Just as I thought—something's seriously wrong here.
Ian's snake eyes glinted with a ghostly light. Even his movements, as he helped Ereshkigal forge the Spear-Cages, had lost their usual fluidity.
Back in the Age of Gods in ancient Babylon, Gilgamesh—infamous and revered—was a king who could rip gods apart with his bare hands. He had slain more Divine Beasts and gods than Ian could count, and not even the gods could do anything about it.
Someone at the top of the food chain like that would never let down his guard, not even while asleep in the wilderness. If he had, he'd have died a hundred times over during his search for the Herb of Immortality.
So how could a measly snake, one that Gilgamesh could squash with a flick of his finger, have slithered right up to him and stolen the one thing that would grant him eternal life?
No. Something doesn't add up. Not at all.
Back when his life was on the line, Ian had no time to think about it. But now that he had a chance to reflect, the whole event reeked of something far too convenient—something off.
And there were two more suspicious points.
First, that herb supposedly granted immortality and mainly worked by reshaping the physical body.
So why had the soul of the previous snake collapsed entirely during the shedding process?
Second, where did a regular snake—even one that didn't qualify as a Divine Beast—get the courage to snatch from the hands of the infamously brutal Gilgamesh?
And according to the Epic of Gilgamesh, after the theft, the king didn't even seek revenge. The snake just vanished without a trace.
Considering the deeply rooted culture of "equal retaliation" in ancient Babylon, Gilgamesh's lack of a response was... far too calm.
The "victim" remained silent and composed...
The "criminal," who had taken an enormous risk, had their soul destroyed and was wiped from existence...
One word surfaced in Ian's mind—
Scapegoat?
If that was the case, then every inconsistency so far made perfect sense.
The only way a snake could've gotten close to Gilgamesh while he slept was if someone—or something—on an equal level interfered and blocked the king's awareness.
Then, under some unknown compulsion, the "criminal" had stolen the Herb of Immortality from Gilgamesh.
And finally, during the shedding process, the snake's soul was utterly destroyed.
No witnesses. No evidence. All signs pointed to a setup—someone in the shadows tying up loose ends.
Maybe that's why, when Gilgamesh awoke, he didn't explode in fury or seek vengeance on the snake.
Because by then, that wise king—already entering his later years—must have known that someone else was behind the destruction of his last hope for rebirth.
Ian narrowed his eyes, thoughts racing.
Who would go to such lengths to block Gilgamesh's path to immortality?
Who had both the motive and the means?
Suddenly, the ancient snake flinched. Cold sweat dripped down his spine.
He might've gotten himself caught up in something big. Really big.
If things were as he suspected, then by the original plan, this scapegoat snake should have already been erased—soul and all.
But now Ian had seized the moment and taken over the body.
Which meant, the moment he returned to the surface and revealed his unusual state, he'd probably be eliminated without mercy.
Since being dumped into this barren underworld, he had enjoyed a life of freedom under Ereshkigal's protection.
That false sense of safety had made him forget the danger lurking in the shadows.
Now, that sense of crisis had returned—sharply. And with it came a rising dread.
Damn it! I'm completely innocent! Why am I carrying all this blame?
Then again… I was always going to side with the Mother of Genesis, Tiamat, and help her return. That alone is enough to put a target on my back.
One scapegoat role or many—what's the difference?
As they say, when the debt's big enough, who cares? And if you've got fleas already, what's one more?
Resigned, Ian tried to comfort himself with dark humor.
...
While he was lost in thought, the taskmaster—Ereshkigal—rapped a dark red spear blank on his head and planted her hand on her hip, humming in mock annoyance.
"It's almost nightfall. Quit slacking and get back to work!"
Ian curled his tail and rubbed the spot where he'd been bonked, then turned his gaze toward the thousands of empty Spear-Cages all around them, puzzled.
Driven by curiosity, the ancient snake resumed working while sneaking glances at a writing board he'd found, scratching out cuneiform symbols in the spare moments between tasks.
"Ere-sama, I clearly see there's plenty of empty Spear-Cage slots. Why are you working so hard?"
Ereshkigal, fingers paused over a nearly solidified cage, hesitated a moment after activating the inscription. She lowered her head and whispered:
"Soon, these won't be enough…"
"I must prepare in advance…"
Ian's heart skipped. A faint glow sparked in his vertical pupils.
So… Ereshkigal already knows a catastrophe is coming to the world above. When that time comes, an avalanche of souls will flood into the underworld?
"Enlil, God of the Atmosphere, will unleash a flood that washes away the world. The Beast Huwawa will blight the crops. Gugalanna, the Bull of Heaven, brings terror and drought…"
"Humans… always suffering so many disasters…"
"The gods…"
Ereshkigal stood by the dark riverbank, lips caught between her teeth, sighing as if sensing something. Her voice sank until even the snake curled around her neck couldn't catch more than fragments.
"You… like humans? Are you worried about them?"
Ian rolled up his writing board and held it before her.
"No! Humans were created to serve and please us. The gods don't care about their tools' feelings!"
Ereshkigal flushed, tightened her cheeks, and shook her head in denial, chin raised high.
Hmm—such a disingenuous woman.
Ian's snake tongue flicked, amusement dancing in his pupils. But the tease was fleeting—the snake's brow soon furrowed in concern.
In the future he remembered, a figure named Goetia, King of the Demon Gods, would come and cause chaos. He would cross the Sea of Imaginary Numbers, insert a chunk of high-purity mana—the so-called "Holy Grail"—into the World Egg. That would awaken Mother Goddess Tiamat, destroy ancient Babylon (the cradle of human civilization), wipe out humanity from the root, and restart the world.
Yet Ian found it suspicious. In this age, divine-human ties hadn't been completely severed. And until the very end, gods like Anu, Enki, Enlil—or even Marduk who defeated Tiamat—never intervened. Together with Ereshkigal's earlier hesitation, it seemed a force was steering events toward catastrophe.
What hidden agenda were these puppeteers pursuing? What roles were they playing? Ian had no way of knowing. But one thing was certain: he would never let Mother Goddess Tiamat march blindly into this mess for someone else's gain. With power she couldn't control, she'd become a tool—exploited by unseen forces.
And deep inside, Ian could feel the abandoned goddess still loved this land and its life deeply. He, the grateful beneficiary of her mercy, was living proof of her worth.
Just as Ian pondered this, a strange vibration descended from the sky, piercing the earth. From the distant mountains of the underworld erupted golden rings of explosion.
"What's happening there?"
Ian scrawled his worry onto the board, anxiety etched across his face.
Ereshkigal's voice was dry, shadows creeping across her expression.
"It's the tomb where Gilgamesh buried his dearest friend. Inside lies…"
"The Chains of Heaven—Enkidu!"
In an instant, a blazing silver-white chain with an arrow-tip tore through the fog and shot toward the surface.
The radiant golden pillar carved an invisible hole between heaven and earth.
Simultaneously, Ian felt a tug in his soul—as if the anchor line tying him to Tiamat and to the world tightened suddenly.
The serpent looked up. Its patterned vertical pupils pierced barrier after barrier, revealing a scene that sent shivers through its heart.
From the Sea of Imaginary Numbers rose a towering silhouette—summoned, it seemed—bulldozing toward the world's breach. A surging black tide followed, sweeping everything before it.
Now we're in deep trouble…