EPISODE 1

One night on a high plateau to the east of Univeros—in the region known as Nirvania—a winged girl was playing with her friends, all of them Angelir. They were playing hide-and-seek, and it was now one child’s turn to find the others. Before she could find them, however, a large ball of fire fell from the sky and struck her wing, setting the child ablaze. The other children cried out in shock and beat the air with their wings, fleeing the place. Not long after, a horde of horned, tailed figures appeared and began to attack the nearby homes and settlements. The Angelir who lived there rose in righteous fury; many of them answered with blasts of shimmering light—the standard, magical defensive power nearly all Angelir possess.

Some time after that raid, far away in the capital of Nirvania, Vitalise, in the highest chamber of a silver palace, a woman with long ash-gray hair cascading to her waist sat smoking from a silver pipe while wearing a silk white nightgown. She was none other than Dear Losaria Venos, the current Queen of the Angelir. Propping her elbow on a long white sofa, she shifted her hip so that the gown parted at her thigh, revealing smooth, milk-white skin without blemish. From a wide window framed by white curtains beside the sofa, her aqua-blue eyes tilted up toward the sky; smoke rose from the southwestern quarter of the city.

Dear: “The smoke to the south west… it looks very beautiful.” [then she grins, draws on her pipe, and exhales]

A knock sounded at the door. Dear leisurely and slowly put her pipe into a small box, then slid the box beneath her bed. Moving her beautiful body towards the door, and leaning on to it.

Dear: “Who is it?”
Cherry: “It's Cherry, my Queen.”

Standing behind the door is none other than Cherry Unividict, the Royal Advisor who has served the Venos's for a lifetime. She belonged to the same bloodline as Dear. Her loyalty was beyond question. She was beautiful yet stern—long golden hair, Angelir-pale skin, deep brown eyes—and besides serving as advisor, she also acted as the Queen’s chief protector.

Dear sighed and glanced toward the window.

Dear: “Why? Has one of our regions been attacked again?”
Cherry: “Yes, my Queen. Because of that, your presence is requested by the Heads of the Divengers to discuss this matter.”
Dear: [tidying her nails and stretching her hands] “Very well. Wait a moment; I will dress at once.”
Cherry: “Understood, Your Majesty.”

A short while later, in a marble chamber of the palace, several Angelir argued in low voices. The double doors swung open, and Dear entered, her state gown glittering, and took the large chair prepared at the head of the table. The Divengers—the high-ranking leaders of Nirvania—bowed to their Queen in unison as they saw her. 

Dear: [half-raising her left palm] “Spare me the formalities. I have already been informed by Advisor Cherry about what has transpired. There is no need to prolong this discussion. It is no secret among the four races of Univeros that the Angelir—winged like us with white feathers—and the Devilor—horned and tailed like demons—are the oldest peoples to have existed. Nevertheless, this attack is unforgivable. They have insulted our race. Therefore, for the sake of the Goddess of Time and all creation, we must strike the Devilor without condition. No exceptions—women or children included. Let us show them who the true demons are.”

Meanwhile, from the southwest border between the Angelir and the Devilor — across a steep gorge threaded by a waterfall — lay the Devilor domain of Tenebrius. Tenebrius sat between towering mountains, its buildings molded to the contours of the land, rising and tiered along the slopes. Behind the border region stood many guard fortresses linked by bridges. At the edge of Tenebrius’s capital, Totheme, rose a classic, opulent royal castle. On a balcony of the main hall facing east, a Devilor man stood: Axeluz Grados, king of Tenebrius. His hair was jet-black and short, with a few stray strands at the nape of his neck. His brows were sharply formed, his eyes a deep red, his skin pale. Though Devilors were often rough-skinned, the king’s complexion was not. His posture was erect; the mass of muscle across his chest, arms, and thighs drew admiring glances from Devilor women — an undeniable handsomeness. His right ear was pierced many times and hung with accessories. He wore a vest embroidered with red root-like patterns over the buttons, without a shirt underneath, exposing his arms and chest. His expression shows disinterest; his brows knitted as he listened to a report from the Devilor’s highest military commander, Alexis Bardos. As custom, Alexis knelt on one knee and avoided meeting the king’s gaze, for looking directly at the monarch was forbidden. When Alexis finished his report, Axeluz responded.

Axeluz: “…So you mean out of the five hundred men I dispatched in your command, only half returned alive?”

Alexis swallowed before answering.

Alexis: “Yes, my King.”
Axeluz: “Hmm. Is that so?”
Alexis: “Yes, truly, my King.”
Axeluz: “And? Are you proud? by bringing back half of your forces to me?”

The tone was mocking and cutting. Alexis hurried to continue.

Alexis: “No, my King. Forgive your servant for failing to meet your expectations.” [kneels deeper]
Axeluz: “I did not tell you to kneel!” [shouts loudly]

His voice echoed even across the open air. The commander rose abruptly at the sound.

Axeluz: “Do you remember why I ordered you to strike those sanctimonious Angelir?”
Alexis: “Because you were bored, my King. So you wanted to disturb the peace of one of the four leaders.”
Axeluz: “Yes, I admit I was bored. But then what did I ask you to do? Did I merely tell you to ONLY raid one domain?”
Alexis: “No, my King. You then also ordered the three captains of Devilor's elite forces to attack the regions nearest the Angelir, the Betagir and the Commador.”

Axeluz snorted in a derisive drawl before uttering a curse under his breath.

Axeluz: “Then why are you still incompetent, you scorchmaggot?…”

Axeluz muttered the words low, as if held back in his throat; Alexis trembled at hearing them.

Axeluz: “…This was only in my thoughts. But just because I said I was bored, did you take the attack as a joke?”
Alexis: “Of course not, my King. Half the force perished through my negligence.”

Axeluz exhaled roughly on purpose, then fixed Alexis with his gaze.

Axeluz: “You know what? I would REALLY like to kill you right now….” [in a cold tone]

Alexis remained silent with his head bowed.

Axeluz: “….But the war continues and may never end. I will let you live… for the time being.”

Alexis lifted his face, though his eyes stayed on the stone floor.

Alexis: “Th-thank you, my King.”
Axeluz: “The Devilor are a people who loathe weaknesses. I despise it deeply. The moment we reveal a glimpse of weakness to the enemy, those two hundred and fifty weaklings could double up the amount. Do not make me regret sparing your life, ashblood. Show weakness again, and your life is finished.”
Alexis: “Yes, my King.”
Axeluz: “Now go — and bring me some good news that'll amuse me.”

Alexis bowed in salute and left the main hall. As ordered, he then commanded the surviving half of the troops to strike east and southeast, toward the Betagir region of Fort Nexus and the Commador lands of Westgaard.

Two hundred and fifty Devilor warriors soared at high speed, splitting their forces in half toward their respective targets. Fort Nexus, a district encircled by seventeen-meter-high metal walls, was guarded by surveillance cameras and home to a futuristic city where machines outnumbered people. Indeed, the Betagir were famed for their ingenuity and intellect—almost every aspect of life in Fort Nexus was supported by advanced technology. With most of its citizens being elderly, its birth rate was the lowest among all races.

Atop a seventy-one–story cubic tower named X Tower, on the rooftop, an old man in a white lab coat leaned on his chin, deep in thought as he stared at a holographic chessboard before him. Across from him sat a young woman with straight, short violet hair, violet eyes, and fair skin. She wore a white blazer, cream sweater, and pleated skirt. Though she occasionally glanced at the chessboard, her eyes always drifted back to the old man—her expression flat, calm, but tinged with boredom.

Among the Betagir, it was custom and tradition that those with the highest recorded IQ could challenge the supreme leader to a duel of intellect. More than a tradition, if one succeeded in defeating the leader, they would become the new head of the Betagir. The current ruler was none other than the Little Princess—nicknamed so for her cute, youthful appearance. Her real name was Chanel. Her record in these duels was unmatched: 248,767 victories, not a single defeat.

On the rooftop, a large holographic billboard displayed the day’s weather, food advertisements, and articles. Suddenly, the screen flickered before changing to a bold headline: a comet passing once in a thousand years, called the Comet of the Goddess of Time.

Just as calm settled again, sirens blared—an alarm of intruders, signaling evacuation protocols. The elderly researcher across from Chanel jolted in panic, but Chanel remained still.

Researcher: “Ah! What do we do?! We’re under attack, Your Highness!” [shouts, rising to flee]
Chanel: “Hey. What are you doing? The game isn’t finished.” [tone flat, expression calm]
Researcher: “But if we don’t run now, we’ll—”

The old man rushed toward the elevator before finishing his words. Just as his hand reached the button, a massive fireball streaked down from the sky and struck him, engulfing both him and part of the structure in flames. Thanks to the tower’s reinforced design, only cracks and scattered rubble marred the elevator shaft. Chanel, still seated, calmly watched the man writhe and scream in agony.

Researcher: “Aaaaah!! H-help! Y-your Highness!!!”

But Chanel said nothing. Only when his screams ended, and his body was reduced to ash, did she finally raise her eyes to the sky.

Chanel: “Damn Devilor. Still, lucky for me—I was bored anyway. Looks like I’ll have to teach them a lesson.”

She rose, stepped past the charred corpse, pressed the elevator button, and entered.

At the same time, in Westgaard, homeland of the Commador, a wagon train and cavalry rode not far from the main city gate. From above, one hundred twenty-five Devilor suddenly released fireballs from their hands, raining destruction on the gates and into the city beyond. Commador was a land nestled between forest and the long Lonor River, flowing from the waterfall that bordered Nirvania and Tenebrius. Its dwellings were simple, low houses. Only the military headquarters and council halls were built up to six stories. Commador was the most populous of the realms, its territory vast—but its modest construction meant buildings crumbled swiftly under the assault.

From beside a wagon and cavalry column near the gates stood Benzo Jacques Grenulos, the current leader of the Commador. Wind gusted down from the Devilor wings above, pulling back the hood of his black cloak to reveal his short green hair, fair skin, and sharp face. His green eyes snapped skyward as he halted his horse abruptly.

Izzy: “Chief!”

A woman with tanned skin and tied-back wavy red hair called out from the wagon’s reins. Isadora Zyloric, or Izzy as she was known, was Benzo’s right hand and childhood friend. Already anticipating, Benzo drew his bow, aimed, and loosed with flawless precision. Guided by his mastery of the wind’s current, two Devilor fell from the sky.

Benzo: “Tch. What a nuisance.”

He muttered, slinging his bow back across his shoulders. Izzy rode her horse up alongside him.

Izzy: “Looks like we’ll have to cancel the raid on Tenebrius, Chief.”
Benzo: “Tch, I know. Protect the wagon carrying the explosives. Pull the troops back to the main gate.”

Izzy nodded sharply, spurring her horse toward the rear ranks.

Izzy: “Everyone! The filthy Devilor are attacking our home! Guard the wagon and fall back to the gate!”
Troops: “Yaaaah!”

The soldiers roared in unison, following Benzo as he spurred his horse in a blur back toward the main gate. Izzy and the rest of the cavalry and wagons thundered after him.

For several minutes, the Devilor troops managed to burn the main gate area and the settlements located on the outskirts of Commador. Meanwhile, not far from there in Betagir, their defenses with sturdy buildings resulted in only minimal damage. Inside a sealed room on the 71st floor of X Tower, Chanel had already donned her mecha suit, layered with purple and silver metal. Her eyes were covered by a transparent visor connected to a medium-sized monitor in front of her. The monitor displayed a clear recording of the Devilor hovering while attacking with their fireballs. With only a few keystrokes and issuing commands through the comms device on her ear, Betagir’s security system was activated.

Almost every few meters along the 17-meter-high wall built by the Betagir and their machines, automated turrets emerged on all sides, unleashing volleys of bullets at the flying Devilors. The assault managed to bring down half of the Devilor troops. The others, seeing this, immediately flew away and retreated.

Chanel: “Not under my watch.”

Chanel quickly pressed a certain button on her keyboard, causing the chair she sat on to be sealed by a metal cover, then swiftly descended through a special tunnel leading to the underground chamber. When she arrived in the spacious underground facility, many Betagir were busy—some rushing around carrying stacks of data, some monitoring screens, and others waiting by the descent track where Chanel’s chair landed.

One of the Betagir, an older man named Redo—half bald, with white hair on the lower part of his head—looked delighted the moment Chanel opened her seat cover and stepped out.

Redo: “Your Highness, just as you predicted, the security system modifications worked, and half of the targets were hit with precision.”

Redo spoke with enthusiasm, followed by several researchers behind him as they trailed Chanel, who continued walking toward the jeep and buggy hangar. Chanel didn’t respond to Redo; she was busy preparing a small case and a comms device before placing them inside one of the buggies.

Redo: “Eh? What are you planning, Your Highness? Didn’t we already succeed in repelling the Devilor forces?” [confused as he watched Chanel checking the system]
Chanel: “I’m not done playing; they just left too soon. Besides, it’s time we use the remote-control unit.”
Redo: [eyes widen in shock] “Eh?! But wouldn’t it be safer if you stayed here? Not to mention, that machine hasn’t even been tested, Your Highness.”
Chanel: “That’s exactly why this is the perfect time. I have a plan. Prepare Team 11 and Air Squadron 17! Order them to follow me.”

Chanel commanded before closing her metallic case and entering the buggy. Redo, panicked, exchanged glances with the researchers behind him before issuing orders according to Chanel’s command via his comms device. Chanel started up her buggy’s engine and drove it into the specially designed tunnel leading upward.

Redo: “Wait, Your Highness! Let me come with you!” [panicked while running after her]

Meanwhile, at the main gate of Commador, horsemen and military guards lay scattered everywhere, blood splattered across the ground, mixed with flames devouring several settlements. From the fortress above the gate, Benzo was seen aiming an Arbalest loaded with three giant spears at the Devilor troops. When released, the three spears pierced through six Devilors at once, sending them crashing down.

Below the fortress, Izzy, who was also shooting arrows upward, looked up and praised Benzo.

Izzy: “Great shot, Chief!”
Benzo: “Gate sentries!”

Benzo shouted, calling out to the fortress guards who were preparing ballista-sized bows.

Benzo: “Follow my lead before you fire! Positions!!”

He barked the order, rallying all the guards and soldiers holding spears to get into formation. Benzo himself prepared his Arbalest, loading both large and small spears before aiming at the flying Devilors.

Benzo: “Now! Fire!”
Commador Troops: “HUWOOOO!!”

Commador’s defenders unleashed their giant spears directly at the Devilor. Some managed to dodge, but others weren’t as lucky. With the relentless barrage, dozens of Devilors fell from the sky. Commador fighters waiting below tore apart and stabbed the fallen Devilors until they were dead. Realizing their dwindling numbers—and hearing from their comrades that the force attacking Betagir had already retreated—the Devilors quickly flew away. The people of Commador erupted in cheers.

Izzy: “We did it, Chief!”

Benzo only gave a small grin before leaping down from the fortress and walking out toward the main gate. From where he stood, he smiled in satisfaction as he watched the Commador people dance in circles, carrying the severed heads and wings of the Devilors they had slain.

Izzy: “Our archery has advanced so much. This is thanks to your intensive training with the members, isn’t it?” [walking up behind Benzo]

Benzo was about to respond, but before he could utter a word, from the far right side of Commador’s territory, a slim cylindrical tube was launched. The tube soared upward before curving down and landing directly in the middle of the Commador crowd celebrating with Devilor corpses. The tube emitted a faint sound before exploding. BOOM!

Its blast was powerful, though not wide enough to reach the main gate. Even so, the blood and torn flesh of Commador soldiers splattered across Benzo, Izzy, and several others behind them. Covered in fresh red blood from head to toe, Benzo could only clench his fists tightly, as though someone had just mocked him.

Benzo: “Only she could make a weapon like that.” [voice seething with anger]