My Suffering, For Your Amusement

The Bookspace was in ruin.

Reality itself had crumbled. Gilgamesh's rage extended beyond even what infinity could contain. The Infinite Emptiness was slowly unravelling.

Destruction was omnipresent in its onset. There was nothing that remained untouched by the fall of Reailty.

A Bookspace could no longer exist here.

The Dark Speck's weak fluctuations seemed to attempt to become stronger-- more potent. A certain restriction appeared to be broken as it struggled.

These were its final, desperate attempts at regeneration. It did not want to die.

And yet, it had no say in the matter.

Gilgamesh's fury rained down on the Bright Speck. Excalibur glinted, red hot with rage and power, as it stabbed, cut, severed and completely ravaged the Bright Speck.

The giant speck of brightness was steadily losing its light. With each attack, it inched closer and closer toward the truest kind of death.

In the aftermath, reverberations of anger ecjoed, carrying with them traces of those weighty attacks. Gilgamesh indirectly damaged even the underbelly of the Bookspace-- the fundamental laws that held in place whatever was Beyond this Reality.

It was no surprise, then, that the Dark Speck was eradicated in this chaotic scene. It never got the chance to recover from its wounded state, nor did it ever get the chance to curse Gilgamesh for dooming it to die.

After all, if Gilgamesh had simply done what he was supposed to do, the Dark Speck would have effortlessly won the Final Gilgamesh War.

Instead, he abandoned his own nature in a fit of self-praise, driven by an impossibly huge ego.

It hated the 11th Gilgamesh more than anything and anyone. If nothing else, it at least wanted the chancr to curse him with all its might.

Unfortunately, it would not get that chance.

Gilgamesh went mad the more he attacked the Bright Speck.

Upon Excalibur's blade, where the little feather was attached, innumerable tiny cracks began to spread out further and further.

Even that sword could not keep up with the terrifying power Gilgamesh was channelling.

As he did so, the sparks of his soul diminished rapidly.

His sea of energy and the crystals within it began to diminish, cracking and drying up. His true energy natures suffered untold horror, and were soon driven to the brink of death.

In a torturous fit of madness, he used Ateah's power to force them to cling on to nothing but the final vestiges of life they had remaining. Even so, they could not hold on forever.

They would die the very instant that he relaxed his control over them.

They would perish forever.

Fortunately, his soul- now a blank slate- was unaffected. He was not even sure it belonged to him, so how could it suffer as he suffered?

There was no connection, really, between him and this new soul.

He had no idea what his identity was supposed to be.

But, that is beside the point.

Gilgamesh did not care about what he was doing to himself.

He did not care that his flesh melted away like plastic atop an open flame.

He did not care that his blood boiled and evaporated into a pungent red vapor.

He did not care that his organs shriveled up and died, only to be forcibly restored before going through the entire, painful process once again.

Gilgamesh did not care about anything.

Not that he had killed everyone he had come to know, nor that he had killed an even more. A lot more, multiplied by infinity.

Neither did he care that the Bright Speck had perished almost an entire hour ago. By sheer force of will, he kept its scattered remains from being erased from Reality.

"DIE! DIE! DIE!"

His every move drove the state of Reality further and further beyond just destruction. He was beginning to encroach upon the foundations of something else.

Another world, perhaps.

But he did not notice, nor would he have cared if he did. He attacked relentlessly, essentially slashing away at a long-dead corpse.

Even this had not occurred to him.

There was nothing filling his mind but the thought of Ateah's death, and the Bright Speck that caused it.

Soon, however, even that faded until there was nothing left.

Just a broken man, alone in a broken world, clutching a broken sword.

Looking at Excalibur, Gilgamesh took hold of the little feather, removing it from the blade.

The sword cracked some more, and the tip completely fell off. His sword arm went limp as he brought the feather to his face, and he brushed it against his cheek.

Anger subsided. Sadness returned.

Tears... returned...

"UAAAHHHHH!!!"

Gilgamesh brought the feather to his chest along with the sword, and tears intermingled with blood fell from his face.

As he wept and bawled, his true energy faded away, as did the natures of it.

The Omniscient Author died.

The Old Power, Truth's Mind, the Endless Cycle and the Obscure Spark all perished.

The Inherent Nature of the 11th Gilgamesh-- the very identity of the Absolute Authority-- was no more.

All that remained was nothing.

Nothing, and a blank soul that desired nothing.

All that he could ever want, he had lost the drive to acquire.

In his moments of bitterness, his frustrated and wounded heart sought a release. It wanted to blame someone.

Anyone.

Then, a voice came to him.

'Whose fault was it, really?' It asked mockingly in his head.

'Who caused all of this? Did not you?' There was amusement in its tone.

Gilgamesh's flinched as he sniffled, choking up.

"It's... my fault..."

'Indeed. It's all your fault. You were a fool, and your foolishness cost you that which you held dear. Now, you have nothing and no one.' The voice spat.

Gilgamesh looked to the little feather and winced. He suddenly felt ashamed to cling to it.

Had he not caused everything. Had he not landed himself in this mess, and dragged Ateah into it?

"But no... I couldn't have known... I was sure I would have won."

The voice scoffed.

'Won? Look around you. You have won nothing! Instead, you lost it all. All for nothing.'

'Is this the victory you were assured of?'

Gilgamesh finally let go of the little feather, but it hovered next to him. It could not leave his side.

No matter how Reality thrashed and imploded, it remained. Unbothered and unmoving.

Gilgamesh feared to even look at it.

'What? Did you only just realize?'

His pupils quivered. He hurried to shut his eyes, but as if fearing that that wasn't enough to keep the feather out of sight, he covered his face, still gripping the broken Excalibur.

He shivered. Chills ran a course through him in his entirely.

'Are you really this foolish?'

Gilgamesh's bloody tears fell with a vengeful ferocity.

'I'm willing to bet you were blinded by that ego of yours. Ridiculous!'

It only then occurred to Gilgamesh that the voice he heard was not coming from within him. He had no idea where it was coming from.

No matter which direction he picked, it seemed to be coming from somewhere else-- everywhere around him at once.

Confused and terrified, he clutched his ears.

"No. That's not it."

His voice was meek and soft.

'You thought you were enough? Well tell me, do you feel like enough now?'

Gilgamesh's shook his head furiously...

"....no..."

'I can't hear you!'

"No..."

'Say it louder!'

Gilgamesh shut his eyes and covered his ears again, crying so hard he could barely speak.

"N-n-no!"

'Louder! Do you feel like you're enough!?'

'Do you!?'

'Well do you!?'

'Say it louder!'

'Be proud!'

'Be arrogant!'

The vicious voice ventured deep into Gilgamesh's psyche, and began to overturn everything in its wake. In a matter of seconds, Gilgamesh's mind broken even further.

Even as that was happening, the voice kept echoing.

'...do you feel like enough!?'

'...are you enough!?'

Gilgamesh grabbed his ears so hard that he tore into them with his nails.

Throwing his head back, he opened his eyes and roared. Gripping Excalibur, he pressed it against his chest, over his heart, prepared to take his own life.

"NO!!!"

"I WASN'T ENOUGH!!!"

"I'M NOT... ENOUGH!!!"

He did not even realize that he had already left the decimated Bookspace behind.

He did not realize that he had been taken to a place he did not realize.

A small room, lit up by miniature cosmic entities that seemed to dance on the walls, swaying to a tune they alone could hear.

Above him, the ceiling was a sky of purple clouds. Beneath him, the carpet was the landscape of a vast world.

Before him, there was a chair, and sitting in it was an empty figure. A silhouette with narrowed, amused eyes.

Hearing Gilgamesh's shout, that being laughed harder than anyone else had ever laughed.

"AAAAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

"OH! THAT'S A GOOD ONE! HEEHAHAHA!"

Gilgamesh only just realized that he had fallen to his knees on somewhat flat ground. To his eyes, it looked like a minature continent, but it felt smooth to the touch.

Wiping his eyes, he saw the broken Excalibur on the floor before him, as well as the little feather hovering next to him.

Upon sensing his arrival, the cosmic entities on the wall, like fairies, had a reaction, their voices high-pitched and angelic.

"Oh, look, Mama wrote a new story!"

"Yay! A new story! I bet its a funny one!"

"Heehee! I bet all its loved ones died. Teehee!"

"I bet it was raped endlessly by giant ogres with massive cocks!"

"I think he looks sad. Maybe he was forced to cannibalize his own children? How fun!"

"Fun!"

"Fun, fun!"

"Yay!"

"Hurray for Mama!"

Gilgamesh looked at those tiny fairies as he listened to them...

He was horrified.

Finally, he saw the being seated on the chair.

"What... are you..."

He finally spoke. His throat felt sore.

The being giggled, "That's a pretty common question."

"You lack the mental fortitude to see what I truly look like, so I probably look like nothing in your eyes."

"I am the Mother of Scripture- oh- but you don't know what that means, do you? Hehe!"

Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed, and he subconsciously reached for Excalibur, but he hesitated.

What was even the point?

The Mother of Scriptures noticed this, and both she and her tiny 'fairies' exuded tinkling laughter, as though they were the most innocent and pure things.

"Since you won't recognize that title, I'll simplify it for you."

"I... am God."