Five thousand years ago,
humanity lost its "sky" for the first time.
In front of Uruk City,
six hundred and twenty-three fresh corpses were piled up.
Each and every one of them, whether in their last second alive or after death, tightly gripped their weapon. With their final breath, with their remaining strength, they fought desperately against the inhuman monsters before them, determined to perish together.
And so, they died with smiles on their faces.
The warrior's final rest is on the battlefield.
The song fueled by blood and fire is the best farewell for the warrior.
The corpses of the otherworldly creatures serve as the warrior's finest coffin.
Gilgamesh watched the Uruk soldiers—those who once loved this world—fall one by one on the battlefield, his expression unusually calm.
Indeed,
this was a war destined for defeat.
He had already foreseen the outcome of this war.
But so what?
