Aurelius sat on his throne, but the tent was dead silent.
For three hours, his DP Meter had been hemorrhaging. He had felt the desperate, frantic pulls from his three thousand men in the south, begging for healing miracles, begging for fire. He had watched his divine bank account drain to critically low levels, keeping them alive second by second, until… Nothing.
The connection was severed.
Then, hours later, another wave of faint, dying connections severed in the West.
"Valerius," Aurelius whispered, his voice completely devoid of its usual arrogant boom. It sounded hollow and broken.
[ TOTAL ACTIVE FOLLOWERS: ~3,800 ]
Aurelius stared at the number.
Just two weeks ago, he had marched out of the Sun Spire with sixteen thousand invincible soldiers. He had fought other gods and conquered their lands. He was going to conquer the Sector, and mount the Suit-God's head on a spike.
