As he pondered this dilemma, something stirred inside of him, something ancient and powerful. Rather, it was the ghost of something ancient and powerful. Sarnakthros had slumbered within Jonathan’s soul for the last few months, gathering power once more. He had been awake for most of the time, but utterly impotent. He had watched Jonathan’s journey to the top with eager eyes, proud of his scion for his achievements.

Jonathan was already far more impressive than any of the brats that the other gods called their chosen. He had been feeding off of Jonathan’s Divinity pool, a little bit at a time, and now had enough power left to speak with his host, and perhaps aid him.

“Jonathan,” he whispered from within his confines. “I can help you.”

“Who?” Jonathan thought as he butchered his way through more soldiers. “Wait, Sarnakthros? Are you finally awake?”

“I am. I can see that you are in trouble. Perhaps I can remedy that? You will need to lend me control over your remaining Divinity.” Normally Jonathan would have thought over a thing like that for far longer, but he did not have much of a choice here. Instead, he let Sarnakthros take control. It was like a hand had clamped down on his Divinity, one that was far more experienced at guiding it than he was. Every last drop of his Divinity seemed to explode in potential, but really, it was simply being used to a Divine standard.

Power rippled through Jonathan’s body, and he desperately tried to memorize some of the insights from Sarnarkthros’ efforts as he went. A moment later, he realized what was going on. Sarnakthros was using his Divinity like it was made up of tiny grains of power, rather than a rolling ocean of energy. Every grain that he added was another speck of power, and with his level of control, there were many grains indeed. It looked like the key to increasing his mastery over Smite was through partitioning his Divinity.

With the newfound might burning through his veins, Jonathan exploded into motion, moving far faster than before. He used every ounce of his power, sending shockwaves racing out as he ran. This version of Smite was far more powerful than anything he had known before, and he made as much out of it as he could. At this speed, it looked like his enemies were standing still. However, he knew that this effect would eventually run out if he did not use it effectively. His Divinity storage might have been in expert hands, but it was far too small for any sort of prolonged usage. However, he did not need long when he could move as fast as he could.

Ten thousand fighters died in the next minute, and another ten thousand over the next. As his Divinity came to an end, he had created piles of corpses in the gaps of the wall, stemming the tide of enemies somewhat. His guards had gained a valuable breather as well.

Jonathan collapsed to the ground as the aftereffects of Sarnakthros’ piloting came to bear. He was utterly exhausted, worn out from the effort of controlling the roiling tide of Divinity that had coursed through him. He searched through his soul for a sight of Sarnakthros, but the fallen god was gone. He must have used up the last of his energy in aiding Jonathan.

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The artillery on the walls fired down in a steady rhythm, and Edgar sent his own abilities chasing them. Still, there were tens of thousands of fighters left. Almost half of the army was gone now, but the soldiers had all gained considerable power. This was not going to be an easy fight.

Jonathan jumped onto the wall when he had recovered, wanting to check on the Uthraki. The fighters were holed up in a fort of obsidian, relying on the bestial instincts of the transformed fighters to funnel them into the center of the trap where they were quickly killed. They were killing them quickly, but not quickly enough.

A few moments later, Jonathan was ready to fight once more. He leaped off the wall, gathering energy in his fists. Coming down like a falling star, he slammed his fist into the nearest concentration of fighters. A shockwave of power raced out, pulping their flesh.

Jonathan got to his feet, and strode forwards, towards the Uthraki outpost. Many of the enemy soldiers were heading towards them now, frustrated by their inability to breach the walls.

Jonathan raced towards them, gathering power in his fists, readying himself to strike. It was time to finish this farce once and for all. Granath had underestimated the strength of Jonathan’s city. He had sent a hundred thousand, when he should have sent a million.

He screamed his rage out to the uncaring skies, rage from both the deaths of his allies, and his inability to save them. Blazing fires of purple light rose up from his fists, shading his form in a dark light. He threw himself the last few hundred feet, coupling his strength with his stamina to almost fly through the air. The bestial creatures that had taken the place of the soldiers charged him eagerly, frenzied grins on their twisted features.

His fists came down and smashed into flesh, tearing apart the monsters. One hand snaked out to grab a sword, which he used to bisect a dozen monsters in one go. As they rushed him, he used his martial arts knowledge to mitigate the stamina drain that he was experiencing. His various skills worked in unison to ensure that he did maximum damage with each strike.

He painted a path of red ruin across the battlefield, cutting a swathe through the enemy lines. However, there were too many for him to deal with on his own. The Uthraki and the other Tier 2 fighters raced towards him, already gathering their skills to strike. Pillars of rock lanced through the air, followed by massive tornadoes of razor sharp wind. A spectral spear lanced forwards from where Eva was, cutting through a few dozen monsters with a single strike.

A half hour later, the tide had fully turned. Almost all of the enemy soldiers were dead, their corpses littering the ground. Jonathan had gained another level from this display of butchery, bolstering his strength more. He let the power course through his veins for a moment, watching the monsters retreat. Jonathan’s stamina was almost completely gone, as well as most of his mana. However, just as he began to celebrate his victory, a thunderous rumbling noise rose up from the distance. Jonathan’s heart froze, and he stood still.

A moment later, a massive snake, made out of earth and fire, slithered into view, its eyes blazing with fiery light. The monster was easily a mile in length, but it did not seem to be a natural being. Instead, it looked like it was some sort of summon, or construct. Jonathan had no doubt who had made it. Only one creature in this misbegotten world would have the power to make such a thing. Granath.