I was made, Adrasteius. I wasn't born, like you. I had no friends, save for one, no family, nothing—so do not begin to compare us in that regard.

[What he did and what Adra did, in order to survive, were two different matters entirely. Gilgamesh may have been careless with his power, but he was also sharp with his intellect, and the diversion attempt serves to both offend and infuriate. Gilgamesh had the scent; it would not be so easy to distract him or throw him off the trail now.

But yes, he's dying. He's dying and it was entirely, one hundred percent his fault that he sunk this low, but Gilgamesh sighs and eases off immediate threats of assault.]

We are already close, you imbecile. How much closer could we possibly be? I shared your bed with you just this morning, in case you've forgotten.

[So have a little push back, Adra. Just for good measure.]

And I tell you everything as it is! What more do you want, that I could even provide? What is there even left, that you could even want?