Chapter 722: A Panicked God
Asmareth, the god of hope or as the people of his faith now referred to him, the god of false hope. Blinded by their faith in him, quite literally in fact, their hope, the very foundation of his strength, was dwindling. And so, as he sat on his throne, a shining beacon so bright that not even angels could see him in its splendor, the god chewed on his nails as his very existence was being threatened by his half sister, Athenia.
"Just do as I say and I’ll grant you anything and everything that you may desire!" He screamed into the ears of his chosen, Frazer.
As the words reached the hero, however, they were much more muffled, and the hint of desperation was replaced with an authoritative tone thanks to magic and the power of manipulations, something Asmareth was quite known for.
But what he couldn’t hide was that same desperation from himself and his angels, for the clock was ticking on his reign, and with the death of Batimos and Hamleth doing nothing at all to aid him, Asmareth knew that it was him against an army with nobody but his chosen to carry out his decree.
Even though everything was going as planned and the hero seemed to be under his control, something felt off about the way he was acting and paired with the silence from the other gods, he knew that he wasn’t the only one moving his chess piece. The gods had their plans, and they’d simply abandoned him. A sacrificial lamb to lure in the enemy, assess their strength, and once Asmareth had tired them completely, only then would they surface and claim victory over Athenia as well as him.
’I need someone, at least one of the council members, to be on my side!’ He thought to himself, but it was already too late. Nobody would help him; besides, he wasn’t that well-liked for another god to stick out their neck and dampen the blow for him.
"My lord, I’ve come back with a message from Lady Fortuna," the bowing frame of a horrific angel drew Asmareth out of his raging mind, "And forgive me, my lord, but these are her words and not mine."
Casting his luminous gaze down on the angel, Asmareth burned the very skin of the messenger just by looking at him. Swallowing the hurt, however, the angel clenched the many jaws across its body and only spoke through the one infested with human fingers tipped with cackling babies instead of any teeth.
"Oh, brother, can’t you handle this one thing? I’m busy with a hand, pester me later, half-sibling." His mouth held open, the messenger spoke with Fortuna’s voice, mimicking it perfectly down to the inflections. "Oh, and don’t bother sending another messenger to Wolcenya or Mesmerazia, we’re playing cards together and the bid’s climb–"