Singularity VII: Babylonia (265)

The three rotating blades of Gilgamesh's sword symbolized the three parts of the world - the heavens, the earth, and the underworld. Their rotation represented the unstoppable march of history. And lastly, the blade itself, Ea, bore the name of the one who separated heaven and earth.

Gilgamesh's sword, that of ‘history's first Hero’, was the only truly ‘unique’ blade in his treasury. It didn't serve as a prototype for later weapons, didn't inspire new legendary artifacts through its influence, nor was it ever claimed by another hero to be renamed according to their legend. Ea, the unnamed sword of the King of Heroes, was his sole unique weapon.

The grinding howl of the three cylinders roared to the heavens, before Gilgamesh brought down his blade, forcing its metaphysical essence to collide with Tiamat's core.

Gilgamesh, ‘humanity's first hero’, is both the progenitor and the archetype for all the heroes who followed after him. His deeds formed the foundation of all the other Heroes’ legendary feats thereafter, and his treasures became artifacts scattered across the world.

It was logical that for a hero so intrinsically linked to the concept of ‘beginnings’ - of heroes, treasures, and legendary sagas, that his only truly unique and irreplaceable artifact would connect to this same idea.

Ea is connected to the beginning of this world itself.

Before the world's birth, in a void containing only chaos and nothingness, the world emerged as a storm. What modern science would later call the Big Bang, and magic would name The Denial of Nothingness, the First Magic.

This event predated Gilgamesh and was far more ancient than any being in existence, the true ‘origin point’ of everything.

Gilgamesh's sword, Ea, marked  his existence as the ‘first hero’ - but while all other treasures connected him to ‘what came after Gilgamesh’, Ea linked him to ‘what existed before Gilgamesh.’

The primordial storm that birthed all existence, the time before time, the place before place. For a moment, through Ea, the target of Gilgamesh's personal ire could touch this origin.

Tiamat's core, the remnants of her form, collided with the primordial storm long before humanity's birth.

Piercing through all accreted layers of this world, slicing through ‘the world as it is now’ to momentarily return it to ‘what it once was’, even before Tiamat. 

Gilgamesh's blade met Tiamat's nature.

And, perhaps to no one's surprise, Tiamat could endure the blow where others would perish without being able to do anything.

Of course, ‘endure’ denotes a limit.

It was difficult to say which Servant could endure such a collision with Gilgamesh's sword.

Formally speaking, Gilgamesh's blade could overcome any defense, pierce any barrier, and destroy any obstacle in its path.

But if the target didn't rely on any Kong of protection but simple sheer, unparalleled vitality? Guaranteeing Gilgamesh's instant victory was extremely difficult.

Especially considering that Tiamat was one who could survive even such an impact.

Yes, every strike, every incredible attack, every exceptional Noble Phantasm was another blow against her. Each one wounded her, shattered her bones, forced her back half a step.

But none could deliver the final blow.

One after another, strike after strike, the Servants tried to cast Tiamat back into the sea from which she once emerged and destroy her completely. Each time they failed.

Clawing with all her strength at the real world, violently overcoming every obstacle before her, continuing to push forward and upward - Tiamat endured.

Even now, under the barrage of Enuma Elish, this remained true.

The world resisted, Noble Phantasms activated one after another, Humanity fought with all they have, yet Tiamat persisted.

And so now, as Gilgamesh unleashed Enuma Elish, as he drove Ea forward - Tiamat could still survive.

As if passing through a meat grinder, barely clinging to existence, continuing to live through absolute tenacity alone - Tiamat still refused to yield.

Therefore when Ea's strike fractured Tiamat's core. When Gilgamesh ascended. When primordial chaos collided with the primordial mother.

Tiamat still held on. She remained alive.

Second by second, still suffering, Tiamat endured, second by second as Enuma Elish began to run its course. Slowly, moment by moment, Enuma Elish, the chaos before creation receded while Tiamat herself persisted, inching forward against all resistance, all opposition, edging toward victory. 

And in the final second, as Ea winded down…

Tiamat's core crumbled inward with a faint chime, as though something had abruptly severed its inner sustenance. As if succumbing to gravitational collapse, Tiamat disintegrated like a statue of glass, vanishing into nothingness before annihilating herself completely.

What transpired was neither the effect of Gilgamesh’s attack nor the culmination of the other Servants’ efforts—not even Merlin could claim credit.

Yet Gilgamesh smirked watching this outcome. 

It seemed the stranger from beyond this world’s boundaries had fulfilled his destined role after all.

In the end, Tiamat was defeated by the greatest alliance of Servants ever assembled.

But her death came not by their hands—but by the hand of a Foreigner, choosing to embrace death rather than resist it.

Tiamat’s essence began collapsing inward. 

Cracks racing across her core, like peeling paint, the unified entity of Beast II and Tiamat, split into two distinct halves. As the Primordial Mother perished, the black mud of Beast II, severed from its foundation and as if convulsing in agony, thrashed wildly. 

Desperate to survive, it lunged outward, seeking to consume new life, to forge a vessel for the monstrosity.

Unleashing everything, the sludge now hungered not for the act of saving Tiamat’s children—but for the remnants of its dead mother. It sought to repurpose her carcass, dominate it, seize its power, anything to endure. 

Though remaining silent, Beast II’s death scream echoed like gravitational waves, distorting reality itself. A fitting parting shot for an event of such cosmic significance.

Tiamat’s demise was precisely such an event.

Beast II clawed at existence itself, scrambling for its own continued existence, fighting its own dissolution as it crumbled under the weight of Tiamat’s acceptance of death. 

Unlike its terrifying, majestic display of power of before, now Beast II’s flailing resembled a clumsy seamstress accidentally stitching flesh instead of cloth. A shuddering abomination less a living thing than a construct forced into agonized being.

Yet even as Tiamat’s unified form disintegrated, Beast II retained strength for one final act. Not for a search for victory—but for desecration. To give one last spiteful stain on the Servants’ triumph.

A wave of black sludge surged outward, aiming solely for devastation. To devour souls sealed by Ereshkigal in this underworld. To erase the archaeological monuments of past human civilizations. To inflict any conceivable harm—all to taint the Servants’ jubilation, however slightly.

"For Whom the Bell Tolls…"

The cold, detached void of the desert night seemed to swallow the world. Beast II shuddered, sensing an entity’s approach. One that is antithetical to its very nature.

After all, the natural enemies of Beasts were Grand Servants.

Grands, woven into the world’s fabric, were humanity’s shield against Beasts. Manifesting only at the moment of greatest need, to annihilate such monstrosities. 

That this Grand Servant, summoned to oppose Beast II, had waited silently for this precise moment?

Was this not the purpose of the Grand Assassin? To bide their time before delivering a single, decisive strike?

"Azrael."

Hassan-i-Sabbah—the true Old Man of the Mountain, founder of the sect and of the very word ‘assassin’. Who better embodied the title of Grand Assassin? 

The one who birthed the concept itself.

What Noble Phantasm suited one synonymous with ‘death’ better than the name of the angel who gathers souls? What power could Hassan manifest but absolute death?

Hassan, who long ago dedicated himself to God as His nameless blade, became death incarnate. Neither alive nor dead, his flesh decayed long ago—only bones and the soul sealed within persisted, bound to a single mission: eliminating those marked for death.

Could there be more perfect conditions for Hassan to manifest as the Grand Assassin than right now? A hero existing solely to eliminate monsters threatening humanity?

Hassan's Noble Phantasm, Azrael, became the embodiment of this concept.

The perfect arbiter. The dividing line separating death from life. The blade of the ultimate assassin, measuring the boundary between life and death.

In other words, Hassan’s Noble Phantasm did not kill the target. Rather, it simply marked it as something that is ‘already dead’. The moment the Noble Phantasm activated, the target had always been dead.

Not slain, but have ‘always’ been deceased.

Thus, the surging wave of black sludge—the remnants of Beast II’s lingering power—collapsed before it could fully coalesce, instantly laying bare its innards. The vestiges of power, flesh, defenses—all the things that have already been declared by the Hassan as ‘already dead’—crumbled away, exposing the decaying core of what remained of ‘Beast II’.

Like a flower rotten from within, its petals fell to reveal the festering ulcer beneath, oozing pus and pulsing to the fading heartbeat of the Beast.

After the battle, after every clash, after all the struggle…

At last, the essence of Beast II shuddered—then stilled.

And from behind the momentarily frozen mass of condensed malice, a figure emerged, a skeleton just alike, but alien to the True Hassan extended its hand forward.

"True Death."

And after one final, eternal shudder…

Beast II was finally defeated.

***

Returning to Chaldea, Ainz managed a few contemplative steps before ingrained instincts overrode conscious thought. Teleporting sideways, firing a fireball, summoning a Death Knight as a shield—all knee-jerk reactions to the sudden noise that yanked him back into combat mode. Before forcibly suppressing the battle-trance and scanning his surroundings.

The loud sound was familiar, reminiscent of what he'd heard before—repeatedly.

Slowly drifting confetti caught his eye—blue, red, yellow, tiny squares floating downward…

"Congratulations!" Only then did the scene before him click into place.

Party poppers showered him and the floor in celebratory paper, marking the resolution of his Singularity.

"Not that anyone doubted your capabilities—but you’ve achieved the impossible yet again, defeating Tiamat." Olga Marie’s voice cut through the sea of gathered Servants, her confident posture refusing to let her vanish into the crowd. 

"Well done!"

Her words ignited a chorus of ‘Congratulations!’ from all present. The noise echoed from all sides—some were louder, some softer, but all were more or less enthusiastic—undeniably sincere. 

Even as Ainz had resigned himself to a role of humanity’s savior, the sheer volume of congratulations gave him pause. Then a realization struck him as the cold voice of reason pushed through his embarrassment. 

He was standing in Chaldea in his true, skeletal, inhuman form.

A Lich. A high-tier undead, menacing from every angle.

Yet the cheers continued. The Servants smiled—some lazily, as if his victory were a foregone conclusion; others were beaming, giving enthusiastic thumbs-up, radiating approval in the split-second their eyes met.

They see him, as he is, a monster not unlike Beast II. And they don’t care.

A thousand tasks loomed ahead; tracking down Solomon, ending the Singularity crisis once and for all, summoning new Servants, navigating the Clock Tower’s politics afterwards, and perhaps, unraveling the reason why he’d been brought here in the first place…

All so he could finally, unshakably, do what he’d yearned for all along.

Ainz stepped forward. Ignoring the skeletal mask that was his face, remembering a mother who’d loved him unconditionally, recalling he was never truly alone—he nodded.

"I am home."