Moscow was buried in silence.
The snow fell endlessly, but it was not peaceful. The streets were blackened with ash, buildings cracked open like broken teeth, and smoke coiled into the night sky.
At the center of it all stood Dmitri Ivanov, towering like a mountain. His aura of earth rolled off him in waves, turning rubble into shields, stone into weapons.
His breath steamed in the cold air. His great hands clenched into fists, knuckles coated in hardened rock.
He knew this city would be his grave.
But if that was the price, he would pay it.
---
Flashback – The Avalanche
Years ago, Dmitri had been a miner's son in the frozen outskirts of Siberia. Winters were merciless.
One night, a massive avalanche roared down the mountainside, swallowing his village. Families screamed, buried in snow and stone. Dmitri, only fourteen, ran into the storm without thinking.
He dug with his bare hands until his skin bled. He screamed until his voice broke. And when the avalanche crushed him too, something inside him broke open.
The earth answered his will. Stone bent around him, snow obeyed him. He held the avalanche back with his body, carving a path for others to escape.
When they found him, he was half-buried, frostbitten, but alive. And around him stood walls of solid rock, shaped by aura.
From that day, Dmitri Ivanov carried the weight of his people, his land, his earth.
He was the mountain that would not fall.
---
The Demons of Moscow
The rift pulsed open above Red Square. Out poured shadows, their laughter echoing through the ruined streets.
Veylith, the Needle Fiend (Mid-Rank). A demon with spines protruding from every limb, hurling volleys of bone needles.
Dravos, the Mawhound (Low-Rank). A quadruped beast with a jaw splitting into three.
Skareth, the Shadow Impaler (Low-Rank). A thin demon wielding spears of pure darkness.
But hiding among them was another—small, weak, unnoticed.
A low demon with hollow eyes, who did not strike, only watched.
---
Dmitri's Stand
Dravos lunged first. Dmitri slammed his fists into the ground.
"Stonequake!"
The street split apart, jagged pillars of rock erupting upward, skewering the beast mid-leap. It howled before shattering into ash.
Veylith roared, launching a storm of spines. Dmitri raised his arms.
"Iron Bulwark!"
Stone plates erupted from his skin, forming armor across his body. The needles shattered harmlessly against him. With a roar, he leapt high, his fist coated in stone.
"Mountain Breaker!"
His punch crushed Veylith into the ground, the demon's body exploding into shards.
Skareth hissed, spears of shadow raining from the sky. Dmitri stomped.
"Earthen Dome!"
A sphere of stone enclosed him, the shadows glancing off harmlessly. He burst out with a roar, fists like hammers, reducing Skareth to fragments.
The square fell silent. Snow drifted again.
Dmitri stood, chest heaving, blood dripping from his lip. He had won.
Or so it seemed.
---
The Survivor
The small demon stepped forward at last. It was frail, almost childlike, with sunken eyes and trembling limbs. It looked weaker than the rest.
Dmitri frowned, fists still clenched. "You… survived?"
The demon tilted its head. Then it whispered, voice like a snake:
"Not survived… waiting."
Its hands shot forward. Black tendrils lashed into Dmitri's chest, piercing his aura directly.
Pain exploded through his body. His stone armor crumbled, his fists turned to flesh again. His knees buckled.
"What—what are you—?!" he roared.
The demon's hollow eyes burned.
"Aura Harvest."
---
Dmitri's End
Dmitri felt it immediately. His life, his aura, the very earth that obeyed him—it was being pulled away. His body trembled violently as the demon drained him, his veins glowing faintly with stolen power.
"No… I am the mountain… I will not… break!"
He slammed his fists into the ground, but the stone did not answer. His power was no longer his. It was being ripped away.
He staggered, his skin turning pale, his aura flickering like dying embers.
For the first time in his life, Dmitri Ivanov felt small.
The demon whispered, almost tenderly,
"Sleep, mountain. Your weight is mine now."
Dmitri's body shuddered once more… then collapsed into ash.
There was no corpse. No body to bury. Only the faint echo of a man who had once stood like a mountain.
---
Geneva – The Truth
The Council chamber shook with horror as Dmitri's signal ended in a burst of static.
"No… no!" Ishita screamed, tears streaming down her face. "He—he was the strongest of us! He can't just—"
Rehan's fists slammed into the table, cracking it. "He didn't just die… he was stolen."
All eyes turned to Li Wei. The Soul Wielder's expression was grim. He folded his hands, his voice carrying the weight of centuries.
"Listen carefully. A wielder's aura fades only when they die. Their soul departs, and the aura with it. That is natural."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"But there exists a forbidden act: Harvesting the living aura. If a wielder is dying, but their soul has not fully departed… a demon can capture that lingering aura. The wielder becomes ash, and the demon carries that aura away."
The chamber went still.
Arashi's face was pale. "You mean…"
Li Wei nodded. "Yes. That demon will bring Dmitri's aura to its master. And when that power joins the abyss… even the Upper Demons will stir."
Ishita's hands trembled violently. "So… Dmitri died for them? His aura will feed them?"
Li Wei closed his eyes. "The seal is breaking."
---
In the Abyss
Far away, in the depths of the rift, the small demon knelt before a colossal throne of bone. In its trembling hands, Dmitri's stolen aura burned like molten stone.
A voice echoed through the abyss.
"Bring it to me."
The demon raised its hands. The aura was consumed by the throne.
The abyss shuddered. Cracks split the void. Chains shattered one by one.
Four enormous silhouettes stirred in the darkness.
Eyes opened.
Flames, frost, shadow, and blood.
The Upper Demons were awake.
---
End of Arc 3
Back in Geneva, the Council chamber shook as the rifts across the world pulsed brighter, darker, hungrier.
Rehan whispered, his voice low, trembling with fury.
"They're coming…"
Arashi's expression was grim, his hands tightening into fists.
"The war has only just begun."
The silence that followed was heavier than death.