The name will more than likely change, so ideas are welcomed, as are reviews.

Warning: Gilgamesh is now subject to being more of an abusive ass hole than usual. I swear to God that I have a reason, though.

Prologue

The walls were a barren white, much to his distaste, and the shelves were decorated with little more than furs of animals or candles. Hanging above him were wind chimes, their long bodies swaying steadily with the movements of the ceiling fan, right next to his head. Their noise was soft, a quiet twinkling that was just barely there, sitting in the back of his head. Frankly, he found it to be an annoyance.

There, off in the corner of the room, at a desk, sat a young woman, head bent over a book, long black hair falling over her eyes, fingers resting on the pages and moving ever so slowly. Next to her hand, a water bottle and a stone of sorts, scratched beyond belief and as seemingly ancient as the world itself.

The blonde man stood there in the center of the room, arms crossed over the golden armor that adorned his chest, as if waiting for something. He watched the woman, almost impatiently, his eyes nearly burning a hole into her back as she read. She seemed not to notice, focused on the words on the page in front of her.

Something sounded from a room next to the one they were in, an alarm of sorts. The woman's head lifted slightly, fingers lingering on the page of the book, before she placed it down, open on the desk in front of her, and pushed herself out of her chair. She walked, slowly towards the door, her back always to the man.

Impatient, the he finally unfolded his arms and took a step towards her as she reached the door.

Although it was quiet, it seemed that the woman had seemed to have heard the sound of metal rubbing against metal and froze, hand resting on the doorknob. Slowly, she slipped a pair of flats from her feet, placed them neatly against the wall next to the door, and turned around.

There was a sharp turn of her feet, quickly, mechanically, and then she raised a hand, fluidly, and the water seemed to erupt from the bottle that sat on her desk.

When the water splashed onto his armor, the man looked down to see that it hand frozen on his thigh. Unimpressed, he looked back up to the woman, and took notice that her eyes were closed.

"Who's there?" She demanded, loudly. She found a switch next to the doorframe, turned one downwards, and the ceiling fan stopped. Eventually, so did the tinkling of her wind chimes. Slowly, she bounced on the balls of her feet, alert, and her head moved around the room, as if surveying with her unopened eyes. "I really don't want to have to hurt anyone, but I swear to God that if you make one move, I will attack."

The man merely clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue, annoyed as he saw a red marking on her forehead, just barely noticeable behind the curtain of her bangs. "You pathetic little mongrel," he said. "What makes you think you have the right to summon the King here before you?"

Something strange seemed to flicker over her eyebrows. Her hands were still held in front of her, as if in some strange defensive movement, and her feet now seemed a part of the ground, moving only in small, adjusting twitches. "What are you talking about? Get out of my house now!"

This lowly girl could not possibly be his master, he thought. She couldn't even identify his location when he was standing right in front of her, much less fight a battle. He took a step toward her, one of the long wind chimes that was in his way twinkling once again as he brushed by it.

Immediately, her foot kicked forward, and the wooden floors in front of the man's feet seemed to move apart into a sharp, spear-like projectile that would have surely impaled his leg, had he not been wearing armor.

He continued to walk forward, the chimes echoing around him as he did. With each step he took, more of the wooden flooring went with it, used as a meaningless weapon. "Impudent peasant!" He bellowed as he came closer. "To attack the King is a crime punishable by beheading, I will have to know!"

As the woman finally realized that he attacks were doing nothing to stop the man, she moved backwards, pressing her back against the door with her hand on the door knob, trying with all her might to force her trembling hand to turn it until, finally, he was in front of her. Forcefully, he grabbed the bangs that covered her forehead and pulled them upwards, ignoring her sharp cry of pain, and observed the markings that laid there.

Several "V" and circular shapes that formed into one, intricate symbol. It was easily recognized by him as the familiar style of the command seals he become accustomed to seeing while he stayed in this time period. Frustrated, he took her head and banged it roughly against the door. Not hard enough to kill, even though it did draw blood.

He let go of her head, and she slid down the door, leaving a trail of blood on its wooden surface, and landed on her trembling knees, holding the back of her head with both hands. Although her eyes were still left unopened, the terror that crossed the woman's face would have been recognizable from a mile away.

What a pitiful woman, he observed as tears began to formulate at the corner of her eyes. "You don't even understand what is happening," he said, aggravated not necessarily at her, but at the fact that he had been forced into this wretched situation with her holding all the cards.

A faint glowing began to come from her hands, and he knew she was beginning to heal herself. "You seem competent in healing magic," he observed. "That, at the very least, is acceptable."

Her head moved up, towards the sound of his voice, and he could see the tight line of her jaw as she clenched her teeth, the dark line of her eyebrows as they creased in anger. "What the Hell are you talking about, you son of a bi-"

She was quickly shut up with a kick to the stomach. As the woman crouched over, cradling her injured body with her arms, the man left her, instead opting to study the objects left on her desk. Her book, its surface covered in small bumps, her water bottle, left dripping on its side, the old stone, untouched. He picked it up, turned it over in his gloved hands. It appeared to be the remains of what was once a strong material, now corroded over with time.

A fragment from the ancient walls of Uruk. It must have been the relic used for his summoning.

He looked back at the woman, who was now struggling to her feet, using the wall next to her to balance her. "What are you trying to do, woman?" He sneered at her, repulsed by this weakling's constant attempts to be strong.

"I wanted to ask you the same thing," she replied. He could feel her eyes, still remaining closed, as they stared emptily through her eyelids. "I know you're sickened by me." Her face, upturned by curiosity, yet withheld from an acute feeling of fear. "Why not just kill me?"

The golden man stared at her- her slanted eyelids, her taught jawline, and those black snakes of eyebrows- for a moment before deciding to ignore her question. "Where are we, mongrel?"

Her frown deepened, but then she decided that she was in no position to be asking questions of her own. "In my apartment, in Idaho." She paused for a moment. "You're not from this world, are you?"

"Incorrect," he sneered, walking back towards this weak human that he was now being forced to work with. "I am not from this time, filthy human, and if you wish to speak to me, you must refer to me as your King." At the sound of his feet clicking on the floor, her head turned upwards. "Bow before me peasant."

Her eyebrows adjusted to a mix of confused anger. "You want me to do what-"

He took the top of her head in the palm of his hand and forced her face to the ground, pleased to hear the sound of her nose cracking under the pressure. Even after he released her, she stayed down, fear, more than likely, keeping her there.

"Now you may rise."

Slowly, she sat up on her knees, head bent down.

"What is your name?"

"Iris Masujima," she said, voice but a quivering whisper.

He didn't bother to hide his laughter. Iris! What an unsuitable name for a blind woman!

Iris sat, her sightless eyes watching the floor as he laughed to his heart's content. She never even looked up when he had finally halted in his laughter.

After a short silence, and more than a moment's worth of hesitation, the woman spoke again, quietly. "May I ask what your name is…?"

The man stared down at her, chin held high, barely even bothering to sink his eyes down to look upon her small form. "I am the King of Uruk, Gilgamesh," he told her, loud and prideful. "And I have come to fight in the Holy Grail War, to reclaim what is most definitely mine." He narrowed his eyes as he noticed her shoulders beginning to shake with some sort of recognition. "Tremble all you wish, woman, but you had better prove yourself useful."

The rise of a smell, akin to that of smoke, rose to his nose, and he grimaced. "Get rid of that revolting smell, but after that you will pack your bags and collect all the money you have. We leave for Japan tomorrow morning."

This being said, he seemed to vanish into a golden flurry of dust, but the woman, not knowing this, stayed there on the floor for several minutes, the smell of her burning food rising through the air like a fire drifting through a field of mice, before weakly standing on her feet and moving to the kitchen, holding her broken and bleeding nose in her hand, all the while.