Behind Verethragna, a phantasmal brown wheel appeared, etched with ten distinct divine beasts.
Its pointer spun rapidly, stopping at the Goat.
The Goat, one of Verethragna's ten incarnations, granted mastery over lightning.
"I am the ever-victorious war god! The god who seizes victory! The seeker of defeat!" Verethragna's face burned with a mix of fury and exhilaration. "To ignore me and fight amongst yourselves—is that not underestimating me?"
His hands crackled with frenzied divine lightning, hurling golden bolts at Metatron.
The lightning exploded, engulfing both Metatron and Verethragna, who hadn't retreated in time.
Tiny arcs danced across the war god's clothes, face, and blue-purple hair, but he seemed unfazed, his grin unwavering.
His own attack couldn't easily harm him.
Metatron, however, was different. His seventy-two pristine, holy wings were scorched black, tattered and broken.
But more than the damage, he cared about—
"Heretic!"
Metatron turned slowly, his wings unfurling as if venting his rage.
His face radiated unmasked fury.
"I see through your provocations!" He declared.
"Yet—for blaspheming God's name and obstructing me, I swear by Metatron's name—"
"You shall perish by Metatron's hand!"
Raising his seven-fingered hands, still bathed in lingering lightning, he tapped the ground lightly with his toe.
Though less swift than Verethragna's divine speed, Metatron's agility far surpassed the war god's.
The "Face of God" Accelerated without slowing, even as he reached Verethragna.
With unmatched speed, he left a trail of gales, crashing into Verethragna and sending him flying!
But the Lord's Scribe didn't stop. Grabbing Verethragna's shoulders, he charged forward.
To the colossal angel, the fifteen-year-old war god was like a ragdoll, dragged through a forest, shattering trees, and finally smashing into a mountain!
"Heretic! I shall slay you!" Metatron roared.
Though an angel, the closest to the throne, Metatron was merciless to those who denied the Lord.
When Moses led the Israelites from Egypt, Metatron aided them.
Yet he showed a ruthless side, punishing unbelievers with cruel acts.
But then, a sense of threat surged from behind.
A familiar chant echoed.
"Its foot treads upon the earth, upon Mount Sinai, displaying heaven's might. Fear destroys all; the fallen shall tremble, kings quake at the end. Mountains shake and crumble, flames melt rock to wax, the earth splits, destroying all upon it, judging the lambs of the earth—only the righteous may be spared!"
Lucius chanted loudly, clutching the Book of Enoch, his face alight with exhilaration.
Previously, despite his vast curse power, Lucius lacked means to unleash its full destructive potential.
His Process Skipping and Worldview Correction couldn't directly cause devastation.
His other abilities paled compared to Campiones or Heretic Gods.
Abundant mana without a way to wield it was like having fuel but no vehicle.
Now, expending his mana freely through the Book of Enoch felt exhilarating.
Even if this power was temporary.
This was the Book of Enoch's might, which Enoch hadn't had time to unleash.
He hadn't anticipated Lucius's swift betrayal or the cheating power of Process Skipping, leaving no chance to defend!
Foot of God!
The Book of Enoch described God's punishment of the world.
The first step: chaining fallen angels and evildoers in the abyss.
Now, the second: God's authority shown by a foot on Mount Sinai, judging the world!
Manifesting God Himself was impossible.
So, what appeared was—
A foot!
The air remained empty, but all three felt an unseen foot descending, shaking their bodies and souls!
As the Words of Power declared, the earth split, spewing lava and flames toward Verethragna and Metatron!
"Haaah!" Verethragna roared, half his body ablaze under the judging flames!
Seizing Metatron's distraction, he broke free, dodging the onslaught of lava and fire.
With his Words of Power, a Golden Sword appeared in his hand, slicing away the flames.
Unlike Verethragna, Metatron stood still, letting the flames—meant to judge fallen angels and sinners—consume him.
Soon, his numerous wings caught fire.
He had withstood the chariot's divine flames before.
But these flames, used by God in the final judgment, slowly burned his pristine wings.
These were the flames to punish fallen angels and worldly sinners.
As Metatron—and Enoch—he knew this better than anyone, save the Lord.
"Lord…" He murmured, motionless as the flames spread.
His thirty-five thousand eyes stared ahead.
Tears flowed from them.
"Holy, holy, holy!" He cried.
"The Lord of Hosts! His glory fills the earth!"
***
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