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I know myself hanging on the wind cold tree for nine icy nights. Wounded by the spear, consecrated to Wodan I consecrated to myself. I was hanging on the mighty tree which conceals man Where man grew out of its roots. They offered me neither bread nor wine So I bent down in search. I recognized the Runes; wailing I grasped them. Until I sank down from the tree. Now I began to increase, to be wise, To grow and to feel well. From the word, word grew after word And deed shaped to deeds with deeds.
Both are the top and strongest gods ever
Who wins and why