The Deity Chapter Sixty-Six: Overwhelmed

Jantyr felt powerless and suppressed. He fought, but could do nothing but watch his people die. The power he had granted them and the arrogance that came to boost, served only to speed up their demise.

In their moment of need he was worthless, all because that damn bastard!

A god of light, going by the name Zcaltry. He had come crashing down.

Jantyr finally understood a crucial detail, he was weak. Compared to all other gods, he was the bottom of the barrall. The only reason for his success was his rule breaking. But now, lest he wished to be cast out and branded an evil god, he had to follow the rules.

Jantyr had been surfing on the edge of breaking the rules summoning a storm using his worshipers. And it had come biting him in the back. He had forgotten, other gods also had worshipers there, from the other side. And they didn't sit by idly as he was attempting to tip the scales.

Thus leading to the current situation. Jantyr floated, leaking a tremendous aura of hatred. Next to him was the light god, a smile blooming on his face as he watched the conflict.

"And there goes the strongest one." he said. There wasn't a hint of shame, or regret about what he had done. He was content with killing as many worshippers of Jantyr as he could.

"You'll pay for this!" Jantyr said with burning rage threatening to burst out any moment.

"Oh, I highly doubt that, a lesser god like you, taking revenge on me? I'd like to see you try." he said and left. Not even glazing back to Jantyr.

…

Jantyr felt awful. This was the first time he felt one of the people he blessed die. Before they had just been bags of energy, that he had parted ways with, like a trade. But blessings were more like a loan and when your worshiper died, you lose all the energy. It feels like losing one of your limbs for good.

At least Jantyr managed to cast blessings, even his low tier ones. It had saved a portion of his new worshipers. At that, he rejoiced. A day full of wrong decisions still had one right.

Jantyr's influence had reached far and wide the last few weeks. He had few new worshipers here and there, but knew that wouldn't last.

The Shifao Dynasty first claimed war slaves. Went to the frontline and began the war. Next would be the men of arms.

With the war beginning, it was a way to tell the common people to prepare. People were forced into slavery for the lack of weapons, an excuse to have cannon fooders. Of course Jantyr's believers already have weapons, but it didn't matter. Truth was, they needed slaves. But the next batch would be of normal people. Who brought their own weapons and armor. Soon they would be recruited without fail, and as the war went on, more and more would be forced to the front.

Even Jasmine would be sent to the frontline, and if she was lucky, her subjects would go with her.

The situation was bad, Jantyr knew that, he just hoped the first battle would end in their victory. He didn't want to lose more worshipers. He's already lost to many!

…

(Back to the battle)

The wind made him stronger. But it wasn't enough. He was bleeding. Some moments ago an arrow had pierced his left shoulder, rendering his left arm useless. This made him drop his shield, and now he was defenseless against the ranged onslaught. Not that the shield had helped him much.

He was behind cover. Not long ago he had been surrounded by enemy soldiers left and right. Only luck and instinct kept him alive. He was still on edge, his adrenaline pumped to the max. He almost couldn't feel the pain from bleeding out. Almost.

Around him war slaves rushed forward, being forced to the front by the men behind. Eventually it was his turn to be thrown back into the frame. With his injuries he worried he would die soon. But he wouldn't give up. Not until death was certain.

He dropped his sword to the ground and picked up his shield. He'd rather have a shield than a sword. He could bash his enemy with his shield and defend himself. While letting his comrades do the rest.

Only the obvious crest on their makeshift armor kept them from killing each other. But even that started losing efficiency. Everything was way too chaotic, no structure or order. Just death and running towards death.

The man grabbed his shield as firm as he could and hurled his body at the closest target. As he bashed into the man, shock traveled through his body, stiffening his shoulder, as a jolt of pain froze him.

But he still managed to move away in time, as a spear pierced his enemy's stomach. His eyes hollowed and a primal fear overtook. But he could do nothing, tears running down his checks, as the spear was pulled out and he fell to the ground.

There was no rest for the shield bearer, He stood up, feeling the wind brush against his skin. Energy entered him for a second. But it was swallowed by the empty lake in him. He had nothing left in him. Whether it was patience, mental fortitude or energy. He was completely out.

He walked back through the ranks. He pushed against the tide of men. Slowly making his way to the commander and the knights. His energy was burning out with every step and his blood was almost drained. But finally he reached the knights in the back. His shoulder was even now still bleeding heavily and he felt like passing out any moment.

They saw him approach and he heard them shout, but nothing more. The next second he fell on the ground and darkness took the rein.