After all these years, after hundreds of deaths, and nearly twenty iterations of the Dante's Abyss comet, Karl Jak still hadn't bothered to put a blasted VIP lounge somewhere in the Preshow Lobby. Was it not worth anything to that purple-suited pomp that nearly his entire city-state was dedicated to feeding and housing Syntech personnel in the off-season? And of course, now with the yearly bloodsport coming to a close, the King was feeling the shadow of a bubble about to burst over his kingdom.
…and yet.
…and yet, here sat Gilgamesh, in the closest thing the PreShow facilities had to a private section. Not so much because they were restricted to all-time grand champions such as himself, no. But of all the main branches of the comet's amenities, the library was easily the most secluded. If nothing else, the various D-Grade wenches who stuffed the shelves seemed eager to wait on him hand and foot.
The King of Heroes sat in the upper atrium of the archive section; normally a fairly plush meeting and discussion area for various scholarly debates, now it served as an improvised court for Gilgamesh to preside over. With the couches arrayed into parallel rows and all of the throw pillows bolstering the singular purple (ugh) armchair, it nearly resembled the sort of opulence he might expect in his pantry.
Ah well. But preside he did, idly swilling a golden goblet of fine Uruki King's Wine - his personal vintage, for his lips only. He was dressed, of course, in flowing, white linen, loungewear. Why bother donning his royal armor before the actual event. To pose for the tourist sycophants eager to snap a selfie with the all-time winner? Wretches.
Speaking of wretches, Gilgamesh's red eyes rolled up to regard a shelving assistant whom he had assigned to retrieve him some various charcuterie from the entertainment district. The mousy clerk approached reverently and placed the food-court tray on a reshelving cart, daring to steal a glance at his splendor as she did so. He would allow it; in this instance. Those who served the king could be spared their greedy ogling.
As Gilgamesh slowly plucked a piece of rye toast from the platter and dipped in in the oil, he scowled at the morsel.
“You did tell them the olive oil should be first press, did you not?” he murmured. The clerk looked up at him and nodded sheepishly. Gilgamesh leaned forwards and held the morsel out towards her.
“Does this look like first press to you, Victoria?”
The librarian squinted her eyes, swallowed hard, and shrugged her shoulders. Gilgamesh glowered heavily at the peasant for a long moment, his eyes practically branding an imprint on her fluttering heart. Once upon a time, he would have killed for less. She knew it.
The King, however, relented, and eased back in his erstwhile throne. He popped the toasted bread in his mouth, chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head ruefully.
“Mno. No. Take it back. Tell them to go into Karl's larder if they have to. First press.” Gilgamesh grumbled, dismissing Victoria with a wave of his manicured hand. The wench scurried forwards, grabbed the tray while mumbling some kind of apology, then disappeared around the stacks. The king couldn't help but chuckle to himself – really, eager young talent like that belonged in his palace, not this farce-
There came a sudden scream and clatter from down the hall. Gilgamesh sat up slightly, on guard, but still relaxed. A sharp cold began to creep into the library, becoming thicker and sharper with each passing moment. He could see his own breath, as around the corner, came a Shadow.
“You're shorter than I remember, abomination…” Gilgamesh sneered. He held his ground, sitting calmly as Nealaphh mentally tossed ottomans and study desks out of its way, rather than walk around them.
“I don't think I ever had the displeasure to meet you in person back in my…previous holdings. But let it be known, my disgust for you-”
Ah, so you are indeed a holdover. Then that is all I needed to know, little king. I will enjoy stamping out the sniveling coward who bears Diablo's mark. Until the island, then.
Gilgamesh was immediately on his feet, eye's flared in fury, and wine cast to the ground.
“You DARE suggest that I still serve the bogeyman of a dead universe? You DARE infer that I am anything less than the ultimate sovereign?” the king roared. At this, a ripple of shimmering round portals hummed into existence, bristling with lethal blades to smite this cosmic reject from the comet.
Oh? Perhaps I am mistaken. Just lift up your tunic, so that I can see you are what you say.
“You clearly wish for death. Allow the King to grant-”
But before Gilgamesh could make good on his threat, a small, brassy loudspeaker in the ceiling crackled to life. Karl's tinny, dulcet voice buzzed forth with surprising volume.
“Really toeing the line there blondie. Oh and Neal, as much as I love some preshow beef…c'mon. Do better. Love you both, relax ple-e-ase!”
To punctuate this point, both Nealaphh's and Gilgamesh's collars gave a few, ominous chirps as a red LED blinked in warning. This did not immediately dissuade either contestant from backing down, but eventually, the Gates of Babylon receded, and Gilgamesh retook his place on the armchair.
“Look at me, getting all worked up over idle threats from old ghosts. Months of governing really does make one soft…” the king groaned, pinching his nose. By the time he bothered to glance where Nealaphh had been, the Enigma was gone, of course, as silently as it had arrived.
The chill, however, lingered for several minutes more. Even then, there was something icy that had been left in Gilgamesh's mind…an old wound he hadn't paid thought to in a long time…
