The already chilly air turned frigid in an instant. The voice Gilgamesh heard seemed vaguely familiar and until he actually felt the presence of the god, he seemed content to lounge. At that time, Gilgamesh's anger became nearly completely palpable in the air. His anger was so ripe that it was as if the deck of the Vimana had been bathed in raw, red light and hatred.

"Are you so intent to die?" He asked coolly, his anger still intense. "That you seek to touch my possession without permission?"