The eerie tension in the atmosphere seemed to thicken with each passing moment, enveloping the scene like a dense fog rolling in from the sea. It was as if the very air crackled with the anticipation of an impending storm, ominous and electrifying. With your eyes fixed on the frightful spirits, you didn't notice Onyx close to you, his hand was clutching tightly a jagged rock, the very same one that the spirits was throwing at you moments before.

"You can't go anywhere without me, can you?" His words, delivered with a tone as cold and unyielding as the stone he held, resonated with a sense of both frustration and unwavering loyalty. There was a raw edge to his voice, a touch of anger tempered by a steadfast resolve.

With a resounding crunch, his hand clenched into a fist, crushing the rock within his grasp as if it were nothing more than a fragile shell. The fragments fell to the ground like shards of shattered resolve, scattering amidst the chaos of the spectral skirmish.

The young spirits, once emboldened by their spectral power, recoiled at the sight of Onyx, their ephemeral forms quivering with newfound trepidation. To them, he wasn't just anyone; he was the embodiment of their deepest fears, a living legend whispered of in hushed tones around spectral campfires.