DW DXD Intermission: The King’s Fury (Patreon)

After Chapter 13

The Tohsaka manor’s ritual chamber stood immaculate. Polished wooden floors reflected the soft glow of the overhead lamps. Carefully etched magic circles lay undisturbed, their lines precise and reverent. The faint scent of incense and aged relics lingered in the air, steeped in centuries of ritual and tradition. It was a room meant to embody order.

But then a golden goblet shattered against the far wall, spilling the priceless wine across the wall. The impact was explosive as fragments of metal rained across the floor, skittering and clattering as they struck stone and wood alike. Before the echoes could fade another object was torn from its place and hurled away. A ceremonial jewel embedded deep into the far wall with a sickening crack, splintering the wood outward in jagged fractures.

At the center of the chamber stood Gilgamesh. His shoulders were rigid. His breath was sharp and uneven. Crimson eyes burned with wrath.

“That accursed… Clown!!” The word ripped from his throat like a curse. 

The memory would not leave him. The moment his hand had been forced and he had been outplayed.

His fingers dug into his palm, nails biting into flesh as the images replayed unbidden.

The sudden displacement. The emergency teleport wrenching the boy from death’s grasp. That crimson beam of energy burning through the air, grazing him, touching him just long enough to buy time for the boy to escape. And then the river that had swallowed the boy whole and dragged him away from Gilgamesh’s reach.

Gilgamesh’s lips curled downward, disgust heavy in his expression. “He fled… and escaped me,” He muttered, pacing the chamber, each step sharp and deliberate. “Dragged away like the mongrel he is.”

And yet that was not what gnawed at him. What clawed at his pride was the truth he could not erase, the boy had not begged, he had not screamed. He had not even cursed his fate or pleaded for mercy.

Even while bleeding and exhausted. Even while fleeing with survival as his only option. Issei Hyoudou had looked at him with resolve.

Not in fear or despair. But full of resolve and conviction. As if escape was not an admission of defeat. As if this was not an ending but a postponement. As if the boy truly believed that, given time, given growth, given another chance… He could defeat the King of Heroes.

Gilgamesh’s pace slowed and his gaze darkened. “How…Arrogant,” he hissed.

Then his memory shifted further back. To the docks, to the first time the clown had stood before him. To the moment Sha Naqba Imuru had first shown him the futures that followed should he continue to ignore the boy.

Various futures of battle, futures full of loss. Futures of something far worse than defeat.

And one future, one obscene, unacceptable possibility that Gilgamesh had refused to acknowledge.

His fingers curled slowly into a fist. “I will not be belittled and lessened” He declared to the silent chamber, voice cold and absolute. “I will not be trivialized.”

The lamps flickered as the room trembled.

For the King of Heroes was not just enraged because he had failed to kill the clown. He was enraged because the clown had survived him, but that he truly believed that he could be defeated.

But it was then that his sight fractured. Golden light bled across reality as Sha Naqba Imuru unfolded, not by his command. His Eyes opened before his will could deny it, peeling back time as though it were nothing more than a fragile veil.

Futures surged forward.

In one he stood triumphant.

The Grail rested in his grasp, overflowing with divine radiance. The city lay broken beneath him, reduced to rubble and ash. The war was over. All resistance had been erased. False kings, heroes, and pretenders alike had fallen.

And yet the boy was gone.

Issei Hyoudou did not kneel among the ruins. Did not stand defiant before the King of Heroes. He simply vanished.

The future followed him, not back into the city, not into legend, but into another world entirely. A life continued beyond the reach of kings and gods, where Gilgamesh existed only as a distant memory and left behind.

A victory without acknowledgment. A conquest without witness. A crown worn before an empty throne.

Something twisted violently in Gilgamesh’s chest.

The future shattered beneath his snarl.

“Unacceptable.” The word echoed like a sentence passed upon fate itself.

But then the second future unfolded in silence.

The Grail lay destroyed, its light shattered, its purpose undone. Servants fell across the battlefield, some by his hand, others by forces even the King of Heroes did not recognize. Legends ended. Names were erased. The war consumed itself and collapsed into ruin.

And yet there stood Issei Hyoudou.

Not triumphant or broken.

He stood at the edge of it all, watching the destruction with tired eyes. Eyes that had seen and endured too much. The fire and carnage reflected faintly in them, but they did not linger.

Then he looked at Gilgamesh.

Not with hatred. Not with reverence. Not even with defiance. But with cold indifference.

As if the King of Heroes was no longer relevant. As if the war, the Grail, and the countless fallen legends were already behind him.

Issei simply turned away. He gathered others, wounded, frightened, but alive and walked on without a backward glance. He did not speak. He did not acknowledge the king who stood at the center of the ruin.

He left Gilgamesh behind. Like an afterthought. Like something already discarded.

The vision collapsed violently, reality snapping shut as Gilgamesh crushed the future beneath his will. Golden light screamed and folded inward, erased by sheer refusal.

“Do not look away from me,” he snarled, the words dripping with venom, shaking the void itself. “I do not exist to be ignored!” The future shattered—but the insult remained.

But then the third vision was far worse.

It showed Gilgamesh battered and broken. His golden armor lay in ruins, shattered beyond repair. Priceless treasures, Noble Phantasms that had survived ages, wars, and gods were scattered around him, cracked and lifeless. The Gates of Babylon stood silent. No light answered his call.

He lay on the ground defeated and crushed. And standing before him was the clown, Issei Hyoudou, bloodied, exhausted, but victorious.

Yet the boy did not gloat. He did not strike the finishing blow. He did not even look down at the King of Heroes.

He again simply turned away. Refusing to acknowledge him.

The vision twisted and then one future lingered for too long and unwelcome.

There was no battlefield. No ruin. No Grail. 

Just silence in the night air as two figures seated on the ground.

Gilgamesh and Issei sat across from one another, both battered, both scarred by wounds earned honestly. The boy smiled faintly, not in triumph, not in mockery, but like someone who believed the war between them was finished.

There was no fear. No worship. No hatred.

They spoke and argued. They clashed not with weapons, but with their beliefs, only to laugh as they smiled at each other.

Their words cut as deeply as blades, neither yielding easily, neither bending. And yet understanding formed and brought recognition.

 Not as king and mongrel. But as equals who had crossed blades… and lived.

The future waited. It did not force itself upon him. It invited him.

As if daring the King of Heroes to accept it. As if daring him to admit that something existed beyond conquest.

Then the visions turned violent. Countless futures surged in, drowning that quiet moment—each one showing more of his defeat. His rule ending. His name eclipsed by the very clown he refused to acknowledge.

That was when Gilgamesh roared. “ENOUGH!”

Golden light imploded violently, collapsing inward as Sha Naqba Imuru was crushed beneath sheer will. Futures screamed and vanished, erased by refusal alone.

“I do not befriend those beneath me,” he snarled at the empty room, voice raw and absolute. “I do not walk beside insects. I will not be bested by the likes of him!”

It was then that another object shattered. Then another. Gold littered the floor, ornaments, relics without equal, priceless treasures reduced to meaningless debris by the violence of his hand. The room, once pristine, now bore the scars from his displeasure.

At its center stood Gilgamesh, chest rising and falling, breath sharp as embers burned through his veins. The rage within him blazed so fiercely it threatened to collapse inward, teetering on something far more dangerous than fury.

Frustration because the clown had dared to look down upon him. Because Issei Hyoudou had refused every role fate had prepared for him. He would not be a stepping stone. Instead, the boy had looked at the King of Heroes as if they stood on the same ground.

That insult cut deeper than any weapon.

Slowly, deliberately, Gilgamesh straightened.

His breathing steadied. The chaos in the room stilled. The fury did not fade but it hardened, condensing into something colder, sharper, infinitely more dangerous.

“…Very well,” He said softly, the words barely above a whisper, yet heavy enough to weigh upon the chamber. His crimson eyes gleamed in the dim ritual light, reflecting neither mercy nor haste.

“Run.”

“Recover.”

“Grow.”

A cruel smile curved across his lips, predatory and certain.

“But understand this, Clown.”

The room trembled.

“I will not allow you to escape my gaze twice.”

And somewhere beyond the manor, beyond the city, beyond the futures he refused to acknowledge, Fate shifted uneasily.