Chapter Sixty-Four: One Sided Slaughter

Mere moments before the first falken fell victim to Jantyr's might, a miracle happened. Light seeped through the storm clouds and embraced the army, obliterating the storm.

Distant prayers were heard from the enemy legion, as they addressed their god, seeking its holy protection.

Oxford gawked in shock at the scene playing out before him. The fight he thought to be one sided, suddenly shifted. The nigh limitless powers of his god, instantly oppressed and cast aside.

"How can this be?" he wondered out loud. The overbearing confidence he possessed seconds ago, destroyed.

Oxford took a step back in shock. The momentum he once had, coming to a quick halt. His entourage of believers he amassed followed the spokesman's example and retreated.

Oxford could feel the presence of his god weakening, its powers seeping away from the battlefront.

Then he could dwell no more, for the enemy army was mere moments away. And their respective allies, far behind, yet to reach them. They were alone, facing tens of thousands of falken, without the support of the god that gave them such gall.

What followed was heartbreaking. There would be no miracle triumph, only a backlash for their impudent choice.

Spears impaled the worshipers at the front. Their eyes expressed pain, and their shrieks of agony reached the heavens.

Oxford was quick to retaliate. He pushed forward and slammed his sword into the first foe. His weapon cut through the leather armor, and left a deep gash in the man. Then he fell, the ground embracing him in his last moment.

Oxford continued. He gained new confidence in his small victory and pushed onwards. His sword slashed the neck of the closest falken, then searched for his next prey. Something there was an abundance of, for the moment.

They were surrounded, as those unable to interfere with the fight from the front went around. It didn't take long for them to have enemies on all sides.

Oxford lashed out, dealing as much damage as he could. But could only helplessly struggle against the tide of flesh and steel, between him and salvation.

Around him, the people he preached to, and converted to Jantyr's cause, fell one by one. Unable to resist the tremendous amount of soldiers, breathing on them, choking them with their massive numbers.

Oxford desperately drew forth his power. The presence of his god, which had granted him awe inspiring powers may be gone. But he still had the blessing, it was within him. Not far from his reach. So he fought and he searched, trying to get a hold of his full power and unleash it on his enemy.

It was one thing to know how to use a power and to use it! In a desperate scenario, like this, he could not concentrate. But he had to do something, somehow draw out the power his god gave him.

So he tried, harder than ever before. Sweat dripped from his head, his hair beneath the helmet, soaked. His entire body was full of small injuries he had gained from every encounter. But he had to prevail. He could not die here, and he couldn't let all his people die either.

The sweat on his forehead began floating, and then "splash". The man in front of him got sweat in his eyes, unintentionally. But it gave Oxford a chance to finish him, and he did.

With the sign of success, Oxford knew it was possible. He could do it. No, he would do it! With the power of god, he would shift the tide of the one sided slaughter, and last till reinforcement.

Every speck of attention he could afford was thrown into his last hope. The storm in the sky may have disappeared, but the small lake of water, covering their feet, was still present. So he began drawing power from the water, enhancing himself slowly.

With every second, his strength and speed grew slightly. The tedious, hard won skirmishes slowly easing. The flesh wounds on his arms, hands and even chest began mending themselves. The bleeding stopped, but scars would remain.

As he gained more ground, he attempted to launch water on his enemies.

As an ax soured through the sky, the wind parted away and Oxford's face was left wide open. The downward motion carried great strength with it and Oxford didn't dare block the attack. So he jumped back, right into the sword of another enemy. Thankfully it was not meant to stab, but slash him.

The pain left Oxford momentarily stunned, and severely unprepared for the next attack. So, as the ax approached him again, he left his fate to destiny and attempted to hit the man in front of him with water.

The water below him moved to his desperate call, as a small wave was made. Unnoticeable through all the rough movements of the soldiers. Then, "Splash", once more water was thrown into the enemy's eyes. Only this time, it carried a bit more force and mass.

A small fist sized chunk of water slammed into the man with an ax's face. He stumbled back from the force, even though it wasn't enough to hurt him. It felt like he got a punch in the face.

Using the small window of opportunity, Oxford stabbed his sword into the man behind him, and pulled it out hastily. Blood drenched his clothes, as the man behind was yanked to the ground by the pulling motion.

Then, he focused on the man with an ax. He had fallen onto one of his allies, and now both were walking towards him. A spear and ax ready to claim his life.

Oxford began spriniting, then started sliding. He used his hand to physically grab water. Then he launched a ball of water at the man with a shield. The soldier braced for impact, using his shield to block the blow. But that was all the time Oxford needed.

With his newfound strength Oxford Halted his slide and used the momentum to launch forward in the air, and slammed his sword onto the man with an ax.

He cut deep and clean, making the man fall over and wait for his painful death. Then Oxford regained his balance and turned to the shield bearer. He had fared well against the water ball. The impact had made him slide back some centimeters, but nothing more.

Oxford Began approaching him with caution. He tried to call upon the water to launch at him again. But he had yet to master his ability and no splash of water came.

The last option was a normal confrontation. So with that in mind, Oxford grabbed the ax next to him and threw it at the man. It was in no way a good throw and the sharp edge wouldn't even connect. But it gave Oxford the time to close the distance and make the spear harmless.

The man blocked the ax, but as soon as the blow came, a sword pierced his abdomen, then with a twist and turn he pulled it up. Cutting his stomach wide open for all his intestines to spill out.

Oxford took a step back and breathed, but his victory was short lived. For, meters away a powerful falken had locked eyes with him, bringing a sense of inferiority and unease upon Oxford.