Sol and Mitras stepped forward, blocking the Keres' path even further.

  “I believe they are underestimating us, don’t you think, Sol?” Mitras said, never taking his eyes off their opponents.

  “They know nothing of our true strength,” Sol replied, likewise keeping his gaze fixed on their enemies.

  “Enough of this. Zalmoxis, remove them,” Shaushka ordered.

  “Me? Why should I obey your orders?” Zalmoxis snapped irritably.

  “I am Number Eight, and you are Number Nine. I am stronger than you,” the Hurrian goddess replied angrily.

  “Mock us all you like, but I believe you are ignoring something very important,” Mitras said as he unsheathed his dagger.

  It filled with light, transforming into a radiant sword.

  “I am the god of oaths. I swore I would return alive—and I shall fulfill that vow,” Mitras added, his eyes burning with resolve.

  “Nonsense. Your word has no value here,” Zalmoxis said, raising his colossal axe to cleave both gods in two.

  Mitras closed his eyes and murmured, “Rashnu.”

  Before the god could finish his incantation, Zalmoxis struck—splitting Mitras in half at the waist.

  But in that instant, the Thracian god realized it was he who had been cut in two, as though the attack had been reflected.

  “What in the abyss just happened?” Shaushka shouted in disbelief.

  “Justice—or Rashnu—is a curious thing, wouldn’t you agree… Zalmoxis?” Mitras said calmly, floating upright as the nephil doubled over in agony.

  “Each civilization defines justice differently. But the one who believes himself most righteous may claim to embody it. At this moment, my sense of justice surpasses yours. That is why your attacks cannot harm me—because you know you do not fight for a just cause, but for mere caprice.”

  “It is true—I do not consider it just to fight someone weaker than myself,” Zalmoxis snarled.

  “But do not dare challenge my faith in my great lord Ares!”

  Wisps of ghostly fire gathered around him, drawn into his axe.

  Zalmoxis raised the weapon, now engulfed in pale blue flame, and roared,

  “Balas Rhomphaia (Great and powerful sword)!”

  Before he could strike, a chariot of fire drawn by blazing horses slammed into him, sending him flying far into the distance.

  “Sol Invictus,” Sol declared, his raised index finger pointing toward the path of the chariot as it vanished.

  At once, Mitras hurled himself at Zalmoxis, sword raised to strike.

  The Thracian god tried to block with his axe—but Mitras shouted,

  “Sraosha!”

  The Persian god struck the weapon, which twisted as if alive, wrenching itself free and impaling Zalmoxis in the side.

  “Obedience—Sraosha—is also a great virtue,” Mitras explained calmly.

  “Even inanimate objects must obey rightful authority.”

  Shaushka scoffed. “How embarrassing. Do you want help, Zalmoxis?”

  “Mind your own affairs, witch,” the nephil growled, ripping the axe free and reigniting it with ghostly fire.

  “Solaris crepitus (Sunspot)!” Sol cried.

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  A rain of fireballs fell upon Zalmoxis. As he raised his axe to defend himself, Mitras appeared behind him, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back, driving his luminous blade deep into the god’s abdomen.

  Mitras leaned close and whispered,

  “Tauroktonos (Bull killing).”

  At once, a dog, a serpent, a raven, and a scorpion appeared, biting and tearing into Zalmoxis. From his wound spilled grains of wheat, while blood poured endlessly from his body.

  “This technique was taught to me by the Romans,” Mitras whispered.

  “It will kill you slowly.”

  “This bull will die soon. Prepare a pyre,” Mitras called out.

  Sol raised his hands skyward as a massive sphere of fire formed between his palms.

  “Solis sanctis (Sacred Sun)!”

  But before he could release it, a massive energy blast struck Sol from behind, sending him crashing unconscious into the mountains.

  Mitras turned in horror.

  Shaushka stood behind them, axe raised, wings unfurled.

  “You really shouldn’t ignore me,” she said with a smile.

  “I could have gone after the girl while you were playing with Zalmoxis.”

  “The great Ares had no interest in her before,” she continued,

  “but after witnessing her battle with Al-Qaum, he will not allow her to roam his territory.”

  “If you move another step, I will kill him now,” Mitras snarled, tightening his grip on Zalmoxis.

  “And why should that matter to me?” Shaushka replied mockingly.

  She spun her axe. Its blade detached like a chained weapon and lashed forward, embedding itself in Mitras’s back. The god staggered, releasing Zalmoxis, who still had Mitras’s blade lodged in his stomach.

  “You are a disgrace, Zalmoxis,” Shaushka sneered.

  “A pitiful nephil, defeated by children.”

  Zalmoxis ripped the blade free—it reverted to a dagger—and hurled it into the mountains.

  “I will not underestimate him again,” he growled.

  Mitras felt fear creep in.

  “Sol… I hope you’re alive. I must fulfill my promise,” he thought.

  Gathering his resolve, Mitras lunged forward, shouting,

  “Rashnu!”

  But Zalmoxis roared in response,

  “Zuras Skalme (Bright knife)!”

  The ghostly flames around him detonated, engulfing Mitras in explosions of energy.

  “You said it yourself—justice prevails,” Zalmoxis mocked.

  “My devotion to Lord Ares surpasses your faltering sense of justice.”

  Mitras struggled, battered by relentless attacks.

  “You need to get close to use your techniques, don’t you?” Zalmoxis laughed.

  “You won’t even take another step.”

  “I am Mitras, god of oaths,” Mitras roared.

  “And Mitras always keeps his promises!”

  A golden serpent of energy wrapped around him as blinding light erupted.

  When it faded, Mitras stood transformed—naked, monstrous. His face had become that of a grotesque lion. Four wings spread from his back. In his hands were two golden keys, while dark energy poured from his body. He no longer spoke—perhaps no longer thought.

  “A repulsive monster,” Shaushka spat.

  “That is Arimanius,” Zalmoxis said solemnly.

  “In the Mithraic mysteries, the highest rank is the Lion. This is Mitras’s ultimate form.”

  “Oh, this is getting interesting,” Shaushka said, twirling her axe.

  Mitras used the keys to summon a dimensional gate. From it emerged a colossal stone—and from that stone rose another Mitras, radiant and nude, bathed in light. The sky shimmered gold, filled with images of crowned men praying with empty eyes.

  The lion-shaped Mitras roared as darkness fused with the light.

  “An antithesis of shadow and radiance—far too unstable!” Zalmoxis cried.

  Too late.

  The energies clashed violently, detonating in a catastrophic explosion that annihilated everything around them.

  Far away, Epona felt the shock—but she did not look back.

  “Mitras… I trust you,” she thought, flying on.

  Yet Shaushka stood unscathed, her right palm smoking as she had halted the blast.

  “You are dangerous, I’ll grant you that,” she said calmly.

  But Mitras’s transformation faded—his manna spent. He hovered weakly, staring at the two gods who remained standing.

  “They’re monsters,” he thought.

  “Only a miracle can save me now.”

  Zalmoxis and Shaushka raised their axes.

  “A pity you chose the wrong side, boy,” Zalmoxis said.

  They struck—but nothing happened.

  Mitras opened his eyes in disbelief.

  Two figures stood before him.

  One was a woman wearing a crooked Corinthian hoplite helmet. Brown hair flowed freely. Her chest was wrapped in a serpent-woven tunic bearing the screaming face of a gorgon. She wore golden armor and reddish-brown robes.

  The other was a man crowned with the head of a white falcon, adorned with a tall conical crown. Golden Egyptian armor, white wings, and a golden staff completed his form.

  Mitras knew them instantly.

  “Athena… Horus…” he whispered weakly.

  “Forgive our lateness, Mitras,” Athena said calmly.

  “We had something to settle first.”

  “I cannot feel my disciples’ energy,” Horus growled.

  “Well, well… Athena and Horus themselves,” Shaushka began—

  but was cut off.

  Both gods had already pierced through Shaushka and Zalmoxis, leaving gaping holes in their bodies. The Keres fell unconscious, crashing into the mountains below.

  “You did well, Mitras,” Athena said with a gentle smile.

  “Now rest. We will handle the rest.”

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  The next part will be released tomorrow.