No matter how many times he attacked, the threads remained intact, defying his every effort.
His body trembled with fatigue, his void energy nearly depleted, only slowly refilling as it spilled out of the celestial connection within his inner heart world.
Each strike had been more desperate than the last, the portal stubbornly holding its ground. It was fully anchored into Nexaria with a force that surpassed anything he had encountered before.
"This… damn thing…" Lassim growled under his breath, his voice ragged from exertion.
"I can’t…" Lassim muttered in defeat, his grip on his halberd slackening for the first time since the battle had begun.
His strength was waning.
His progenitor marks flared with flickering energy as he switched strategies and reached his hands out trying to physically pull them apart with his hands coated in the void energy, but it wasn’t enough.
The abyss had dug its claws into the world, and its grip was unshakable. His proficiency and skill with the void element and his current stage of cultivation wasn’t enough.
The atmosphere felt wrong. The surrounding air thickened with the palpable joy of the abyssal will, feeding on his frustration.
It was as though the abyss itself was mocking him, reveling in his failure.
This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.
The abyssal will’s sickening excitement intensified, seeping through the fabric of reality like a noxious gas, an eerie anticipation hanging in the air.
The portal pulsed menacingly, as if alive and hungry, ready to unleash more horrors from beyond.
"Step aside."
The deep, commanding voice rang out from behind him, slicing through the oppressive atmosphere like a blade through mist.
Lassim turned in shock as he awakened from his despair—a sense of relief came.
Volten stood a few meters away, his form still wreathed in the orange glow of his Defiance Lightning. His scaled armor shimmered, lightning dancing across his skin like living tendrils. His reptilian eyes burned with a fierce intensity, but despite his transformation, his presence radiated calm, controlled power.
"You’ve done well," Volten said, his voice softer now, almost fatherly. "But this portal… it’s beyond what you’re capable of right now."
Lassim gritted his teeth, trying to hide his frustration. He knew it was true, but admitting it stung. "I tried, Sect Master… I—"
Volten raised a hand, cutting him off. "You’ve done enough. Thank you for all you’ve done for this sect and this world until now. Let me handle this one."
With a single step, Volten closed the distance to the portal, his aura swelling as he focused on the rift.
The air around him seemed to hum in anticipation, the storm clouds overhead crackling with energy.
Lassim watched in awe as Volten raised his arm, his palm crackling with orange lightning. The portal flickered, the abyssal energy inside it reacting violently to Volten’s presence.
The abyssal will, once giddy with anticipation, seemed to recoil in nervousness at the sheer force radiating from the newly crowned Spirit Prince.
Volten’s gaze sharpened as he stared into the heart of the portal. "The Abyss thinks it can anchor itself here… Not in my world. I’ll do what the gods refuse to do. You will be defeated."
His voice was calm, but beneath it was an edge of simmering rage, a refusal to let the abyss claim any more lives.
With a fluid motion, Volten thrust his hand toward the portal, and the sky answered.
A jagged bolt of Defiance Lightning, infused with the raw power of Volten’s breakthrough, shot down from the heavens, striking the portal with devastating force. The energy surged through the air, warping reality around it as it collided with the corrupted threads holding the portal open.
The abyss shrieked in response, the nervous energy turning into a howl of anger and frustration.
The portal trembled, the threads binding it to the world straining under the assault. But it wasn’t enough. The abyssal will still clung to the world, refusing to let go.
Volten’s eyes narrowed, his voice a low growl. "Lassim. Lend me your power."
Lassim blinked, surprised. "What?"
Volten turned to him, his reptilian gaze piercing. "You’ve mastered three elements—lightning, water, and space. Your spatial affinity, though undeveloped, is the key to fully severing this portal like the others before. I don’t understand your situation, but together, we can close it."
Lassim hesitated only for a second before nodding.
He stepped forward, he gathered the last remnants of his void energy and combined them with his other elements as he had done so nearly 50 times previously for the other portals. His body ached, but if the Sect Master believed they could do this together, then he wasn’t about to give up.
Volten extended his hand toward Lassim. "Focus on your lightning, water, and void energies. Let them flow together. I’ll amplify your power with my Defiance Lightning."
Lassim took a deep breath, calming his racing heart.
He resummoned and gripped his halberd tightly to keep in one hand to help channel the energies as he extended his hand toward Volten, feeling the elder’s immense energy merging with his own. The moment their hands touched, a surge of raw power coursed through Lassim’s body, reinvigorating him.
His progenitor marks flared to life, glowing brighter than before as Volten’s energy mixed with his own.
"Now," Volten said, his voice steady, "Strike."
With a united cry, Lassim and Volten unleashed their combined attack.
Lassim thrust his halberd toward the portal, while Volten sent a torrent of Defiance Lightning down into the core of the rift. The elements—lightning, water, void, and defiance—all surged together, intertwining into a single, devastating force.
The portal convulsed, its corrupted energy writhing as the combined attack tore through its threads.
The abyssal will screamed, the connection to Nexaria shattering as the threads holding the portal to this world were severed one by one.
But something else happened—something unexpected.
As the portal collapsed, the very fabric of space around it began to distort.
A tear in reality opened, the remnants of the abyssal energy warping the space where the portal had been. The void itself seemed to ripple, a gaping wound left behind by the abyss’s attempt to force its way into the world.
The hole in reality started sucking in and pulling in debris and rubble at an alarming rate with a strong gust. Lassim was thankfully held in place by the Sect Master’s strong pull.
Lassim’s heart skipped a beat as he watched the tear in reality pulse and expand. If this wasn’t dealt with, it could destabilize the entire region, maybe even the world.
"Hold steady," Volten commanded, his voice sharp. "Focus on stabilizing the space. You’ve got to make it work; believe in yourself."
Lassim nodded. The progenitor marks that had crawled up to his eyes lit them up once more as he extended his spirit sense and sigh to see, feeling the torn fabric of reality as it pulsed and writhed.
It was unstable, the abyss’s influence still lingering in the void. But he had practiced just enough to understand what the fabric weave looked like normally. He could possibly, messily, repair it—he had to.
His progenitor marks glowed as he directed the last of his void energy toward the tear.
Slowly, he began weaving the threads of space back together, patching the wound left behind by the abyss. It was delicate work, each movement precise, his energy ebbing dangerously low with every passing moment.
Just as Lassim felt he was about to collapse, a strange warmth filled the air.
A soothing presence, like a gentle breeze, swept across the battlefield—nay, across the entire planet.
The tear in space began to heal faster, the universe itself seemingly lending its aid to repair the damage done by the abyss.
Lassim blinked in surprise. He could feel something quite similar to the sensation that the abyssal will have him. Yet, in the complete opposite direction. Not one of rejection or unnaturalness, but of comfort and belonging…
The actual will of this universe, something ancient and vast, was helping him close the tear. It was as though the very world was rejecting the abyss too, forcing it out with a silent yet powerful force.
The abyssal will, which had once filled the air with malevolent joy, now howled in rage as it was ejected from Nexaria.
The oppressive presence faded, and the air cleared. The final remnants of the portal collapsed in on themselves, vanishing into nothingness.
The battle was over.
Lassim sank to his knees, his body trembling from the exertion. He had done it. They had done it. The abyss had been repelled, the portals closed. But the cost had been high. Too high.
—
Volten stood beside Lassim, his form still wreathed in lightning, though the intensity had dimmed. His eyes, once burning with the fury of battle, now softened as he surveyed the battlefield below.
"It’s over," Volten said quietly, his voice carrying a mixture of relief and sorrow. His eyes wandered far past just the Lightning Sect as his new spirit sense covered the entirety of the Southern Continent and more. "But the damage… so many are lost."
Lassim glanced around, his spirit sense picking up the faint signs of life among the fallen.
The bodies of both Lightning Sect and Sun Sect disciples littered the ground.
The air was thick with the stench of death and decay and abyssal goo, the once-proud headquarters of the Lightning Sect now a ruined battlefield.
Lassim struggled to his feet, his body aching in protest as he activated [Lifestream] to ease his own body before realizing he had a tool to help, "We need to help the survivors," he said, his voice hoarse. "There are still people alive. The healers—"
Volten nodded, his expression grim. "Go. Do what you can. I’ll handle the aftermath here and make a call for additional aid from the other guardians on other continents."
Lassim didn’t need to be told twice.
With what strength he had, he turned and ran toward the center of the sect, where he could see with his spirit sense where the healers had started to gather the injured.
His heart ached with the knowledge that many of his fellow disciples were beyond saving, but he refused to let that stop him from helping those he could.
He wondered what happened to his team as they were scattered across the sect or in their own Spirit Ascension rooms when the attack occurred.
As he approached the healers, he could see the chaos.
Wounded disciples lay scattered across the ground, their bodies broken and battered. The healers, overwhelmed and exhausted, worked tirelessly to save as many as they could, but their numbers were too few, their energy too drained.
Lassim clenched his fists tightly, his mind racing. He could help. He had to help.
Without hesitation, he extended outwards his [Lifestream] technique that was running across his own body for healing, the soothing azure water energy of healing flowing from his hands as he knelt beside one of the injured disciples.
The young girl, somewhere in the Spirit Transformation stage, gasped in pain, her body wracked with injuries from the battle.
"Hold on," Lassim said softly, his voice steady despite the chaos around him. "You’re going to be okay."
The healing energy flowed into her body, knitting her wounds together with the gentle touch of [Lifestream].
Her breathing steadied, the color returning to her pale skin. Lassim could feel the warmth of his water mana surrounding her, soothing the pain, bringing her back from the brink.
As he worked, the healers nodded at his efforts and directed more injured disciples to be brought to him, each one more gravely wounded than the last.
But Lassim didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He moved from one disciple to the next, the azure light of [Lifestream] flickering as he poured the entirety of his mana that was only slowly refilling and being converted to divine mana, thanks to his progenitor marks, into healing those he could.
Hours passed in a blur of exhaustion and pain.
The healers worked tirelessly, and Lassim fought against the growing fatigue that threatened to pull him under into a much needed sleep. But he didn’t. He couldn’t stop.
—
Volten, now free from the battle, stood, floating in the sky overlooking the devastated sect.
His eyes were closed, his mind focused as he sent out messages rapidly through his communication disc to the guardians and leaders of other sects across Nexaria, calling for aid.
The Southern Continent had suffered greatly in this attack, and they needed help—healers, fighters, resources.
Most of the leaders of the major sects responded swiftly. Dictating that they would send teams being dispatched now to assist, and Volten felt a surge of gratitude, though it was tempered by the fact that it’d take a while for the further groups to arrive and the price he’d need to pay to help rebuild the Southern Continent.
The Sun Sect was nearly wiped out, their once-powerful disciples reduced to ash and twisted corpses.
But the threat of the situation still lingered. Not all of the Sun Sect disciples were included in the attack. His spirit sense told him that its remnants were still scattered across the Southern Continent.
There were still stragglers, transformed Sun Sect disciples wreaking havoc in distant cities. They, too, would need to be dealt with.
For now, though, the battle was over and he needed to focus on the headquarters first. He could only dispatch a team to begin cleanup within a couple days when things normalized. He felt bad for those distant cities and grit his teeth so hard in anger at the gods that his gums bled.
—
Lassim stood amidst the triage tents in the main courtyard of the Lightning Sect three days later. His hands glowing faintly with a more practiced usage of the soothing energy of his [Lifestream] technique.
This attack had given him the practice and studying he needed to learn how to better use the technique. He saw the broken limbs and actual innards of body parts and that real life example was better than any textbook in showing him what was wrong and needed to be mended.
The massive open tents were filled with injured disciples, the aftermath of the devastating attack leaving many battered and broken.
He knelt beside a young initiate ranked disciple, wearing the same martial robes as his and whose face was pale as a sheet of clean paper as Lassim’s healing energy flowed through his wounds, slowly knitting torn flesh across his back, back together.
The air was thick with the scent of blood and the quiet groans of the wounded.
Around him, healers worked tirelessly, their faces etched with exhaustion, but there was a silent, grim determination in the air.
As Lassim focused on his task, a sudden, long lost sensation of connection flickered in his mind from his chest—a nervous, yet familiar, emotional presence.
It hit him like a wave, subtle at first, but growing stronger, more insistent as he realized it was nearing his location rapidly.
His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the feeling.
It wasn’t coming from him directly but from something… someone else.
He lowered his gaze to the necklace hanging from his neck, the delicate golden chain shimmering faintly.
The necklace.
The one enchanted with "Soul Echo", the other pair of which had been given to Lustria Alisone, the girl he had made a promise to nearly eight years ago at the Myriad Spirit Academy.
He had not forgotten the necklace or the promise, but this was the first time since their parting that he felt the pull—an emotional connection that sparked between them through the enchanted bond.
The gem in the necklace, recently in its usual dormancy, now glowed softly, a watery luminescence swirling within, almost like the reflection of a calm sea under the night sky.
Lassim’s heart quickened as the emotions grew clearer—anxiety, anticipation, and something more he couldn’t quite define.
He stood abruptly, his mind no longer on the healing task at hand. The disciple beneath his hands stirred as the flow of [Lifestream] halted.
One of the healers nearby looked up in confusion. "Lassim?"
But he didn’t respond.
He couldn’t.
The connection from the necklace tugged at him, a mental whisper that urged him to move.
Lassim’s feet carried him in a mad dash of [Tempest Steps] toward the gates of the sect.
He weaved between tents, healers, and injured disciples, his breath catching in his throat as the presence through the Soul Echo pulled him forward.
There was no mistaking it.
She was nearby—Lustria.
He felt his cheeks begin to burn, especially the part where she had last given him that peck on the cheek when they departed. Butterflies but also a more mature seriousness flooded his body.
He reached the outer courtyard near the sect’s gates, his heart racing.
But as he skidded to a halt, what greeted him wasn’t just the presence of Lustria but something far more unexpected.
Hovering and approaching just above the sect, a large, sleek ship floated ominously in the sky.
The vessel, adorned in black and silver, exuded an air of authority, bloodiness and shadowy mystery.
The ship’s enchantments shimmered faintly, causing it to fade into the shadows beneath the perpetual thunderstorm, blending and almost creating deep shadows that it slipped in and out of, making it difficult to observe with the naked eye.
Lassim barely had time to process the sight before the air around the ship seemed to ripple.
Suddenly, from the darkness that covered the ship, a team of nearly 50 shadowy figures began to materialize on the open of the deck, their forms shifting and blending with the shadows around them.
In perfect unison, they [Shadow Stepped] down from the ship, their movements in unison, like a synchronized military unit.
They appeared out of the shadows, in front of the Lightning Sect’s gate, landing in perfect silence.
Clad in pitch-black clothing, each figure was a master of concealment in their sect’s martial attire, their faces hidden behind masks that revealed only their sharp, glowing eyes.
The emblem of the Shadow Sect, a crescent moon entwined with swirling darkness, was emblazoned on their chests, the only sign of their affiliation.
Their aura was one of calm, lethal efficiency, a stark contrast to the current chaos of healing and rebuilding in the Lightning Sect at this time.
The tension in the air thickened as the Shadow Sect members stood in formation, their presence almost ghostly.
They were assassins, elite spirit warriors who had mastered the Night Element under the strict training and protocols of the Shadow Sect’s rigorous and secret methods, and their arrival was as unnerving and unexpected as it was awe-inspiring.
Lassim’s heart pounded in his chest again, but this time it wasn’t because of the Shadow Sect’s flashy display.
The presence of the Soul Echo still tugged at him, still connecting him to Lustria.
His eyes scanned the figures, trying to find her, but there was no sign of her among the group that had just shadow-stepped down.
As he stood there, staring up at the ship and the arriving warriors, he couldn’t shake the growing anticipation and nervousness.
Lustria was close, but where was she in the crowd?
Also, why was the Shadow Sect here, and what did this all mean for the future of the Southern Continent?
And then, the final member of the Shadow Sect stepped forward to stand next to the tall and bulky figure at the front, their aura familiar—yet shrouded in darkness.
Lassim’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto them with recognition.