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Owner Pose
Arthur Lowell     Arthur's standing out in the middle of the arena, not up in the booth. It seems he's decided to take not just the role of commentator, but the role of announcer and promoter as well. "TONIGHT, MOTHERFUCKER!" He shouts. "A RAD NIGHT for the RADDEST FIGHT! The GORE of the GODS! DIVINE BLOOD ITSELF spillin'!" He points to one corner. "Can you HEAR HER? Hell yes you can. Can you SCREAM A LITTLE LOUDER?! Lemme hear your ROOOOAR! Else you ain't gonna scream past that HOLY CHORUS, that HEAVENLY HOST, for the one, the only LION KING to go past the TOP THRONE to the HIGHEST THRONE THERE IS, BABY! It's RHOOOOONGOMYNIAAAAAD!" He shouts, beckoning her out.

    Then, to the other corner, he gestures wildly. "Comin' in on a HOT STREAK of RULERSHIP, fresh off RECONQUEST and RECLAIMATION, here to pack another TREASURED VICTORY in that GATE, that CELESTIALLY-SHAPED SOVEREIGN, the MIGHTIEST MORTAL -- you know him, you love him, it's GIIIIIIIILGAMEEEEEEESH!"

    His videogame logic has made its presence known here. A bitcrushed voice joins him. "APOTHEOSIS VERSUS DIVINE RIGHT!" Says the sixteen-bit announcer's voice. "GET READY!!"

    He's still standing between them as the voice shouts to the start. He's shouting, screaming, to be heard over just the same from the crowd. They're /loud/. "AAAAAARE! YOOOOOOOUUUUUU!! REEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAADYYYYYYYY!?!" He only disappears in a burst of brilliant green magic at the very last moment between the two, teleporting up to the commentator's booth. And that very moment, the bitcrushed voice shouts...

                                 "STRIFE!!!"                                  
Rhongomyniad     She is here. The Lion King, Goddess Rhongomyniad, the Tower that Shines at the End of the World. Clad in shining plate, with a helm resembling the head of a lion. That fur-lined mantle flows behind her with each step, and when she comes to a stop it immediately closes around her. Giving some time for the pause to settle, the King reaches out to clasp her gauntlet about a sliver of light-- This extends, broadening. A series of metal straps materialize and braid their way downwards into the shape of a lance.

    "We have fought together in the past. Now is an opportunity to experience the might of the Wedge of Heaven first-hand," The Divine Lance is raised, then swept down to the side, "And you shall bear witness to the Anchor of the Storm."

    Her helmet lifts slightly, aknowledging Arthur's appearance between the two warriors. Her gaze lowers to the King opposite her, and she shifts into a slightly less neutral stance.

    Strife!

    Rhongomyniad lifts her free hand, clasping her gauntlet into a fist. The attack that follows is not directly from the Lance, but from the ground surrounding the King of Heroes. The forwarding is a sudden rumble, before the arena's sandy floor erupts into two halves of a stone pillar, swinging upwards to clap together with a thundrous sound.

    First, the King's defenses must be tested...
Gilgamesh      This really isn't the way Gilgamesh would have this go down.

     Oh, it isn't that he has some qualms about fighting people he has feelings for. Quite the opposite; the King of Heroes best bonds over violence. He's bonded with Yang, with Sarracenia, with Enkidu - arguably, the way he communicates best is with overwhelming, raging violence.

     The trick is that he would rather test the full limits of the King of Knights. He would rather see if she is worthy of his great treasure, if she is worthy of his great majesty. And that's the sort of thing he can only truly do in a battle where lives are on the line. This is a gauche show, and while the King has no problem making a gaudy showing of himself, his great treasure is not for an arena like this. It belongs on a battlefield soaked in blood.

     The King enters the arena in a manner that might seem subdued for him. He's in his black coat, his white sweater, rather than the glittering gold armor. He's got one hand at his side. In the other hand is a cup of coffee from a Danish coffee shop he apparently whimsically decided to visit on the way. Indeed, for the King, this is perhaps almost lacking in spectacle.

     ...and then he snaps his fingers, and a cocksure grin splits his face as the sky lights up with fireworks. It spells his name in the air. A band starts playing, filling the arena not with thunderous applause but with a song undoubtedly commissioned for this specific instant. The song may never be played again outside of Youtube and internet bootlegs. And over it all, the King's hand goes to his face, and he starts laughing that insufferable laugh.

     "FUHUHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"

     "Don't imagine, King of Knights, that I'll give you any quarter! My feelings for you are something entirely separate from this battle! No, in fact, it would be an insult for me to do such a thing! An insult to you and to my feelings! So prepare yourself, King of Knights, for a mere taste of the strength of the King of Heroes!"

     Pillars swing upwards out of the arena floor. The King meets them with his bare hands. They come thrusting out, smashing into the pillars open-palmed. The rocks collapse atop him, rolling down his back, covering him in dirt and debris and scratches from the lot.

     It is thoroughly unfair that he still looks perfect even covered in damage, no matter how minor that damage may be.

     The King doesn't even move. He simply snaps his fingers again. The music crescendos. "I won't do you the insult of holding back on the first strike."

     "Gate Of..."

     Ripples explode throughout the air, disrupting the lingering dust cloud behind the King. There's an almost sensual pleasure on his lips as he finishes the incantation.

     "Babylon."

     The world turns to gold.

     There's no other way to describe it. It's a storm of violence and destruction, an overwhelming display of raw, unimaginable power. Weapons not of legend but *predating* legend come shooting forth from the Gate like a flood. Swords. Axes. Hammers. Spears. The very building blocks of legends, the powers on which stories are made, the firmament of mythology itself is simply poured out of the Gate around the King, barely ruffling his hair or his coat in the process, thundering towards Rhongomyniad with all destructive force.
Rhongomyniad     "I would not imagine for an instant, King of Heroes, that any mercy would be granted to me in this or any other exchange we share." Her pillars are destroyed. An expected result. King Gilgamesh would never fall to something so direct at the top of his game, even if it did kind of fall on him afterward.

    "This is a contest of might," the Lion King states in that even voice of hers. Her free hand is lowered, then brought up in a sweeping gesture. The ground before her erupts, bursting forth the unmistakable whitewashed stone of a castle wall against which the tide of the Gate's contents crashes. Stone chips and waers under the onslaught of magical weapons. Blades carve into it. A scarlet lance punches right through, passing between arm and torso to embed itself in the sand behind the Lion King.

    "Accept my apology in fielding such a lesser technique," The metal straps encasing the Divine Lance unravel, dissolving into particles and revealing the Lance's blazing divine core, "And pray allow me to greet you in the appropriate manner, King of Heroes."

    The Lance is swung forward and aimed, pulsing with golden light. The cracks in the wall she'd raised for defense begin radiating this same divine light, before the entire wall blasts apart, penetrated by a broad beam of divinity hurled from the weapon she holds. After a tense few seconds this light fades, and the wall begins to crumble, the King of Knights striding through the dusty cloud it creates as it collapses.
Gilgamesh      The light comes burning out of the lance. This is a light the King is well familiar with. The Light at the End of the World. It is a light made of divinity, made of godliness.

     It's a very narrow miss.

     He must've stepped a foot to the left, or just shifted himself, or - nope. No, neither.

     Embedded in the ground is a phalanx of gleaming shields. Some are of proto-Carthaginian make. Some proto-Greek. Some proto-Chinese. Some even proto-Native American. One of them is immediately familiar to anyone who ran the Line.

     The whole host of shields was planted just to divert the Divine Lance a little bit.

     And divert it it did. What's hit Gilgamesh's shoulder is far less than what would've hit his chest. It might've blown open his chest - he *is* a magical being, after all, a god who does not really belong in the World. It is the Lance's duty to expunge such things. The burning on his shoulder is a testament to that, the sizzling, burning flesh. The King's lip twists upwards in equal parts smile and sneer. That's to be expected, obviously. What else would happen? He's a demigod. It hurts to be hit by things that exile demigods. And the Tower at the End of the World is a potent enough weapon to be worth his full attention.

     But then, she also was a demigod, after all...

     The King spreads his arms.

     The magical weapons of the Gate are already fading. There's a flash of gold, a blinding light like the sun itself. What emerges, as Rhongomyniad walks forth from the dust, is not the King in his black cloak.

     He's dressed from head to toe in glimmering gold armor. It is a defensive Noble Phantasm of the highest order, a tool unto itself. It is the basis for stories of invulnerable armors from the dunes of the desert to the end of time itself. The King of Heroes, clad in his glory. This is, indeed, a statement that he is taking things one hundred percent seriously, or at least, as much as he can in a situation like this.

     "Goddess Rhongomyniad," Gilgamesh says as he walks, his very stride as arrogant as a man can be, red sash flowing around him, "This is an exhibition match. It's a very human thing to request. To show off your strength to the world. But more than, that, you want to give them a taste of what it means when gods do battle."

     He spreads his arms. The Gate's ripples erupt around him. "Then, in that case...!"

     The ripples vanish abruptly. "Allow me to show as much of the King's strength as this place will allow me to present!"

     Ripples erupt around Rhongomyniad. Golden chains come shooting forth. There's countless chains, more chains than can be counted. Each ripple is a new chain. Each ripple is a new cutting chain, a new slicing chain, a new *binding* chain. And each cut, each slice, each bind, is backed by the power to hold back to the gods. In time, this chain will be given the name Enkidu, for it is of such similar nature that it will be used in tandem with that lump of clay to restrain the greatest Divine Beast of all time.

     For now, it is simply-

     "The Chains of Heaven!"

     Around the King, more ripples. More chains erupt from them. The whole arena is filled with chains, with god-binding, god-slaying, god-striking chains. The King's smile is bright.

     There is...probably a sixty percent chance this is the entire reason he agreed to this fight to begin with.

     No, probably more like eighty, given his expression.
Rhongomyniad     The Lion King, when presented with a wall of shields, comes to a halt. Her stance is relaxed but practiced-- at the ready without quite looking 'at the ready', clutching the Divine Lance in her right hand. Behind that lion helm, glowing green eyes narrow slightly in thought. At last she had pressed him into his armor... She shifts, raising the Lance to point it at the King of Heroes.

    "You are correct, let us continue the demonstration," Before she can act upon her impulse to press the attack, however, a chain knocks her arm, wraps it, and pins itself to the ground. She lets out a noise when she finds she cannot break it, helm turning to behold further chains emerging all around her. The helm lowers, a determined sound escaping the King of Knights. The Chains of Heaven beset upon her like a nest of snakes.

    Sparks fly where metal strikes or cuts into armor. Blood soon joins it, where gaps in the armor are found and exploited. She struggles to keep her free hand in front of her helmet's visor, until chains wrap about her gauntlet and rip it away. The Lion King's helmet bounces free moments later, coming to rest, several parts carved away.

    When the Chains of Heaven settle down, the goddess Rhongomyniad is very firmly held down, wrapped about the arms, legs, and chest. Blood creeps across her armor from various gaps and cuts on her neck. With her eyes closed, it may be presumed she has given in.

    The King of Knights takes in a breath, letting it out slowly as those glowing green eyes open. Her grip on the Divine Lance tightens. The lights turn up, bathing the arena in a cleaner yellowish hue.

    "...I see," she murmurs, "So this is the power you held." The lights grow brighter, "I have expanded the land. Built cities. Crossed the sea. Never have I witnessed something like this. But I shant allow it to defeat me. Not without a fight."

    The clouds erupt, spreading rapidly outwards. The source of the light reveals itself-- not from the arena lights, but from the spike of divine energy descending from the sky. "Allow me to share with you the Tower that Shines at the End of the World. The Lance which split the heavens and tethered the earth. Behold, King of Heroes, the Anchor of the Storm"

    Rhongomyniad."

    The tip of that great spike of light touches the arena floor. A sound like metal striking metal. A great flash. And then the entire cone collapses itself into an explosion that shudders alarmingly against the barriers sheltering the audience-- but does not break through.
Gilgamesh      The King still stands.

     He emerges from the light with his chestpiece blasted off. His face is starting to heal from the furious peeling. His hair is blackened at the tips. Blood rolls down his chest and his arms. There is the sense that part of them might be broken, or would be broken, were it not for the shrine. The tattoos across his chest are blazing red. His eyes burn with the same glorious light. There is the impression that he may have had to expend some of his own precious mana just to avoid being knocked on his ass in an embarassing finale.

     And yet he stands.

     He straightens. He runs his fingers through his hair, wiping away the ash and blood. He gives it a shake. It's like watching a supermodel more than a combatant. What an asshole.

     "Then I regret," The King says, "That I cannot draw Ea here. Would that I could. Would that I could respond to that show with my own. It was amazing. I was unsure that I would remain standing. No, more, it was beautiful. Nostalgic. A light that reminds me of certain victory. Even here, it tried to take my nostalgia and use it to force me from this world."

     "Against anyone else, it would likely be enough."

     "Unfortunately!"

     "I am Gilgamesh! King of Heroes! There is nowhere in this world I do not belong - for all that lies between the Earth and the Sky is my garden!"

     That sword falls into his hand.

     A mere two weeks ago, it was being used as a hot water heater to make Priscilla happy.

     Now, that plain, unadorned sword, so similar to Excalibur, lightly-trimmed in gold and blue, falls into his hand, and immediately surges with demonic power as he pours force into it. Not Heaven, this, but Hellish. The Demonic Sword of the Planet, Excalibur's Equal.

     He clutches it in two hands. "This will have to do as a tribute of my affection for you, King of Knights! Let us see if I can crack that armor of yours in two!"

     He brings the blade down, in his best Saber impersonation. A red light pours forth, sweeping over the field. It's not the most powerful thing he has, and he doesn't really resonate well with it - being a god, and not a demon - but it's the first thing that came to mind.
Rhongomyniad     "Mm..." Rhongomyniad tilts her head downward, bound as she is by the Chains of Heaven. Her helmet is long since gone, thrown across the arena by the explosive descent of the Tower that Shines at the End of the World. Green eyes glow in the shadow cast by her bangs, though her face remains that unreadable impassive expression so closely associated with Goddess Rhongomyniad.

    "Of course. It will take more than one strike to overpower the King of Heroes--" That sword's appearance gives her pause, "--Hnn?"

    The faintest hint of surprise crosses her face. A soft breath, the slightest part of her lips, her jaw set. The King of Knights pulls more fervently at the Chains when the blade opposite her erupts in that forboding magic. The sword is raised, then brought down. Rhongomyniad's tension rises, and a golden light erupts from within her armor. When the crimson beam of demonic magic strikes her, there's an explosion of gold and crimson. The blast is followed swiftly by a crunch of metal-- and as the energies fate, it's clear that her armor has collapsed in on itself like a soup can. Because the goddess is no longer inside it. After a moment, the heap collapses into a mass of chains and jagged, shattered platemail.

    The armor's recent occupant sails clear, trailing smoke and still clutching the Divine Lance. Clad now in a blue bodysuit, the armor's Gambisson underlayer albeight torn and scorched, Rhongomyniad hits the ground shoulder-first, rolls, and digs her heels in to stop in a crouch. The spiked crown still rests upon her brow as she rises to her feet. She sweeps the Lance back, holding it now in both hands as one would a sword, point-upward in an aggressor stance.

    "Though you use the cursed sword for it, that technique is familiar to me all the same." The memory is, as ever, unclear. And yet... this fashion of forcing magic through a weapon. Had she done it on instinct in her duel with Lancelot? Hazily, she recalls the Holy Sword from a prior lifetime. Her eyes close for but a moment-- and she's found it. That memory. That weapon. The Lance is raised, two-handed, over her head.

    "I do not use it in this fashion, but I shant reject this memory. This memory of... Excalibur!" When she brings the Lance down, Rhongomyniad throws her entire body into the swing, hurling a wave of divine light from the tip of the spear. It's not the same as her memory. The wave is broader. Taller. It cleaves through the ground as it carves its way forward. And yet, it feels...

    ...Correct.
Gilgamesh      The problem with poetry is that it very frequently rhymes. In this case it was poetry to bring forth the planet's Ultimate Demonic Sword, and it was answered with the Ultimate Holy Sword.

     Somewhere, in one of the pruned timelines of his memory, is the nostalgia of being beaten by that light. The little niggling bits of it come forth as it hits him dead on, straight in the face, swallowing him whole. It's not the full power of the Light of Promised Victory, or even the Forever-Distant Sword of Promised Victory, but it's enough. When the dust settles, when everything is said and done, the King of Heroes has vanished. In his place is a wide, deep gouge.

     Well, he hasn't actually vanished. He's lying six feet backwards, outside the ring, *in* that wide, deep gouge, on account of having been knocked there in one go.

     The King of Heroes puts both hands on his face. He's laughing, though it's a quiet laugh, not a loud, booming 'fuhuhahaha.'

     Some things are beautiful because you can't have them. Some things are beautiful because they are forever distant.
Rhongomyniad     The golden light fades, and from the position of swinging the sword, Rhongomyniad falters to rest upon one knee. She hesitates there for quite some time, breathing slowly and methodically. Once she has centered herself, and recovered from the blood loss, she rises to her feet. Lance in hand, she walks down the gouge carved by its discharge, approaching the fallen King of Heroes.

    And towards him, she reaches out her free, unclad hand. The other upends the Lance, driving its blazing tip into the mangled ground to steady herself as she leans forward.

    "Well fought, King Gilgamesh. Thank you for indulging my request." That is all she says. All she offers. The wording is rather cold as usual. But in those glowing, empty green eyes is a glimmer of warmth not commonly seen in the Lion King's demeanor.