The Great Unknown

"Xipe Totec. Our Lord the Flayed One. One of the four great Tezcatlipocas. But so weak, this one. Even his own brothers looked down on him…"

Beelzebub's eyes droop as he glances at the burning fireplace. The faint light illuminates for a second the papers he's holding. A deformed sketch of Xipe Totec's body. Various diagrams, scribbled over lines and lines of handwritten text. On each page, a recurring name. Tezcatlipoca.

"If only he wasn't so kind," the gloomy deity says. "He could've figured it all out by himself."

***

"Now's the best time to do this. Ragnarok's been decided, and they're all too busy with the preparations to concern themselves with us. What do you say?" Tezcatlipoca asked.

Beelzebub took a minute to consider the possible outcomes. Tlatlauhqui Tezcatlipoca, the symbol of Xipe Totec's might and his most impressive ability. The Red Smoking Mirror, crafter of illusions. Visual, auditory, all kinds. Endless possibilities. Which made it a handy tool when used in the right circumstances, albeit useless in actual combat.

"In the end, you even went through the trouble of persuading that Zeus to choose him," the god finally said. "How intriguing. But I won't ask your motives."

"Can you or can you not do it?" Tezcatlipoca pressed on, his tone engulfed by urgency.

An interesting experiment, to be sure. Perhaps combining the Red Smoking Mirror with Tezcatlipoca's Ipalnemoani would lead to an unexpected result. Suddenly, Beelzebub's fingers spasmed around the folder they were holding. That was it. Fear. The Aztec deity could sense when one was afraid. But, for anyone to be scared of something, they had to perceive it first and foremost. In no more than the time it took him to put the folder back in its place, it all came together. The fine line between illusion and reality…

"Where exactly is it drawn?" the deity wondered out loud. "Since the dawn of time, humans have been scared of the unknown and the obscure. Of ghosts. And that irrational fear hinders them. Has physical effects. Both their souls and bodies… get shaken. Even knowing they're not real, they continue to be afraid. Why is that?"

"Awfully talkative today, Beelzebub." Tezcatlipoca slammed his palm down on the top of the shelf, right above the other deity's head. "But this doesn't answer my question. Can you do this? Or not?"

"It's not a matter of ability. Having your brother's soul overwritten by yours is… doable."

"Good. Then I'll go fetch Xipe Totec. Get everything ready as fast as you can. We don't know when they'll want to send my brother in."

Throwing the words at his accomplice, Tezcatlipoca stormed out of the chamber. As if purposely ignoring his request, Beelzebub sat back down in his chair.

"When someone is afraid, it's not hard for imagination and reality to become one. But the barrier between real and false is fragile. Shattering it will only bring you misfortune, you know? Even if you do so to win," he told the now empty room. "Oh, well."

***

"This is unthinkably bad," the old Gilgamesh claims, unknowingly echoing Inanna's statement. "He doesn't get it. No one does. Was that it? Since the very beginning, was that really the only way for him to win?"

Herfjötur makes a steeple of her fingers, leaning on the balustrade. Shūtur eli sharrī. The ability to rule over anything and everything. The King Who Surpassed All Other Kings. That's the Gilgamesh they sent into the ring. Living or non-living, he can bend it to his will. In the case of objects, he takes their behaviour for granted. Decides their truth. "A sword shall cut." "My weapon shall destroy." Simple directions, imbued with his will. People or, in this case, gods, are entirely different beasts. They're less predictable. Even when given an order, there's no guarantee they would blindly obey it. The undeniable truth is that a king's words weigh more than his belongings. More than his weight in gold, or tenfold that. Gilgamesh knows that. But for a man to obtain such excessive power… he must lose something in return. That's what sets mortals apart from gods.

"Still, a chance always remains. And as long as there's a chance, there's a way," the Valkyrie tells the old king.

Uselessly, Hrund motions her sister to speak in a lower voice. Numerous people whose heads had turned in their direction are, by now, restlessly talking in hushed tones. Dozens of speculations arise. Though there's a sense of despair in some of the voices, most have grasped the situation quite well. Mankind won the second round. The gods wouldn't let them get two wins in a row… so of course they'd send in one of their trump cards. At least that's what most think. Some even argue that Gilgamesh was right, and that the god could very well be cheating.

"Wipe those worried expressions off your faces, dimwits!" the young king shouts, despite not having glanced at the onlookers. "I've lost only a leg! When taking on self-important bastards like this guy… you ought to be willing to lose a lot more!"

Gilgamesh's spear glints in the sunlight, and his eyes blaze with loathing. The heat making its way into his wound is excruciating. "Too bad I can't see myself," he feels like saying. He can only imagine the shape he's in. Half of his armour is gone. One leg… lost. His weapon has changed shapes a few times, too. It's a good, sturdy tool. But be that as it may, everything has a breaking point. To make matters worse, he instinctively knows that his enemy won't attempt the same attack again.

"Things aren't looking too hot for mankind's representative!" Heimdall announces to break the silence. "With one clean strike, Xipe— I mean, Tezcatlipoca has managed to sever his leg! How can he attack? How can he defend!? If we look back at how this bout began… The tables have been relentlessly turned!"

"Now, how to end this?" Gilgamesh murmurs, undisturbed.

"Great words, human! A king you are, indeed!" Tezcatlipoca mocks, fiddling with his daggers. "Overcoming hardship! Loved by peers and servants alike, you move ever forward! I have naught but admiration for you! Behold your hero, everyone, on his last legs! And you, hero, behold your end." He ends with a sarcastic bow.

In that very second, for the first time in this fight, Gilgamesh winces. Not because of the pain. Not because of anger, either. What makes him avert his gaze for an instant is… the light. Only then does it all dawn on him. The gods decided everything. He himself was born of a goddess. In the end, it was the gods who sent that man, who later became his only friend, to kill him. And it was them who took him away. No, that's too small a scale. They… decided mankind's execution. Agreed to fight just to soothe their boredom. For humanity, it's a battle for survival. They risk everything to gain a mere thousand years. Because the gods, the rulers of everything, said so. Closer. A more specific, unnoticeable decision. The arena's layout… they're the ones who chose it. Both for the previous rounds, and for this one.

"Don't tell me… That body of yours… You've gotten this far?" The king is at a loss for words, having trouble believing his own eyes.

It's hot. Incredibly so. He's had no trouble withstanding it this far, but now he breaks into a horrid sweat, and not the cold kind. His shadow wobbles despite his stillness. Confused screams can be heard all around the arena as all eyes dart heavenwards, and a bitter smirk appears on Gilgamesh's lips. "He doesn't care whether that body can endure it or not. He's content as long as he takes me out." But the words never find their way out.

"W-W-WHAT IS THAT!?" Heimdall shrieks, and though his voice is unaided by the Gjallarhorn this time, it still reaches everyone.

"The great unknown!" Tezcatlipoca roars with a maniacal laugh. "Your downfall!"

The king swallows, feeling his leggings overheat. It's hot. It's… coming down. More precisely, the sun is. Flaming blades lash out wrathfully from the giant sphere, distorting the air and scorching everything in their path. Predicting how long it'll take until it makes contact is near impossible. But within a few seconds, it takes great effort to discern whether or not the two fighters cast shadows anymore. Yes. The unforgiving sun. That which should never be touched. Making use of his brother's power… Tezcatlipoca has turned it into a weapon. Into his weapon.