The mark of the Bull with golden horns flared on Verethragna's body.
No time to recite Words of Power.
His earlier misstep in close combat had cost him the initiative.
Years of battle experience told him that chanting would leave his head pulverized by the saint's mercy.
Without hesitation, he swung a fist imbued with the Bull's strength, aiming for the saint's jaw to force a release.
But, to his shock, the saint—more ferocious than anticipated—ignored the cracking of his jaw, slamming his forehead into Verethragna's!
Boom!
Both reeled, dazed, recovering almost simultaneously.
"Raaagh!" Verethragna roared, his hands clamping the saint's throat like iron.
The saint's eyes remained full of compassion, as if it weren't his neck at risk of snapping.
"Repent, for He said, do not vainly strive with others," He said with merciful strain.
His arm muscles bulged, fingers clawing for Verethragna's eyes.
Sensing the threat of blindness, the war god's expression shifted.
Though his body could heal, losing his eyes now would leave him at the saint's mercy.
Reluctantly, he released the saint's throat, raising his hands to shield his eyes.
"Where do you come from, saint?" Verethragna roared, using the Bull and Camel incarnations for strength, seizing the saint's hands. "Are you Jacob?"
Jacob, ancestor of the Israelites, wrestled a divine being until dawn. Unable to win, the being touched Jacob's hip, dislocating it.
At dawn, the being asked to leave, but Jacob refused without a blessing.
The being renamed him Israel, for he had striven with God and man and prevailed.
Jacob asked the being's name, but it replied, "Why ask my name?"
There, it blessed him.
Jacob named the place Peniel—"God's face"—saying, "I saw God face to face, yet my life was spared."
Jacob was renowned in scripture for wrestling a divine being.
"Jacob, fierce and bold, I am not," The saint said gently, grabbing Verethragna's shoulders and hurling him to the ground.
But Verethragna, empowered by the Bull and Camel, was no weakling. He seized the saint's arm, dragging him down too.
The two Heretic Gods brawled like mortals.
"Peh!" Finally breaking free, Verethragna spat blood-tinged saliva, scrambling up to glare at the saint.
Then—
"Hahaha! You're incredible!" He laughed, halting his gathering curse power for a decisive strike. "A true warrior!"
"I never expected this manifestation to let me fight hand-to-hand like this."
The war god, ever chasing defeat, smiled with partial satisfaction.
Boasting martial prowess, seeking victory, yearning for defeat, loving battle.
Though youthful, Verethragna reveled in this visceral combat.
Even if he returned to myth now, he'd have few regrets.
But he wasn't fully satisfied.
"You don't look it, but you're a mighty warrior!" He said.
"I am but the Lord's lamb," The saint replied with a merciful smile, tinged with subtle loss.
"Hah, that's boring," Verethragna said, shaking his head, raising an arm as his smile turned feral.
"Let's start the next round!"
"Let's see if I maintain my title as strongest or you fulfill my wish for defeat."
"Getting serious? Fine," The saint sighed, retrieving his book.
His eyes flickered, as if resolving something.
"Before that—"
He paused, his gaze shifting to Lucius's hiding spot.
"Onlooker, akin to us Heretic beings, when I clash fully with this heretic, no place nearby will be safe for spectating."
"If you wish not to be caught in the fray, leave now."
His tone was gentle, unlike his demeanor toward Verethragna.
The war god's face changed, his eyes following.
He gave a self-mocking laugh.
"So, ease and victory dulled my senses, leaving me unaware."
My preparations weren't in vain, Lucius thought.
Heretic Gods saw him as kin but couldn't pinpoint his identity, guessing based on his power.
Lucius had deliberately altered his aura.
His only absorbed Heretic God, Mars, was originally an agricultural deity.
To lower their guard, Lucius suppressed other traits, emphasizing only the agricultural aspect—utterly harmless.
Perhaps this made the saint's attitude toward him milder.
But to Verethragna, a battle-hardened war god—
"Your eyes mark you as a warrior," He said, grinning at Lucius. "Hiding here to snatch victory from us?"
"Warrior?" The saint shook his head. "He bears no warrior traits, likely manifesting through agricultural praise, not battle. Let him go."
"Are you joking?" Verethragna's face soured. "Let a warrior walk away?"
"I see only you forcing a noncombatant to fight!" The saint said cryptically. "If so, I might join him to send you back to myth before pursuing my own purpose!"
***
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