Powerless. In pain.
He hated the gods' baseness, and hated himself even more for lacking the power to stop any of this from happening.
Among the countless treasures within the Gate of Babylon, there was not a single one that could be of use now.
All Gilgamesh could do was walk mechanically, carrying Enkidu in his arms and leading Annanu, step by step out of the palace, through the streets, and toward the outskirts of Uruk.
Siduri and Shamhat followed behind him.
The people of Uruk noticed their king's path. They gathered on both sides of the road, saw the unconscious Enkidu in the king's arms, and understood what had happened.
They sank into grief.
Only a few days ago, King Gilgamesh had celebrated the slaying of Gugalanna and the protection of great Uruk, praising Annanu and Enkidu as the strongest heroes. But now...
They did not know what had happened, but they would surely mourn for them.
Annanu and Enkidu had long since become part of Uruk, part of the city itself. If they died, the entire city would grieve for them.
Without Annanu, the city would have had no army, and its walls and farmland would still have suffered from bandits and Demonic Beasts. Without Enkidu, the city would have had no wisdom, and many things capable of improving people's lives would never have come into being.
The wind and clouds howled as though weeping in agony. Rain poured down as though mourning.
Enkidu, lying in Gilgamesh's arms, still had a faint breath left. But he understood that he no longer even had the strength to struggle; his only reaction to pain was convulsions.
He wanted to live. As a living being, he desperately wanted to live.
But he was going to die. He had already understood that.