The chamber of the Paris Accord was darker than usual that night. Torches burned low, their light reflecting off the fractured marble, casting long, restless shadows. At the center of the war table, the holographic map of the Earth flickered to life—lines of blue for borders, dots of green for human outposts, and then… the red.
One dot. Two. Three.
By the time the map finished loading, ten crimson marks pulsed like fresh wounds across the continents. Each one throbbed in perfect rhythm, as though answering the same heartbeat.
The room was silent. The leaders of the world stared at the projection, their faces pale. Then, the technician's voice cracked through the stillness.
"Confirmed activity—five low-rank demons, five mid-rank demons. Simultaneous signatures. This… this is no accident."
The words dropped like stones into the silence.
---
The Panic of Nations
Far away, governments scrambled. In Washington, generals barked orders, satellite feeds flashing red warnings across the Pentagon screens. In Moscow, icy voices debated nuclear protocols, though all knew bombs would fall uselessly against aura-wielding monsters. In Tokyo, the Prime Minister's cabinet whispered prayers as much as strategies.
For the first time in centuries, borders no longer mattered. Fear was universal.
Yet all the screens, all the reports, all the terrified eyes of humanity turned to one place. Paris.
Because only there, the wielders had gathered. Only there, hope remained.
---
Council of Wielders
The chamber pulsed with auras as the greatest wielders of every nation stepped closer to the map. Flames burned faintly across the Brazilian's arms, frost shimmered around the Russian, silver light gleamed from the Japanese swordswoman's armor, and golden hieroglyphs danced around the Egyptian mystic.
In their midst stood the survivors of Paris—Rehan, Ishita, Zahir, Ethan, and Akira. Their presence was quieter than the others, yet heavier. For they had seen hell and lived.
Li Wei, his white flame flickering softly, was the first to speak.
"Ten signatures. Five low rank, five mid rank. Each strong enough to erase cities. This is not an invasion. This is extermination."
The words settled into the marrow of everyone present.
---
The Clash of Voices
The Russian slammed his fist against the table, frost crawling across the oak.
"Then strike first! Hunt them down before they regroup."
The Egyptian mystic shook his head. "And leave our defenses exposed? If they strike elsewhere, humanity crumbles."
The Japanese swordswoman's gaze cut like steel. "Then we divide. The strong will go where the strongest foes are. The weak…" Her eyes flickered toward Ishita, "…should stay behind."
Scarlet light burst around Ishita's fists, trembling with anger. But before she could speak, Rehan stepped forward. His golden aura lit the chamber.
"Say what you want about her," he said, his voice steady but edged with fire. "She's already stood against horrors you can't imagine. If you doubt her, you doubt me too."
The air thickened with tension, but Akira's cold gaze cut through it like a blade. One look from him, and the swordswoman turned away, lips pressed thin.
---
Preparation
Assignments were drawn across the map. Squads were formed, alliances forged not out of trust, but necessity.
Eastern Squad: Rehan, Ishita, and Zahir, assigned to Asia's defense.
Southern Squad: Akira and Ethan, reinforced by the Brazilian flame-bearer, assigned to Africa.
Northern Squad: The Russian and the Egyptian mystic, facing Europe's looming threat.
Western Squad: The Japanese swordswoman and other wielders, covering the Americas.
Each group marked their battlegrounds, their hands hovering over glowing red points that pulsed like beating hearts of death.
---
Moments of Resolve
In the armory, Ishita strapped her crimson runed gauntlets onto her wrists. Her reflection trembled in the polished steel, but her voice whispered steady words:
"I am not a curse. I am a weapon. A weapon of hope."
Rehan stood beside her, sharpening his reforged blade. "Then fight like one. And if you stumble… I'll catch you."
She glanced at him, cheeks warming, but said nothing. Only tightened her grip.
Across the hall, Akira leaned against a wall, watching Ethan shadowbox despite his bandages.
"You shouldn't be moving," Akira said.
Ethan smirked. "And miss the biggest fight in history? No chance."
Akira sighed. "Then stay behind me."
"Not this time," Ethan replied, his fists glowing faintly with golden aura. "This time, I'll fight beside you."
For once, Akira's lips curved in the faintest smile.
---
Li Wei and Akira
As squads prepared, Li Wei pulled Akira aside. His voice was calm, but carried the weight of prophecy.
"The demons have learned. They strike now not as beasts, but as armies. If you are to protect what matters… you may have to sacrifice more than steel and blood."
Akira's eyes sharpened. "If sacrifice is needed, I'll pay it. But I won't lose him. Not again."
Li Wei's gaze softened, rare and fleeting. "Then perhaps your bond is the blade that will cut destiny itself."
---
The Map of Fear
Back in the council chamber, the holographic map zoomed out, revealing all ten crimson marks spread across the Earth.
Sheoul. New york. RIO CARIO. Moscow. . . The names of cities whispered like prayers and curses.
The lights flickered as if the world itself trembled. Each red mark pulsed in time, like the heartbeat of monsters waiting to strike.
Silence filled the chamber. No one breathed. No one moved.
And then, the narrator's voice rose across the void, soft but merciless:
"The storm that began in Paris… was about to spread across the globe."
---
The torches guttered. The map glowed blood-red. And humanity's war for survival began.