Spirit’s Awakening: The Path of Lightning and Water

The events taking place on the frontier of the universal clash over the Abyss' planned domination over all existence showed the current difference in strength. While the pantheon of gods mayhaps have an overwhelming strength available in themselves, their tools—the children of Nexaria they'd blessed and gifted portions of their power—had yet to rise up and reach godhood status and bolster their numbers. They were also competing against a universal will, the Abyss, that had already absorbed countless other universal wills to empower not only its denizens but its ability to protect its own chosen children—the Dragal.

One other key aspect was the surprising number of Spirit Kings and Demi-gods present on this battlefield between the stars. Lassim would be shocked to hear about even just one of these Spirit Kings, yet there were thousands of them and even Spirit Demi-Gods that were from Nexaria? Where were they when the portals on Nexaria opened? Why was there no stories or tales about these individuals rising to power and making a mark on Nexaria's lengthy history?

Lassim would soon encounter this very issue in the coming weeks as the pantheon was about to be forced to take drastic measures the very moment he reached a certain threshold of power…

~~~

Days passed in rapid succession, and with them, the momentum of the Elder Summit's Martial Competition surged forward at a relentless pace. The Spirit Transformation bracket had continued and thus concluded during the events in the outer edges of the universe, separating those with potential from those who had simply been hoping to advance through brute force or sheer luck after being pushed forward by their Masters to achieve victory.

The final rounds had been grueling, each competitor showcasing not just mastery over Lightning techniques, but the personal touches that defined their budding combat styles. Speed-focused swordsmen, long-ranged lightning lancers, and even defensive cultivators using resilient constructs composed of the various staple lightning battle arts found within the Sect's Library had all clashed in the late rounds. Yet, only one stood at the peak—a reserved, calculating fighter whose adaptability had made the difference when the margin of victory was razor-thin.

His final move had been a deception, a feigned weakness as he exhausted his opponent's stamina with defensive footwork before unleashing a brutal counter-strike in the form of a three-layered [Lightning Discharge], sending his rival cratering into the out-of-bounds area surrounding the arena's stage.

The Spirit Transformation Champion had been crowned, and as the projection screen flickered above the coliseum, his name was etched into the records of the sect with him set to receive the God's Trial token as well..

But the Spirit Transformation bracket was behind them now.

It was the turn of the Spirit Ascension warriors and the events of roughly 100 competitors was not at its peak.

~~~

The sky above the coliseum raged with uncontrolled Lightning, not just from the perpetual clouds that were ever present, but mostly from the sheer presence of two peak Spirit Ascension stage [Lightning] cultivators causing thunderclouds to spiral overhead.

Unlike the Spirit Transformation competitors, these fighters had shattered their soul crystals, forming the constellations that now pulsed above them, radiating their individual comprehension of the heavens in the form of a rudimentary formation of a symbol that represented what they wished to embody.

Thousands of disciples in the audience watched in awed silence, their gazes locked onto the two remaining finalists suspended high above the battlefield. The formation around the coliseum had already been reinforced multiple times throughout the rounds, and now, Elders observed cautiously, ready to interfere should their power exceed safe limits.

One competitor wielded a segmented glaive, the weapon's length emitting arcs of blue-violet lightning that extended and retracted at will. His constellation, a lightning shaped Falcon, loomed above, its ethereal wings stretching wide, amplifying his every movement with a near-imperceptible acceleration. His strikes were fast, each glaive sweep carving streaks of pure Lightning mana into the air before chaining into a fluid assault that blurred the lines of offense and defense.

His opponent, a battle-hardened veteran of the sect that earned quite a lot of recognition during the recent Sun Sect battles for outpost control, fought with a lightning staff that was adorned with dual blades that followed the lengths of the staff. His strikes were wild and erratic, yet deceptive in their lack of formality.

His constellation, a Thunder Wyvern, flickered above him, its draconic form roaring with each of his high-impact strikes. Every movement was accompanied by the volatile surges of a beast on the verge of breaking free, his presence overwhelming like an approaching stormfront.

They clashed mid-air, their weapons colliding in a blinding explosion of lightning, sending shockwaves rippling downward into the coliseum's defensive barriers.

The glaive-wielder twisted in mid-air, his Falcon constellation surging with power as he vanished from sight for a brief moment, reappearing behind his opponent in an instant.

At this stage, the budding of advanced and unique combat techniques was beginning to show itself and for the two finalists of the Spirit Ascension stage competition, it was an inevitability that these individuals that had lived thousands of years longer than Lassim had had the time to develop their own techniques as they reached the peak of their stage.

[Falcon's Descent], a technique that allowed him to accelerate beyond the visible spectrum using the inspiration of his elemental companion and their shared element for a split second, turning his body into a streak of violet lightning aimed directly at the Wyvern-user's exposed flank.

But the Wyvern-user was already moving.

He spun his staves, both blades igniting with a deeper, lavender-laced Lightning. The moment his glaive-wielding opponent reappeared, he unleashed his own [Wyvern's Spiral] battle art, a sudden twisting motion that sent a vortex of spiraling Lightning crashing outward from his form.

The glaive-wielder barely managed to react, throwing his weapon into a desperate defensive rotation to absorb the force—but the sheer impact sent him flying backward, spiraling uncontrollably through the sky.

A brief pause.

And then—the decisive moment arrived.

The Wyvern-user surged forward, his Lightning-staves whirling in a controlled arc, every motion supported by his ever-present Wyvern constellation above his head, its coiling form weaving around his movements in perfect synchronicity. The next strike's determination on the outcome of the fight was an inevitability.

"[Thunderstrike]!"

The final technique descended like judgment itself—a downward, two-handed swing, amplified by every ounce of momentum his body had gathered. His opponent, still mid-recovery from the prior attack, barely managed to raise his weapon in time.

Lightning flared, blinding white light consuming the sky.

The coliseum trembled as the sheer force of the impact shattered the remaining formations mid-air, forcing Elders to reinforce the protective barriers immediately. The audience gasped as the smoke cleared, revealing a single figure still standing—staff pressed against the throat of his opponent, whose weapon had been knocked away, spinning uselessly in the distance at that exact second; not enough time to resummon it via his connection to it.

The glaive-wielder exhaled sharply, then raised his hands. He had lost.

The projection screen flickered above the battlefield, declaring the result.

Winner: Zeran

The audience's cheers echoed through the coliseum as Zeran descended from the sky, his body still jutting with residual Lightning mana from the final exchange. The defeated glaive-wielder gave a respectful nod before collecting his weapon to his heart world and departing the battlefield, his expression unreadable as he disappeared into the tunnels exiting the arena.

With the Spirit Ascension stage Tournament concluded, the final stage was set—the Spirit Transcendence Tournament, where only seven competitors would participate and remained for the entirety of the events of the Elder's Summit.

Unlike the previous brackets, where battles were constant in batches of waves of competitors, and stretched across multiple platforms, this stage of competition would be far more deliberate.

Only seven.

A number that signified not just rarity for a late bloomer to show their value to the Elders of the sect, but dominance in a talent that was so prodigal that the sect determined their efforts within these last 5 years deserved to earn them the gold embellishments on their sect martial attire.

For one to reach Spirit Transcendence, they were one step away from breaking through into the Spirit Mystic realm, where elemental mastery would begin to touch upon divine comprehension in the form of transitioning their elemental mana mastery into a divine law; either within the bounds of their element's Godly domain or outside of it with something new and original.

Seven warriors. Three rounds to determine the finalists.

And now, the final contest to determine the strongest Spirit Transcendence disciple of the Lightning Sect was about to begin.

From the highest observation platform, Lassim's back went straight as arena's barrier and the stage began to fix itself under Elder Baruun's direction. The storm raging in his eyes flickered with anticipation, his spirit sense stretching over the battlefield as he reflected on every lingering trace of lightning and the battle arts from the previous matches.

Beside him, Sect Master Volten exhaled, crossing his arms as he stared down at the battlefield, his expression neutral but thoughtful. His usual jovial demeanor had been absent for most of the competition, replaced by a quiet intensity that spoke of careful observation that would determine the fate and future rising and falling of ranks or resource allocation within the sect's Elders.

He had watched every battle. He had measured every fighter and calculated their progress from which his memory last recalled their original situations prior to becoming Personal disciples.

Volten exhaled, arms crossed as the Spirit Ascension competition had concluded. Now, it was finally time. He turned slightly, his gaze settling on his disciple.

"Well then." His voice seemed slightly expectant, "Are you ready?"

Lassim rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms slightly before turning his head as well. His posture was relaxed, but his presence—his spiritual pressure beginning to leak and churn like the air before a storm's arrival—was charged, waiting to be unleashed. "I've been ready."

Volten gave him a measured look before letting out a short breath. "Then let's see what all that training you said you accomplished has been for."

Lassim's lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk. "Just watch carefully."

Volten arched a brow. "Careful of what?"

Lassim glanced toward the coliseum floor, where the tournament officials had begun drawing lots for the first round. "Wouldn't want you dying from shock," he said smoothly, stepping toward the edge of the platform.

Volten exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Just don't embarrass me."

Without another word, Lassim floated up before he descended downwards. The final stage of the Elder Summit's martial competition was about to begin.