Dear Readers: Back at the temple in the Cedar Forest, let's see just what the avatars of Gilgamesh decide to do with Atria...
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Scene 9: Legends
2020 B.C.
We will show you. The brute’s words sent a harsh chill down her spine as he approached, seizing Atria’s arm in a vile, viselike grip. In moments, many other forceful hands were suddenly upon her.
“Though we usually don’t fuck them first,” one of the assailants ominously whispered in her ear.
“Years’ worth of female flesh we all have missed,” another hissed.
“No,” the bare-chested beauty interrupted, his gentle voice taking on a new sternness toward his companions. “Not yet; not like this. Like animals.”
“Who are you to decide that?” one of them objected.
“Gilgamesh,” he answered steadily. “Of present. Not past.”
“Past precedes present…” the eldest put in, reaching to partake in the assault upon their visitor.
“Not in strength,” the current Gilgamesh contested, laying one big hand on the old man’s bony shoulder, with a deep and darkling glare. “Do not make me use mine against you.”
“Against all of us?” the burly one belligerently butted in.
“I ask only that we decide—as civilized men, rather than wild dogs—what we shall do with her,” the present avatar proposed. “Let us restrain her till we come to a decision.”
The men gave in, momentarily shamed by the animal comparison.
“No doubt the decision will be quick, when she’s got tits like that,” one of them grumbled, as they tied her to a pillar of the temple.
“It is time for our evening repast, after all,” present Gilgamesh pointed out. “The great catch from today’s hunt is nearly all cooked—smell the savor in the air! Have you all forgotten the hungers of the belly, blinded by the hungers of the flesh?”
They had, of course, but they were now reminded.
Atria watched in captive silence as her rescuer stepped outside, to tend to the roast. So he was something of a cook? Good for him, she reflected. For when she returned to the Cave and snipped the threads of all his friends, he would fortunately be able to prepare food for himself.
None of the others so much as motioned to help him. She inferred that this was one of the traditions of the temple—the youngest avatar had to hunt for supper in the forest, and serve it to his predecessors.
He returned with steaming sides of meat, which they devoured promptly. He sat back and watched them feast awhile.
“What—are you not hungry yourself?” the eldest snarled at him with his mouth grossly full, still bitter that he had been shamed into succumbing to the present avatar’s advice.
The young man smiled calmly. “I am. I just wish to ensure that you all have your fill.”
The elder man spitefully narrowed his eyes, and then dove in to bite the last shreds of meat off of the bone in his hands. But before he could, his throat convulsed into a spastic cough. The nearly naked bone fell from his trembling hands to the floor with a sinister thud.
The others’ eyes went wide in concern—at first, solely for the old man’s sake. But soon enough, and far more fearfully, for themselves. A chorus of coughs quickly clouded the savory air. Dark blood spewed from their mouths, seeped from the sockets of their eyes.
The eldest turned his eyes upon the youngest, realizing that he alone was unaffected—watching, waiting, with a smile in his gaze.
“What have… you… done…” the original Gilgamesh choked.
And those were the last words, from any of them. After that, only splutters of blood, and the stench of souls sinking to hell.
The last Gilgamesh stood once the last of his comrades had fallen, coming toward the column to which Atria was tied. She gaped at him in awe, as he knelt by her and undid her bonds.
“What did you feed them?” she murmured.
“What they deserved,” he replied. “A dash of serpent’s venom on their supper did the trick.”
She swallowed, blinked. “But why…”
“They’ve had it coming for some time now—slaughtering every poor soul who stumbles on this temple and refuses to comply with the tradition. I had not yet witnessed any such slaughter firsthand, as I myself only arrived a matter of moons ago. But the elder avatars spoke often of the practice. Which is why I’ve kept the poison up my sleeve for quite a while. The time was simply never right to use it, until you arrived and brought to light how cruel they truly are,” he stated. “And gave me a heroic cause to slaughter them: to save you.”
Atria gazed into his gorgeous eyes, completely lost. “I could never thank you enough, or repay you for this…”
He was too damned perfect. Too damned hot. A hero, a god—in his own right, it seemed to her, he made the legend true.
“…but I can try,” she breathed suggestively, a sultry smile upon her lips. She dove in to press them to his.
He pushed back; she broke. The human and the goddess both.
“I desire nothing from you,” he declared. “Lovely though you may be. I cannot let you think I’ve done this for a price.”
“I wouldn’t think…”
“No doubt this sable hair, these emerald eyes will save your life a thousand times. But not this time,” he stated, rising to his feet. “True heroism must be blind to beauty. Thus am I today.”
The broken fragments of her heart were very sharp, cutting her up inside. What man was blind to beauty? What the fuck? Her face, her figure—these were supposed to give her endless power, over the hearts of all the men on earth. That was supposed to be her gift: beauty, to balance out the ugly curse of being who she was. Bringer of death.
But now what? Now, because of him, her gift was nothing.
She stood up and stared him down, the fires of amorous admiration in her emerald eyes all put out with a scowl. “This doesn’t change a thing, about the lies you’ve spread,” she snapped. “I will see to it that the legend dies. You, Gilgamesh, may be heroic—but you are no god.”
“I don’t pretend to be,” he readily granted. “Nonetheless, I don’t believe that you should let the legend die.”
“It isn’t up to you. Once you release me—as you will—the fate of the myth will be my choice.”
“It is your choice, yes. I ask only that you bear in mind this truth: legends of immortal heroes inspire wonder, strength, and hope in mortal souls. Such things should never be extinguished.”
“Even if they're built on lies?”
“The world is a dark place—sometimes a myth is needed, to shed light. To battle fear and doubt. To win the fight,” the hero claimed. “Doubt is the enemy. Doubt defeats the human spirit.”
Atria huffed and turned upon her heel, pretending that she could deny his weighty words. But she could not. It was as if he’d read her heart. The shards, the splinters of self-doubt, that’d sliced her soul into a thousand pieces. He was right. Somewhere deep in her shattered, shadowed heart, she knew it and believed it, as she left.
She could not let the human spirit be defeated.
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Pick up on any parallels with Atria's recent experiences in the modern day? ;)
Next scene, we'll revisit Cloe at the hotel rooftop, whence her date seems to have disappeared... And if you liked this one, please don't forget to vote! :)