Strength 8, Lord Blackwood, fights Abel evenly

The god-man caught sight of the Tarasque and lost interest entirely in Mr. Roosevelt and I. This, I thought, must be why poor Mr. Harris considered him his secret weapon; this avatar of rage lived to fight, and in the Tarasque, it had the ultimate rival. To describe the fight that ensued between those two unkillable titans would take a hundred pages or more; Mr. Roosevelt and I huddled in the safety of the bank vault, which alone seemed immune to the destruction the two rained upon each other. After the better part of an hour had passed, hundreds lay dead around them, the center of Avignon little more than rubble. The god-man was missing an arm and half a leg, an eye, and the better part of his brain, and his stomach had been cut open. In a state where most men would be long dead, it continued to fight, severing even its own entrails and making weapons of them. The Tarasque had suffered as badly; it was on the ground, recuperating, when I saw the god-man take notice of Mr. Dukov's pitchblende-gun,