Beyond this Red Fog (Hard Mission)

What a disgusting city.

While the golden hero shared a feeling of disdain for the surrounding environment, it had little to do with it's destroyed state. Truly, Gilgamesh felt he probably would have enjoyed the city even less were it whole. The architecture was thoroughly repulsive, and there were just so many people. Of course, they were all ghouls, spirits and the undead now, but the sheer number of the living dead that now infested the area only spoke to him of how many humans there had been living here. Ridiculous. A sea of mediocrity, in all likelihood. 

Speaking of thoroughly mediocre things, the blonde Berserker turned his attention back to his compatriots, whom were rabbling on about some inane thing or another. Pleasantries, introductions, it was all so disgustingly polite and friendly. They spoke to each other as though coworkers or fellow students, not as Heroes and Warriors. Gilgamesh had been hopeful upon his incarnation to meet others whom were considered "Heroes" following in his image, but what he had seen so far was thoroughly dissapointing.

The current servants befouling his presence were not all so bad. One, the one who introduced himself as Muramasa, thoroughly reeked of bloodlust behind his polite exterior. The blades he left on the lower floors were more sentient curses than weapons, and the mere thought of them almost made Gilgamesh want to hurl the pathetic excuse for swordsman out of the building. A smith should learn their place, forging weapons to be wielded by warriors, not attempting to overshadow the warrior with a blade's grudge. Repulsive.

Caster, or Ce Atl as he called himself, seemed similarly useless. Priests were not meant for the battlefield. It was why Gilgamesh himself disdained the Caster class-- In it he was reduced from a "Hero" to a "Priest", deprived of his weapons and physically weakened. Some Casters may have been apt warriors even in their class, but the American servant was too peaceful. He'd have been allowed some modicum of tolerance were he a priest of a true, real God, even one of those that Gilgamesh despised, but his deities were nothing more than the paltry illusions of man. 

Then there were the two warriors, who's only handicap seemed to be that they were women. Lancer and Saber, or Arturia and Brynhild, both at least held the manners of warriors. Brisk, Noble, and to the point. There was a certain elegance in their dispositions. And yet still he could not understand their chivalric notions, viewing them like you might an abstract painting. Beautiful in some respects, but in the end utter, pointless nonsense. Of the party he was most fascinated with Saber, although he could not put his finger on why. She hid it well now, but she was off-put by him. Almost shocked and disgusted to be near him, really. Such an attitude would usually find someone on the wrong side of his anger, but his curiosity outweighed his irritable disposition. For now, anyway.

"Get along? How inane."

Brynhild was right about at least one thing; Gilgamesh had no inclination to introduce himself. While there were many differences between this Gilgamesh and the King of Heroes, an unreasonable confidence and arrogance in their own position and identity was something they shared. While Berserker had no intention of attacking anyone whom questioned his identity as a certain golden prick-magnet might have, he also had no desire to socialize with these soldiers. They had not yet earned the respect to be acknowledged as "Heroes", despite what he could clearly tell about the power each possessed just from standing near them, his own arrogance would not allow him to take that alone as proof of their heroism. Should they prove their worth as warriors and heroes he might deign to call them allies, and perhaps friendly acquaintances to a certain extent, they expected too much too soon if they genuinely thought he might care about them in any respect yet.

The only one whom he would even be bothered by dying was their Master, and that was only because this ridiculous system he was now bound to linked his existence to hers. Were she not mandatory to his sustained presence, she would be of even less concern to him than the others; After all, she was not even a heroic spirit, and seemed completely ill-suited to the nature of Heroism, obviously here more out of some shaky sense of duty than any true resolve on her part. 

"Are you not Heroes? Cease this prattle and let's be done with this. Or continue to chatter among yourselves like gossiping peasants, it makes no difference to me. I suppose then at least you might have some use in keeping the girl out of the way, so that her neck does not snap from the faintest wind."

A single golden blade manifested in Gilgamesh's hand. Brushing past the crowd of his "allies", the Berserker kicked the massive metal door down, sending it flying backwards off it's hinges in a rather brutish display of strength, sending it's shattered remnants careening into the air in the opposite direction.