,' summoning a biting north wind is sometimes a necessary evil."

The age when the gods could casually summon a flood to bring about an apocalypse is truly gone forever...
But laying a lethal curse upon a legendary hero? That, they can still do without breaking a sweat.

Enkidu was dead.

Everyone knew this was a curse from the Gods. Humans had long understood that defying the divine would carry a price; yet, when the toll was finally called, everyone seemed caught utterly off guard...
Especially the king, who had once boasted that he "knew not the meaning of the fear of death."

"Absurd. How could I possibly shed tears over the death of a friend?"
"Come to think of it, I am the one who reigns over all creation; how could I possibly possess an existence known as a 'friend'?"
"Even if I did have one, I've forgotten their name."

...An answer that avoided the question.
At any rate, as the epic tells: Gilgamesh departed Uruk. He crossed mountains and rivers until he reached a tavern at the edge of the world.
The master of the tavern was Siduri. She interrogated Gilgamesh on his origins until she was certain the traveler was worthy of her guidance. Only then did she reveal the secret of how to cross the world's end to reach the land of eternal life.
There dwelt the most ancient of men, Utnapishtim, known in Sumerian as Ziusudra. A survivor of the Great Flood of antiquity, he had lived in isolation until the present era.

"Ah, I remember him."
"One who obtained immortality by being inscribed into the divine registers. And for that very same reason, lost his form of flesh and blood, becoming an existence more wretched than even the flora of the earth..."
"...Utterly foolish. Had this been the only cost of immortality, I would never accept it."

Left with no choice, the elder bestowed Gilgamesh another secret, so that he might obtain eternal life and youth without having to beg the gods for mercy.
"Even if that old fellow lied to me, it would still be a rare treasure, worthy enough to adorn my treasury."
"Thus, this king set out once more on a journey to find the 'herb of immortality'."

And so it was, but unfortunately...

"...There is nothing to be regretful about. I found the herb, sealed it in a bottle, and returned to Uruk. Exactly as the legend says, without a single lie."
"Now then, let this interview end here. My time is precious, and I must now see to matters regarding my banned streaming channel."

Unfortunately, O king, there is no escape.
The true conclusion of the epic is as follows: While Gilgamesh was bathing and changing his clothes to return to Uruk, he watched helplessly as a common snake swallowed the herb...
Yet in that moment, the king could not help but burst into laughter, laughing until his body and face were nearly distorted.
By the time he came to his senses, the light of dawn had broken once more.

Later, the king returned to Uruk, empty-handed.
Future readers, please do not blame Gilgamesh, for the wanderer must always return home.

The epic concludes here. The contents of the final tablet are more akin to a brief encore performance following the fall of a grand opera's curtain.
Times have changed. Millennia later, Gilgamesh became a Heroic Spirit because of this very epic.

"Fool! It is not that I became a Heroic Spirit because of the epic. It is that the epic, through my telling of it, finally attained such value!"
"Before me, the world was ruled by gods. After me, the world was returned to humanity. It is true that Uruk has long since fallen to ruin, but no city can escape such a fate, not even the Abzu of EnlilThe Great God's Aquatic Capital."
"Yet humans are unlike gods. They build new cities, allowing new life to endure in new lands. Therefore..."
"Every city of man is my Uruk, and all are worthy of my dominion and my lash!"

...What on earth is this man rambling on about?
And yet, unexpectedly, though his words are full of grievances, no trace of anger can be heard in the king's laughter.

"Enough. Return to the battlefield, security officer. We have much to do."
"The scarcity of food, the ravages of disease, the monotony of pleasure... You have gradually overcome these human deficiencies, yet the 'ego' continues to wither amidst sickly indulgences..."
"This land is already diseased to the core. But as long as I stand here, this city shall not fall."

Good grief, the King of Heroes is still the same as ever. Fearless since the Age of Gods, forever holding his own standards as the absolute law.

"Of course, before that... you must reclaim every last one of my scattered treasures."
"Otherwise, by the time I personally raze this land in place of those foul things lurking in the abyss, it will be too late for regrets."

...There he goes again with the classic villain speech.
Still, I have already found the answer I was looking for.
Now, together with everyone else, let us head to the battlefield once more.