THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

A month had passed, and the Kingdom of Erech was no longer the barren wasteland it once was. Fields that had been buried under endless dunes of sand were now fertile and bursting with crops. Rivers that had dried to cracked beds shimmered under the sun's rays near the kingdom, and the bones of long-dead animals stirred, regenerating flesh and vitality as if time itself had reversed.

The people of Erech called it a miracle, a blessing bestowed by the masked woman who had appeared when their world teetered on the brink of extinction. She preached of chaos—a force neither to be feared nor reviled, but embraced as salvation.

High above the bustling kingdom, Gilgamesh, the King of Steel, lay on the rooftop of his resplendent palace. His golden hair glinted faintly in the dying crimson light of the evening sky, his crimson gaze lost in its vastness. His head rested in the lap of the masked woman, whose delicate fingers—clad in metallic claws—ran through his hair in a slow, almost absent-minded rhythm.

"Number 1," Gilgamesh murmured, his voice carrying the weight of a ruler and the quiet vulnerability of a man seeking answers. "How much longer do you think this blessing of chaos will last?"

The woman tilted her head, her mask reflecting the burning sky above. "Only time will tell," she said, her voice smooth, almost melodic. "Fate always aligns itself, whether we wish it or not."

Gilgamesh closed his eyes for a moment, the lines of weariness on his face softening under her touch. The memory of his kingdom's miraculous revival played in his mind. The despair of his people had been replaced with joy, their hopelessness with a spark of life that burned brighter each day.

Number 1 had turned desolation into abundance, and for that, she was revered as Erech's savior. Yet, beneath the reverence and the miracles, a darker truth lingered.

Number 1's clawed hand rested briefly on his cheek, her touch cold and unyielding like the steel she symbolized. "The blessing is but a reprieve, Gilgamesh," she whispered, her voice taking on a somber edge. "I told your people what they needed to hear. But to you, I will not lie. This gift is fleeting."

He opened his eyes and turned his gaze to her masked face, searching for answers she did not yet reveal.

"My mission," she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "is to bring you, King of Steel, into the service of chaos. Together, we must find the Source—the force that destroys worlds, one after the other. Only then will true salvation be within reach."

Her words settled over him like a shroud, their weight undeniable. Chaos had saved Erech, yes, but it was a double-edged sword—a savior and a harbinger. As the crimson sky bled into darkness, Gilgamesh's mind churned with thoughts of what lay ahead. Was he a pawn in chaos's game, or a king destined to rewrite fate?

Gilgamesh stood, brushing himself off as he straightened to his full height, his crimson gaze fixed on the horizon. A ruler's stance, firm and unyielding, reflected the weight of his kingdom's survival on his shoulders. The sharp division between the lush, reborn lands of Erech and the endless expanse of scorched sand beyond was a stark reminder. The world was dying, and this fragile oasis would not hold against the encroaching desolation.

Destruction was inevitable, but even amidst despair, there was hope—a dangerous, chaotic hope offered by Number 1. Her power had brought life back to Erech when all seemed lost. Now, she offered him another way: not just to save his people but to carve a path through the chaos that threatened to consume everything.

"Number 1," he began, his voice steady, as if sealing an unspoken pact. "This king stands in your service."

At his words, Number 1 stirred. She tilted her masked face down toward him, her movements deliberate and almost serpentine. With a slow and deliberate motion, her metallic fingers reached up to detach her mask. Beneath, her face was as otherworldly as her power: dark lips curved into a wide grin, her eyes glinting like twin orbs of liquid night. She leaned closer, her voice a soft murmur that carried an edge of triumph.

"From this moment forward," she whispered, her grin widening, "you shall be known as Number 4."

Her cold embrace enveloped him as her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. Before he could react, she kissed his cheek, and in that fleeting touch, a dark power surged into him. It burned through his veins like liquid fire, sinking into his soul, reshaping it, claiming it.

With a sudden shove, she pushed him backward. Gilgamesh fell from the rooftop, his golden hair streaming upward as the air rushed past him.

But he remained calm, utterly still as he descended, his crimson eyes glowing with an unshakable resolve. The darkness inside him grew, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like it would consume him whole. Yet he didn't resist. Instead, he embraced it, letting it mold him as he came to a quiet conclusion.

He gazed up at the rooftop, his voice steady as he uttered his farewell. "Erech, my people, wait for me. I will return, but first, I must walk the path laid before me."

The whispers began, an intoxicating litany that flooded his mind like salvation. His lips parted, and the words spilled out with reverence: "Realm Manifestation: King of Steel."
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The world shuddered. The crimson sky darkened, twisting into an abyssal void as Gilgamesh's power surged outward. A low rumble filled the air before a sea of colossal swords materialized, their metallic surfaces shimmering ominously against the blackened heavens.

The swords rained down on Erech, crashing into the earth with deafening roars. Structures that had stood for generations were obliterated. Crops, animals, and the green lifeblood of the kingdom were torn apart as chaos swallowed everything. The cries of the people reached up to the heavens, desperate and heart-wrenching.

From above, a single tear fell from Gilgamesh's eye, trailing down his cheek before vanishing into the storm of destruction below. His people's anguish clawed at his soul, but he did not waver. He was no longer just a king—he was something more, something darker, a servant of chaos itself.

When the devastation subsided, all that remained of Erech was silence, an empty wasteland where life had been extinguished. Gilgamesh floated in the air, staring down at what had once been his kingdom. He said nothing, only watched, his face an unreadable mask of sorrow and resolve.

Number 1 appeared beside him, her robe billowing as she floated effortlessly in the void. For a long moment, she observed him in silence, her gaze unreadable. Then, with a sharp motion, she reached out and tore through the fabric of space itself, revealing a swirling portal of chaotic energy.

"It is time to leave, Number 4," she said, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. "Salvation awaits."

Gilgamesh lingered for a moment longer, casting one last look at the ruins of Erech. Then, with a deep breath, he turned and stepped through the portal, leaving behind the world he had destroyed for the promise of something greater.