Perhaps the true cause was nothing more than Ishtar's mischief. As for why she chose to stir up trouble, Enkidu no longer had the composure to care.
Still, if Anu—the chief of the gods—had indulged her whim, then perhaps he too wished to test Ophis, the Wedge.
Two paths lay before them.
One: gather the priests and priestesses, offer prayers, and beg the gods to retract their wrath—strengthening humanity's dependence on divine mercy in this farce of faith.
The other: confront divine punishment head-on, breaking through it by her own strength. In doing so, humanity would take its first step away from the gods' control—by openly defeating their messenger.
A bold game, designed by the gods. A choice meant for Ophis alone.
"Do you… truly intend to defy the gods?"
Thus, Enkidu asked.
Facing those clear emerald eyes, even Ophis's usual composure wavered.
Ophis might seem detached, but she was far from foolish. When she took Enkidu's question seriously, she understood its full weight at once.
It wasn't that she knew nothing of her role as the Wedge. She knew—but had never cared enough to think deeply about it. To her, that "responsibility" was meaningless noise, unworthy of her attention.
And so, she ignored it.
But now, she stood at a real crossroads.
Ignoring was no longer an option—only choice remained.
Yet Ophis's thoughts were still simple and direct.
"If Enkidu wants—"
"Ophis!"
Enkidu's sharp voice cut her off.
"This decision has nothing to do with my wishes! It's something you must decide for yourself!"
"…"
It was the first time Enkidu had spoken to her so firmly, and Ophis fell silent.
She understood.
This was something only she could choose.
Even so, the decision wasn't difficult.
Though Ophis loved stillness, she had never shied away from battle. On the contrary, as someone seeking strength great enough to defeat Great Red, she welcomed trials that could make her stronger.
Besides, Enkidu likely despised those gods who toyed with people so casually…
Just as Ophis was about to voice her answer—
Her right eye flickered with light, and a flood of visions rushed into her mind.
The Bull of Heaven slain… and, in its wake, Enkidu's death.
"Ugh…"
"Ophis?"
Ophis staggered back, slipping free from Enkidu's hands.
"Let me… think about it first."
There was something in her expression—uneasy, shaken—that Enkidu had never seen before. Instinctively, she nodded, letting Ophis go. She could only watch helplessly as Ophis left the hall, then rubbed the back of her head with a sigh.
"Did I… push too hard?"
...
On a small hill outside Uruk, Ophis had unconsciously hurled herself there with such force that the crash left a shallow crater at her feet.
I came here… instinctively.
After regaining some composure, she looked around, then placed a hand over her chest.
My heart hurts.
That pain had begun the moment she saw those visions.
Ophis wasn't unfamiliar with pain—but she had always classified it as an "unnecessary factor," something that interfered with clear thought and effective combat. She usually ignored it.
But this time… she couldn't.
Was this what emotions felt like?
Completely useless baggage. It offered no help in defeating Great Red—if anything, it might cloud her judgment and drag her down. Something she ought to discard.
And she knew she could.
If she willed it, she could seal away most of her emotions—or erase them entirely.
It would be easy.
She didn't understand why it was so easy—why she could so effortlessly strip away most of her emotions, yet not all. But instinct told her that doing so would immediately end all her current confusion.
And yet, her own blood rebelled against the idea.
The Ouroboros was supposed to be a perfect being—but if she lost her emotions, she would no longer be truly perfect.
Her infinity would fracture.
More than that, Ophis sensed that if she went through with it, she would lose something far more precious than mere emotion—something that could never be reclaimed.
In the end, she couldn't bring herself to do it.
Having awakened something close to clairvoyance, Ophis now trusted her instincts deeply.
...
[Whew… She pulled through, huh…]
Within Ophis's sea of consciousness, Inori let out a relieved breath, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow.
Did Ophis even realize how long Inori had spent nurturing that fragile sprout of feeling?
[Honestly… Made me wake up in a panic for nothing. Still, I can't hold out much longer myself…]
Once she confirmed that Ophis wouldn't do anything reckless, Inori sank back into her deep slumber.
...
Though she had made an emotional decision, Ophis still couldn't immediately answer Enkidu's question.
Whether Enkidu cared for her because of Fate Replacement with Gilgamesh, destiny's design, or simply affection born of companionship—it no longer mattered.
Ophis could no longer ignore Enkidu's place in her heart.
The image of Enkidu's death… she couldn't accept it.
And after seeing that future, Ophis felt a faint bitterness toward the distant gods.
The thought of dancing to their tune irritated her deeply.
Yet she also understood that, in practice, she had only one real choice.
She couldn't let Enkidu die.
At present, she didn't possess the power to overthrow the entire Babylonian pantheon. Even now, several god-kings still existed in this age—some of the oldest, most terrifying beings of creation hadn't disappeared entirely.
Her strongest weapon, Ea, was powerful but not limitless. Its destructive might came not from sheer energy but from its concept—an "Anti-World" weapon capable of splitting the world itself.
In terms of raw firepower, it exceeded Excalibur's sealed state, but not by an impossible margin.
In short, Ophis lacked the overwhelming strength to destroy the gods outright—and the gods likely couldn't kill her either, though they might have methods of sealing.
And who could say? Some gods might possess their own form of immortality.
Even if she unleashed her infinity to annihilate them all, the collateral damage would likely erase Uruk—and possibly the entire Mesopotamian region. Worse, the battle would last long enough for the gods to strike down Enkidu first.
To wage war against the gods now would be sheer stupidity.
So… should she yield to them?
Ophis sighed inwardly. For Enkidu's sake, compromise wasn't unacceptable.
"Are you worrying about me, King of Uruk?"
The familiar, gentle voice sounded behind her.
Enkidu.