Fate/My Villain Simulations

In the city of Uruk, flames already clawed at the city's towering walls.

Thick clouds of smoke spiraled upward, choking the sun and casting a dark veil over the city.

The priests, devout followers, and slaves, all of whom had waited patiently for this day, grabbed the hidden weapons—pitchforks, spears—tucked in the tall grass. Mounted on their tamed donkeys and pulling carts behind them, they prepared to take action.

They surged forward down Uruk's broad streets, heading straight toward the heart of the palace.

This was no mere skirmish.

This was a brutal war to bring down tyranny.

Nearly ten years of meticulous planning had led them to this very moment.

Susa, standing at a distance, gazed upward at the sun hidden behind thick storm clouds.

If today's uprising succeeded and he were to die in the process, he would be forever remembered as an anti-hero, his name sung by generations far and wide.

After that, he would seize the hidden power—the Saint Graph that spanned across the very Andromeda Galaxy.

Not the magic circuits, unruly and unreliable source of power, but true, unadulterated power and infinite potential.

And so, there was no force that could stand in Susa's way now, no one who could stop him from achieving his dark, anti-hero ambitions.

He was prepared to embrace death, if it meant taking his place as the ultimate antagonist.

"Fufu~! Man, someone pat me on my back. Well, time for the speech."

Lurking behind a stone pillar, Susa watched as the uprising forces gathered beneath the palace's looming shadows.

Stepping out, he raised his spear high into the air.

"Today, we unite to overthrow the tyrant, to secure a better future for all the citizens of Uruk. We once revered him, placed our hope and trust in him, sacrificing everything for his cause. But look at what he has become—violent, corrupt, and twisted.

A ruler who imposes tyranny, burdens his people with heavy taxes, and rules selfishly for his own gain. He cares nothing for the lives of the common folk. The warriors who rise against him are humiliated. The ministers who counsel him are falsely accused and executed.

He spits on the greatness of the goddess Ishtar, our protector, and treats all living beings—as if their loyalty and love are his to command, his property to control.

If we do not strike now, more will lie awake at night in terror, and more children will grow up in fear. More wives will lose their husbands, more children will lose their fathers, and more husbands will lose their loved ones."

"Therefore, men! Stand with me! Long live Uruk! Long live the goddess Ishtar!"

"Long live Uruk!"

"Long live the goddess Ishtar!"

The deafening cries echoed across the land.

Ten years of quiet planning had already ensured that the rebels now outnumbered even their most optimistic hopes.

As for the names of Uruk and Ishtar…

Heh! Susa had never placed any true faith in them. Not a shred.

But does that matter? The name of the goddess was nothing more than a tool, a convenient means to an end.

As long as it ignited the spark that would rouse Gilgamesh, the goddess's reaction was irrelevant.

For this, Susa was prepared.

The spear in his hand had been consecrated in Ishtar's sacred rites for almost a decade. Its power was now potent enough to injure even a god.

Susa had named it "Gungnir", borrowing the name of Odin's legendary weapon, stacking every possible enhancement to the absolute extreme.

Years of tireless training had shaped Susa into someone capable of measuring himself against Gilgamesh's strength.

As the saying went: a true villain is one who perseveres relentlessly, working toward his goal day after day, year after year.

Susa chuckled softly.

He had certainly embraced the discipline of a true villain. 

Watching the soldiers below the palace, Susa raised his spear high and charged toward the heart of the palace.

Behind him, the soldiers and priests followed closely, clearing away the palace guards who had no time to react.

The elite troops, well-prepared and swift, caught the palace's defenders completely off guard.

Finally, the last line of defense was shattered.

"Interesting." A deep, resonant voice rang out across the city, reverberating through the streets of Uruk. A man clad in glimmering golden armor, holding a golden goblet, strolled leisurely from within the palace.

"So this is the grand spectacle you lowly insects have been scheming for every day?" he mocked with a cruel grin. "How amusing to think you could prepare such a display just for me."

Gilgamesh's lips twisted into a smirk, and he scanned the furious, rebellious crowd below with disdain.

"But tell me, who gave you the courage to challenge me? Since insects remain insects, they never know their place."

Gilgamesh had never been a merciful king. While he claimed the title of the supreme heroic king, he was also known as the most tyrannical ruler.

He viewed everything within the city-state as his personal possession, assigning value and status only by his whims and desires.

Not even the likes of Lionheart, the Knight King, or the harsh First Emperor of Qin could compare to Gilgamesh in his utter disregard for his people.

He didn't see them as human. To him, they were tools to be used.

Susa had prepared for this very moment.

Refusing to waste time on words with Gilgamesh, he shifted his stance and advanced with relentless purpose, "Gilgamesh, you and I will fall together!"

With a roar, his being seemed to fuse with the spear in his hand.

This weapon, consecrated in Ishtar's temple for nearly ten years, now carried the very essence of the war goddess herself.

Like a shooting star, the spear hurtled forward, a blur of deadly intent aimed directly at Gilgamesh, who stood atop the platform.

A mortal's energy is finite. So, Susa poured everything he had into this singular, decisive strike.

If it succeeded, even a god's child would fall.

This was the "Meteor Thrust"—his ultimate attack.

"Die!" he cried.

The spear broke the sound barrier, its tip aimed at Gilgamesh's chest. It struck with the force of a falling star—and pierced through!

'Success! Finally, the power to fart and defeat my enemies is in my reach!'

But just as Susa's heart swelled with triumph—

Gilgamesh, unfazed, grabbed the spear that had impaled his chest. With effortless ease, he pulled it free and cast it aside, as though it were nothing but mere strow.

Treasure phantasms materialized from thin air, cascading over Gilgamesh like a golden torrent.

The wound that had pierced his chest, bolstered by his divine power, healed at an alarming speed.

"You have angered me," Gilgamesh said, his voice now full of dangerous calm.

His furious gaze locked onto Susa, who, exhausted from the overwhelming strike, stood before him drained of energy.

[You never imagined that the rebellion you'd spent nearly a decade preparing for would fail so miserably and quickly.]

[To be fair, you underestimated the power of the gods and the might of their treasures. The Sumerian Age of Gods was far from the myths of old Britain, and certainly, you hadn't reckoned with the true might of Gilgamesh, the pinnacle of legend.]

[Your comrades were swiftly overrun by the royal forces that had arrived in full force.]

[You, too, were captured, dragged helplessly into the council hall of the palace.]

[Gilgamesh, his chest now bare and unmarred by the earlier wound, remained silent. He simply stared at you, unblinking, the weight of his presence suffocating.]

[It was clear he wanted you to see the scar on his body. For someone as proud as Gilgamesh—son of a god—a wound from a mortal was an unbearable humiliation.]

[For a brief moment, regret flickered within you. You had overestimated the strength of humanity in this era and underestimated the divine power of the gods. You thought that by imitating a great hero and striking with all your might, you would ensure mutual destruction. You hadn't accounted for the divine healing or the strength of the treasures.]

[But you didn't let it show. Instead, you sneered at Gilgamesh and defiantly shouted, "Long live Ishtar!"]

"Enough of this noise."

Gilgamesh's patience finally snapped. He had lost all interest in toying with you. Raising his sword, he prepared to pierce your chest with lethal precision.

"Stop."

[A cold, clear voice interrupted, freezing the air.]

[The goddess you had "worshipped" descended from the skies, her bare feet stepping into the grand palace.]

"Who gave you permission to harm what belongs to me?"