Across countless literary works, there was always this kind of plot: some great power or major faction hunted down the chosen one, drove them off a cliff or forced them to commit suicide, then simply turned and left, utterly unaware of the importance of destroying the corpse and soul. In the end, the chosen one would return after mastering divine arts, and their entire family and sect, young and old alike, would be ground to ash, leaving not even a trace of their three souls and seven spirits behind.
Now, the great power known as Gilgamesh had suffered exactly that mistake. After discovering traces of Heracles' corpse, he had left with effortless flair, without even considering learning from the Cautious Hero.
So he met a tragic end. And it happened right there on the spot, because his opponent was not some chosen one who had yet to grow, but Heracles, whose power surpassed his own, only lacking in equipment.
The black Giant God rose to his feet once more, his expression savage and terrifying. He swung his battle axe like a ferocious beast ready to devour its prey.
Damn it, all twelve of his lives should have been exhausted already. Gilgamesh hurriedly drew Durandal. This sword also bore the title "Angel's Sword"; its wielder could receive the protection of God and angels. As a weapon, this blade could be considered among the highest class.
But before Heracles, the foremost master of close combat, even wielding a famed sword merely meant he had to spend a little more effort.
The tremendous force that crashed down made the arm holding Gilgamesh's sword emit a sound close to shattering. Hercules' strength traveled through Durandal into Gilgamesh's body, inflicting unprecedented damage upon him in that very instant.
"You bastard!!!" Gilgamesh roared. Golden ripples unfolded