The voice outside the palace rang sharp and imperious. Even before her arrival, Siduri understood what it meant—Uruk's guards would be useless here. No shield or spear could bar the path of the goddess at the threshold. And Ishtar, unlike more patient divinities, had no interest in ceremony.
Thus, before orders could even be given, the air outside exploded. A thunderous crash split the hall as the golden doors trembled. Beneath the blazing sun, a storm of dust surged upward, granules flashing like molten metal until the haze became a veil of shimmering quicksand.
Through that veil, light steps rang—measured, confident. A graceful silhouette emerged.
"…Still as impatient as ever, Lady Ishtar," Siduri murmured with a weary smile. Years of negotiating with the divine had taught her the temperament of this goddess well: impulsive, proud, dangerous.
Rowe said nothing. He followed Siduri's line of sight, his own thoughts sharpening.
The figure approached in full view. Long black hair trailed behind her with each step. Her frame was not voluptuous, yet perfectly balanced, toned like an athlete, exuding both power and allure. She wore garments that were more suggestion than covering—mere strips of divine fabric veiling only the essential points. The rest of her pale skin gleamed under the light, the beauty of a goddess manifest, carrying both sanctity and menace in every movement.
Rowe froze. His mouth almost dropped.
Wait—Tohsaka Rin?!
Twin-tailed tsundere heroine of an entire Fate installment—how could she be standing here?
Then it struck him. Ah. Divine Spirit Possession.
Of course. In this age, the Age of Gods had long since ended. No god could fully descend into the mortal world in their original body. Possession was the workaround. And in the Nasuverse he knew, the vessel most fitting for Ishtar had always been Rin.
Rowe exhaled slowly, regaining composure. Makes sense. Reality follows the rules of its root world after all.
Still, that didn't change the fact that he now stood face-to-face with one of the most troublesome divine beings Mesopotamia had to offer.
Ishtar's crimson eyes swept the hall. Finding no trace of Gilgamesh, her delicate features twisted into indignation. "Hmph! To avoid receiving me? How dare you! A goddess, noble and resplendent, comes all this way, and you dare to hide? Gilgamesh, your audacity grows boundless!"
Siduri hurriedly stepped forward, lowering her voice into a polite entreaty. "Lady Ishtar, His Majesty is currently preoccupied with state matters, if you could—"
"Silence!" Ishtar's sharp glare cut her down before the sentence finished. Her lips curved into a mocking smile. "Did I permit you to speak? Insolent mortal."
She turned her gaze back toward the lofty throne and sneered. "Do you truly think avoiding me will keep you safe? You underestimate me far too much."
A low, dangerous laugh slipped from her. Then her hand lifted—slender, pale, beautiful. In her palm, threads of gold coalesced, brilliance knotting into shape.
In the next instant, a divine armament manifested: a longbow of radiant design, gleaming as though it were carved from the very light of the morning star.
It was no ordinary weapon. This was the crystallization of Venus itself—the power of the golden star that burned brightest in Mesopotamia's night skies.
And with it came weight.
An invisible tide of pressure crashed outward. The air thickened, stifling. Rows of pillars trembled faintly, the floor cracked beneath subtle tremors, and the dazzling hall was suffused with a force so divine it seemed ready to crush all present.
Ishtar did not care. Not for the lives of the mortals standing in her presence. Not for the risk of collapsing Uruk's very heart. Why should she? She was the favorite of the heavens, spoiled, adored, and unchecked.
Rowe instinctively clenched his jaw, heart thumping. She's really going to do it…
Siduri, by contrast, only sighed deeply. If Ishtar tore the palace apart, Gilgamesh—whose temper was the stuff of legend—would not simply stand aside. He would respond, and the fallout would be ruinous. Siduri had been ordered: do not let the goddess disturb His Majesty. That duty now rested on her shoulders.
She had ways to cajole a goddess—appeals to pride, reminders of divine decorum, subtle flattery couched as deference. If she could assert that Gilgamesh was in communion with his divine mother, Ninsun, the fact of another goddess's presence might cool Ishtar's immediate temper. It wouldn't be a lasting peace, but it could buy time.
Rowe did not move a muscle to support Siduri's plan.
Instead, he stepped forward.
The pressure in the hall was like a physical thing—Oppressive, golden, the world seeming to compress beneath Ishtar's will. Each step Rowe took felt heavier, as if the air itself sought to push him back. Yet he walked on, descending the dais and planting himself directly before the goddess, his robe fluttering in the god-tossed wind. He stared up at her as if at an inconvenient guest.
Ishtar's crimson eyes, burning with a mixture of amusement and impatience, flickered towards him. "Oh? A young, new face?" she mused, her voice a melodic yet dangerous chime. She idly plucked the string of the magnificent bow of heaven, Anna, that shimmered in her grasp, the sound resonating with latent power. She tossed her long, dark hair over a shoulder. "Not entirely unpleasant to look upon, I suppose. But unfortunately—" her gaze swept over him with dismissive finality, "—you do not meet my standards. Now, step aside. You cannot hope to bar this Goddess's path."
A cruel, dazzling smile played on her lips, a sight as beautiful as it was terrifying. "Though, it matters little if you refuse. I shall simply blast you, along with this tedious palace, into dust."
Witnessing her unbridled arrogance, Rowe felt a surge of relief rather than fear. His initial concern upon seeing her—noticing the vessel she inhabited bore the familiar features of Tohsaka Rin—had been that the goddess's personality might be softened, her divine cruelty tempered by the inherent humanity of her host. Such a development would have severely complicated his plan. But now, it was clear any influence was superficial. The being before him was the authentic Ishtar: vain, capricious, and holding human life in contemptuous disregard. In her eyes, only Gilgamesh held any value; all else was expendable.
Perfect.
To ensure the success of his audacious plan, Rowe meticulously recalled the mental draft he had prepared—a speech designed with one purpose: to provoke the Venusian goddess beyond all reason. It was a targeted assault on the very core of her divinity.
"I will not retreat," Rowe stated, his voice firm despite the tremors running through his body. He met her gaze unflinchingly, projecting a determination that belied his mortal frame. "I know of you, Ishtar. Goddess of Beauty, of War, of Harvest. The most beautiful among the heavenly deities, whose radiance is said to shame the very stars, inspiring adoration and rivalry among the gods themselves."
Ishtar preened, a smug laugh escaping her. "Hmph! At least one mortal here possesses sense. While your visage pales in comparison to the King's, your discernment is a hundred times greater than that fool's!"
"However—" Rowe continued, his tone shifting, lacing the word with deliberate disdain. The word hung in the air, a pivot point upon which his fate would turn. "Now that I behold you with my own eyes… I find myself profoundly disappointed."
The smile vanished from Ishtar's face, replaced by a flicker of confusion that quickly darkened into ominous stillness. "What did you say?"
Rowe did not hesitate. He delivered the blow directly, striking at the foundation of her self-worth. "You are not as beautiful as the legends claim. Or, to be precise—you are utterly lacking." He, a mere mortal, looked the Goddess of Beauty in the eye and declared her ugly.
In that moment, Rowe was certain there was no more efficient method of seeking death in all of Mesopotamia. He had committed the ultimate blasphemy.
A stunned silence fell. Ishtar stood frozen, as if unable to process the insult. Even Siduri, watching from the safety of the upper steps, felt her breath catch in her throat, a silent gasp of horror at Rowe's suicidal audacity.
"You… you wretched, ugly mortal," Ishtar finally whispered, her voice dangerously low. The light around Anna intensified, the divine energy coalescing into a tangible, crushing weight that made the very air groan. "Do you have any conception of the words falling from your foolish mouth?"
Yet, against the rising tide of her wrath, Rowe simply smiled. It was a carefree, almost serene expression, utterly incongruous with the situation. "Of course, I know precisely what I am saying," he replied, his voice gaining a strange strength. "I am stating that you, who preside over the concept of beauty, are blind to its true nature."
He pressed on, building his argument like a prosecutor delivering a closing statement. "In this transient world, all physical beauty fades. Majestic mountains erode; glorious sunsets are fleeting. Whether person or object, all are destined to become memories. Only the spirit is eternal. Therefore, true beauty must originate from within, from the quality of one's spirit."
His gaze sharpened, becoming an accusatory lance. "But what do I see in you? The manifestation of your spirit is one of arrogance, cruelty, and self-aggrandizement. Where in such a tarnished soul can there be even a trace of beauty? There is none."
He delivered the final, calculated verdict. "I see only ugliness. A foulness that permeates your very being. Ugly in essence, foul in spirit." He then clapped his hands together softly, as if a great mystery had been solved. "Ah, it all makes sense now. No wonder King Gilgamesh hides from your presence. Anyone of discernment would do the same."
He met her widening eyes, his expression one of utter, devastating seriousness. "Speaking of which, I must offer you one compliment. In the category of ugliness… you are in a class of your own. Uniquely, authentically, profoundly ugly."
For a long, suspended moment, Ishtar was utterly still. The sheer, unprecedented nature of the insult seemed to have short-circuited her divine consciousness. It was as if she needed time to parse the meaning, to confirm that a creature of clay had indeed dared to speak to her in such a manner.
But then, in the span of a single heartbeat, the dam broke. The Goddess's heart, once merely agitated, erupted into a supernova of pure, unadulterated rage.
Huh?
You… you dare…?!
If you can speak such words… then by all means, say more!
This Goddess promises she won't beat you to death—she'll annihilate you so completely not even a single atom will remain to be reincarnated!