Lassim’s consciousness felt muddled. A fog overtook his head.
"Who am I? What am I doing right now?" Lassim muttered as he shook his head.
Then, gradually, clarity began to filter through, and he felt solid ground beneath his feet.
The world around him slowly came into focus, and he realized he was standing on a vast, open battlefield.
The sky above was a dull, ominous gray, the air thick with the scent of smoke and blood.
All around him, the sound of clashing weapons, battle cries, and the roars of monstrous Abyssal creatures filled the air.
The ground beneath his feet was churned and muddy, stained with the blood of countless fallen warriors.
Lassim looked down at himself and realized he was clad in battle armor, a regal looking insignia on his chest that, when touched by his spirit sense, gave an imposing "Commander" feeling.
Anyone that saw this insignia would instantly know exactly who the wielder of it was. They had grown up with this hero of Nexaria and heard tales of his steep rise to Demi-Godhood. The bards sung a never ending odyssey of every time he fought back against the Abyssal Legion and even once traveled to and came back from the Abyss.
This "Commander" was Nexaria’s Hope, Lassim Rohese Vanthar, the new elemental Demi-God, the Void Storm.
Lassim’s right hand was resting on his halberd firmly planted in the ground, giving him balance as it glowed faintly with the light of an azure water mana along the pole with a golden lightning on the blade.
Around him, soldiers were arrayed in battle formations, waiting for his command. Their eyes were on him, filled with a mix of seriousness as they felt his heavenly existence press down on them, and—hope—that they might survive to tell their children they once stood on the same battlefield as their hero.
Lassim took in the scene before him, his mind was fluctuating with memories that were not his own. His mind was adapting to a body filled with several decades of muscle memory that he didn’t recall ever building up.
He briefly recalled that he was in the middle of some sort of trial, but that thought and recollection soon left his mind as it was replaced with the memories that led up to his presence on the battlefield.
The abyss were retaliating against him for slaying the youngest prince of the Dragal’s reign. The youngest prince, Xetkal, had crossed paths with Lassim on the front lines of the Abyss’ encroachment after they shattered the barrier that protected his universe.
In a last ditch attempt, Lassim had merged with his elemental companions and slain Xetkal before he even had a chance to react.
Now, the Abyss had opened hundreds of portals onto the Nexaria homeworld and the weight of his armor, the chill in the air, the tension in the soldiers’ eyes. It all culminated into this very moment.
It was as if he had been thrust into a final battle for Nexaria’s future, leading a real army against a real enemy.
Ahead of him, the forces of the Abyss loomed like a dark tide, a seemingly endless horde of twisted creatures that writhed and snarled as they advanced from their portals. More portals were appearing every second.
The ground shook with their approach, and the air reeked with the dark abyssal energy they exuded.
This was the Abyss in its purest form, the embodiment of chaos and destruction as they began their true assault.
Lassim’s grip tightened on his halberd as he scanned the battlefield, assessing the situation.
His mind raced with the weight of responsibility and struggled trying to understand why his mind felt so slow right now. It was if his mind had reverted back to the time when he was a stilling in his rapid growth phase at the Lightning Sect—A now nostalgic but distant memory.
He needed to get it together, and quickly. These soldiers, Nexaria’s best, were depending on him—his decisions and power would determine whether they lived or died.
He spread his spirit sense outward as it stretched to encompass over half of the planet.
He could see the enemy’s front lines were made up of the ever so familiar grotesque beasts that he had slaughtered countless times, their bodies a twisted amalgamation of muscle and shadow.
Behind them, Abyssal generals, towering figures clad in dark armor, orchestrated the assault. Their many eyes or empty eye sockets or even their separated heads bore into Lassim waiting for his movement.
Right now, they were leaving the battlefield to the lower cultivators. None of them were demigods like Lassim, but together they could combine their power to rival Lassim unless he went all out.
Lassim’s mind was actually flooded once more with memories about his previous encounters with these specific generals.
He had already killed two of their comrades, a Banshee Queen and a Twisted Ogre Warlord. The remaining 3 were a mutated sea beast that now survived on blood called a Blood Star, a Lust Demon that had a habit of throwing his masochistic slaves at Lassim before detonating them from a distance, and a half Dragal-half human hybrid that was an abomination of two universes.
It’s features were twisted and laced with the obsidian-like scales of the Dragal but the humanoid features of the average Nexarian.
It was an older man that had been a recent experiment as this former leader of the Abyssal Cult was transformed, and given a mixture of the Dragal’s blood by the Abyssal Will. Everything about his existence felt wrong and like it didn’t belong to this universe.
To Lassim’s own left and right, his forces were holding their positions, but he could sense the strain in their ranks as the first clashes occurred.
They were outnumbered and on the defensive, barely holding any semblance of a line. These were Nexaria’s best, but they would never hold up against the full onslaught of the Abyss and Lassim knew it.
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Sacrifices were going to be made today and he knew he wasn’t the best to determine tactics. It wasn’t his specialty at all. Today was going to be a dark day.
"Commander!" a voice called out, pulling his attention to a young lieutenant who had rushed up to kneel in front of him.
The man’s face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. "The Abyssal forces are pushing hard on our right flank. We’ve got 15 Spirit Mystics there but we’ve already taken heavy casualties, and if we don’t reinforce soon, they’ll break through! They’re defending a line of several kingdoms, but all will be lost if you don’t help them! I beg you commander!"
Lassim turned his gaze toward the right flank and saw the truth of the lieutenant’s words. The spirit warriors there were faltering, struggling to hold back the relentless tide of Abyssal creatures.
If that line broke, the enemy would flood into their ranks, and the entire region would be lost.
His mind raced with options, weighing the risks and potential outcomes. He would go himself but the moment he moved from position, he’d be immediately engaged in a cataclysmic battle that would threaten the mortals across the planet.
He could order a portion of his central forces to reinforce the right flank, but that would weaken their center and leave them vulnerable to a direct assault and possibly an early engagement by the Generals anyways.
Alternatively, he could send in his reserve troops from the Drow that he had trained and kept ready for this exact kind of moment, but they were already stretched thin. If the battle dragged on, and they didn’t maintain a foothold, they would have nothing left in reserve.
As Lassim deliberated, the pressure mounted. The sound of battle grew louder, more desperate as the death cries and sounds of weapons piercing flesh created a deafening cacophony.
Instinctually, Lassim’s progenitor marks across hai body activated and the lines on his neck rapidly shot towards his eyes as he lifted his head towards the heavens.
Peering through the fabric of space, Lassim watched as the gods had spread their physical manifestations of their domains through the void in between the stars on the closest boundary being attacked by the Abyss.
Khaalseru, Ribus and Famthar worked together to weave intricate spells and arrays that Lassim could see would restore the barrier between the universes. He could also see a golden weave of scrolls falling from the void and supporting the God’s efforts—the universal will was also lending its aid.
The remaining gods and goddesses were instead battling against four of the oldest Dragal, while the first ever Dragal, their beginning, stood watch in the distance nursing a wound that bled profusely across his neck.
Lassim knew he had to act quickly. His soldiers were looking to him for guidance, their lives hanging in the balance.
With a deep breath, Lassim made his decision. "Lieutenant, send a message to the High Priestess and Consul, Sanvra. Tell her to send half of the reserve troops to reinforce the right flank. Tell them to hold the line at all costs. We’ll fortify the center and prepare for a counterattack. We’ll move on my signal.
If we can break their momentum, we might be able to save at least some of our planet long enough for the gods to help restore the barrier. We’ll pick up the pieces of what’s left of it all after that."
The lieutenant saluted sharply, his expression resolute despite the fear in his eyes. "Yes, Commander!" He turned and sprinted off to relay the orders.
Lassim watched him go, his mind still trying to play catch up and make sense of the oddness to his current situation.