Minutes before on the other side of Elven's estate, three of Yona's closest friends sat discussing her.
"Sigh. I don't know, guys. Something seems off, but she just smiled like normal and said she wanted air," Tammi said, twirling his drink, worry creasing his brows.
"Pftt, you look like an old man. Relax. This is Yona we're talking about! She's nothing but trouble but knows how to have a good time. When she feels crowded, she takes a moment for herself, then comes back to the party like always," Faeth said, arm slung around a red-haired witch, whispering and kissing her neck.
He waved Tammi off, completely unconcerned—he had full trust in Yona's strength.
Elven remained silent, hunched over his drink, staring into it.
"See, this is why you'll always be the group's little Faye. Denser than obsidian sea stone—you wouldn't even know right from left if Yona didn't guide you," he muttered, crossing his legs and turning his back to Faeth in dismissal.
Tammi still couldn't shake this feeling, killing his mood to party anymore.
He set his glass down, refilling it when he noticed the wine inside shaking along with the table.
Tammi paused.
The others noticed too.
"What's up?" Elven asked, meeting Tammi's eyes.
The air hummed for a moment.
Others highly sensitive to mana looked toward the direction of the garden.
"I'll be back, I wan—" Tammi began to stand up, wanting to check on Yona, when he felt like his body weighed a ton.
Everyone paused, sensing overwhelming, dense mana—choking, slamming most people to the floor.
SLAM!
Everyone collectively dropped, squashed by pure, packed, dense mana.
"Ah! Help! Oww! What's going on!"
Screams and sounds of confusion and pain echoed from all points of the property.
Forcing himself to his feet as his heart leaped to his throat, Tammi shouted,
"Yona!"
He dashed madly toward the private garden springs.
Elven was on his tail.
Others recognized it instantly: the oppressive, aggressive aura of Yona's mana.
"Shit!" Faeth hopped up from the sofa and took off after them.
"Do you sense Yona's grief as well?! Let's go check on her," Dex and Ginja said, leaving their drinks.
Elven, Faeth, Tammi, Dex, Ginja, and a few others closest to Yona took off toward the garden.
On the way, they all ran into each other.
Each friend understood Yona and that they were all close.
Something serious had to have happened.
Though normally upbeat and approachable, Yona never allowed herself to be crossed without consequence. Those who tried before always paid a steep price.
They instantly formed a game plan and continued toward the private hot spring entrance.
But this time, it was different—it must involve life and death.
Yona did not go berserk easily.
The closer they got, the more intimidating and choking the mana became, threatening to kill them before anything else.
They cut through the alleyway and made their way onto the path to the springs.
SHING—BOOM.
Before they could take another step, they were thrown back.
Glass, windows, chandeliers, tables—even buildings—shattered into tiny fragments.
The friends' rescue team was knocked out cold before they even had a chance to start.
⸻
In front of the Hot Springs, Yona landed in the garden at high speed, creating a large crater.
All the surrounding mana pulsed in waves, vibrating violently.
Steve felt a sense of danger and backed up a few steps.
Yona hurtled down into the garden, her landing explosive.
She struck the ground with such force that a deep crater split beneath her, waves of mana erupting outward.
The shock ripped through the earth, shattering stone and shaking the air itself.
Deep inside, something ancient stirred—restless, eager to break free.
Her priest-spirit awoke.
A presence older than her body, a guardian forged from her soul.
It felt the corruption bleeding into Yona, a violent intrusion clawing for her essence.
In an instant, it seized control.
Under its command, her body moved with wild, unnatural precision.
Mana burst from her with every step, blowing apart shards of stone and shredding arcs of corrupt energy before they could strike.
The priest-spirit reacted faster than thought—bending wind and water around her limbs to redirect blows, consuming attacking shadows with devour-dark incantations as they lunged.
Steve and his cohorts swarmed.
Forbidden tools pulsed with sinister light.
Chains of black mana lashed through the air.
Talismans ignited with explosive runes.
Shadowed hands clawed toward her, each one aimed to corrode both body and soul.
The priest-spirit met them all like a conductor at war—spinning, leaping, striking, deflecting.
Each movement was precise.
Each counter a death sentence for the attacker.
A spiked gauntlet collided with her shoulder, sending shockwaves through her body.
In a breathtaking twist mid-air, the priest-spirit unleashed a furious torrent of wind and water that exploded from her—obliterating the weapon into a shower of glittering shards!
Steve's dagger flared, ritual light crawling along its edge.
He lunged.
The priest-spirit twisted just enough—the blade tore into her side, missing her heart by inches.
The body staggered but did not fall.
More followers surged forward, their intent menacing.
Dark-infused chains erupted from the shadows, ensnaring her legs in a vice grip.
Above, corrupted energy spikes rained down like deadly meteors, each one crackling with a sinister power.
Artifacts whirled around her in a dazzling dance, their synchronized pulses closing in with dangerous precision.
But she was ready.
Every strike they launched was countered with lightning speed—perfectly executed movements that transformed their attacks into mere whispers of defeat.
Elemental bursts exploded around her, a chaotic symphony of spiritual force and defiance.
The priest-spirit evolved, a predator in the storm, adapting with ruthless precision.
Shadows twisted and disappeared into her command.
Energy arcs rebounded, igniting their casters in a flash of retribution.
Mana barriers flared to life like shields of hope, vanishing just as swiftly as they appeared whenever danger loomed.
Meanwhile, Steve's ritual power surged to new heights.
The dagger in his grip glowed like a beacon of malignant light.
The artifacts spun around him in perfect ritual harmony, ready to unleash their full potential.
The atmosphere crackled with tension—this fight was about to reach a fever pitch!
A second lunge.
The dagger's tip grazed her side, stabbing shallowly, narrowly missing vital organs.
Pain burned through the vessel, but the priest-spirit's control did not waver.
Then it saw them—Tammi, Alvin, Elven, Faeth, Dex, and Ginja—tearing through debris and ruined flora, desperate to reach her.
Mana surged from them like wildfire, but they were still too far.
With resolute determination, the priest-spirit began inscribing the self-destruct sigils, each stroke pulsing with forbidden energy.
Suddenly, a pitch-black void yawned open beneath her and Steve, pulling them inexorably toward its swirling center.
The air crackled with the anguished cries of the forbidden spells, and cursed artifacts flared defiantly around them—yet the spiritual lock held unwavering.
As the whirlpool enveloped them, the priest-spirit concentrated fiercely, locking in the detonation.
With a deft twist of her will, she shaped the impending blast—ensuring that it would never reach Yona's friends, safe from the chaos below.
White light exploded as the void detonated.
The garden shook to its roots.
Windows shattered.
Trees ripped from the soil.
Stones split like glass.
Tammi, Alvin, Elven, Faeth, Dex, and Ginja found themselves thrown back—alive but overwhelmed with sorrow.
Each of them sobbed, their grief a shared burden, raw and palpable.
They understood each other's pain, feeling as if they were all connected by this profound loss.
The sacrifice of Yona—body and priest-spirit united in that final act—was etched into their hearts.
When the void closed, only scorched earth and broken stone remained.
Residual mana shimmered softly in the depths of the crater.
Yona was gone.
Yet the wind, whispering through the ruins, carried the weight of the sacrifice made.