(Five months ago…)
The clearing echoed with the sharp clash of energy as Lunara stood face to face with Annie.
Both were breathless, locked in intense combat during a training session that had drawn curious eyes from the surrounding witches.
Lunara, determined and graceful, activated her passive Creation, a protective mechanism meant to soften the blow of Annie's attacks.
But Annie wasn't going easy today.
With a calm focus, Annie raised her hands, and her Light Creation sparked into life.
Glimmering swords of light blinked into existence around her, floating mid-air like divine weapons summoned by a goddess.
With a flick of her fingers, the blades surged forward—one after another—at terrifying speeds.
Lunara dodged the first wave, but Annie's control was too precise.
The swords came faster, sharper, and from all directions. In moments, Lunara found herself overwhelmed.
Her defense cracked.
She was thrown backward, crashing into the grass with her limbs scraped and bruised. Her breathing was ragged, but a soft smile tugged at her lips.
Lunara had improved again—sharper, faster, more precise. And it made her proud.
Later that evening, the three Guardians—Sybil, Sylvara, and Saphyra—gathered around Lunara as she lay on a recovery bed in the Witches' Hall.
Their presence was comforting, and Lunara opened her eyes as they approached.
"What's up?" she asked, lifting her head slightly.
"We've made something," Sybil said, grinning.
"A potion," Sylvara added, her voice a touch more cautious.
Lunara blinked, curious. "Potion for what?"
Saphyra stepped forward, excitement brimming in her tone.
"When the three of us drink it together, something special happens. Sybil and Sylvara's powers temporarily disappear and transfer directly to me.
For ten minutes, I become insanely strong. Like, insanely."
Lunara's eyes widened. "And your powers?"
"They return after the ten minutes," Sylvara replied. "But stronger. Like… improved. Amplified."
Lunara raised a brow, clearly impressed. "So you're telling me…
You transfer your powers to one of you temporarily, but then come back even more powerful than before?"
"Exactly!" Sybil nodded eagerly. "It's a temporary sacrifice with a long-term benefit."
Lunara let out a low whistle. "That's… honestly genius."
But the Guardians didn't stop there.
"We thought it could be better," said Saphyra. "So we worked on it for four more months."
"Four?" Lunara raised a brow.
"Yeah, four intense, sleepless months," Sylvara chuckled.
Sybil continued, "We made it so that any witch can donate part of their power, not just the three of us.
And they can choose how much to give—10%, 30%, even 100% if they want."
Saphyra's eyes gleamed. "And when the ten minutes are over, the donated power returns multiplied. Three times more powerful than before."
Lunara sat up now, intrigued. "Wait—so if I donate 10%, I'll get back 30%?"
"Exactly," Sylvara said. "It's a win-win. You boost someone instantly and then get stronger yourself once your energy comes back."
Lunara stared at them, impressed beyond words. "This… could change everything.
(Present Day)
The battlefield buzzed with the hum of raw energy and the groans of fallen enemies.
Dust and smoke clouded the air, but in the center of it all stood Saphyra, glowing with overwhelming power.
Her body thrummed with the collective strength of dozens of witches.
Sybil and Sylvara had given her everything—100% of their power. Annie had donated half of hers.
Even Lunara, amidst her battle with the Skeleton Queen, had contributed 20% of her strength.
Saphyra had become a titan.
And she had one target: Vel'Grothar.
Caught off guard by the sudden surge of energy, Vel'Grothar barely had time to react before Saphyra dashed in, her leg sweeping up with incredible speed.
She spun mid-air and landed a devastating left kick to his face.
His head jerked violently to the side, bones cracking as his vision went fuzzy.
He stumbled backward, dazed and momentarily stunned.
Blood dripped from his lip as he fell back against the ground, catching himself with a snarl.
In desperation, he grabbed a massive boulder, tore it from the earth with one hand, and hurled it at her.
Saphyra vanished in a blink.
She reappeared beside him in the next moment, ducking beneath the stone's path.
She shot forward again, attempting another kick, but this time Vel'Grothar caught her leg mid-strike.
With a furious roar, he hurled her across the field, her body slamming into the dirt and skidding several feet before she righted herself.
He laughed, blood staining his teeth. "You got stronger too, huh?
Doesn't matter. I've evolved beyond all of you. You can't stop me anymore!"
Saphyra stood up, cracking her knuckles. "Nah. I'm not letting you evolve anymore."
They began walking toward each other, tension building with each step.
A walk turned to a jog… a jog to a sprint… until finally—bam—they collided head-on with a thunderous headbutt.
The force echoed across the field like a thunderclap.
Vel'Grothar stumbled back, dazed again. This time, he couldn't hold himself up. His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees.
Saphyra didn't hesitate—she picked up a nearby sword, its blade still glowing from a fallen witch's Creation.
She stood over him, towering, unshaken.
"Any last words?"
Vel'Grothar's eyes, wild and defiant, locked onto hers. He screamed into the battlefield.
"**Zorath! Make sure to resurrect more Purgatorists! Win the battle—**get us out of this banished realm, and let us rule the world!!"
Saphyra's face remained cold.
With one clean motion, she swung the blade—and ended it.
The sword sliced through his throat like silk. Blood sprayed the air, and Vel'Grothar's body slumped lifelessly to the ground.
But his essence, his soul, didn't fade.
Glowing particles rose from his corpse, swirling like mist.
They lifted into the sky, just as Vel'Lucranis had before him—drawn toward that strange and distant place. The resting grounds of the Purgatorists.
Where their souls waited to be resurrected.
Saphyra watched the last of the particles vanish into the clouds, her grip on the bloodied sword tightening.
The battle was far from over.
As a very tired Zayne closed his eyes, while blood was pouring out from his earlier wounds