—The thing called the "sun," it seems it used to exist.
So the legend goes—a white flame gave off a brilliant light, and the sky was a clear, vivid blue.
It is said that the "Great War," waged by the gods and their creations, scorched the earth and shrouded the heavens in ash.
The ash struck the power of the stars flowing through the sky—the Spirit Corridors—and began to glow, staining the sky red.
And that red covered every piece of land where the mutual slaughter continued.
Perhaps it was the cry of the planet itself, the blood it shed...
In the blood-colored sky, only—blue ash fluttered down.
In this blood-soaked era, in this world no different from hell, there was one race that lived happily and contentedly. They lived with ease, with comfort, with incomparable joy.
Needless to say, this race was the Flügel.
Here was their paradise—the capital city built on the back of the floating Phantasma, Avant Heim.
The smiles of cute girls and their fierce battle cries filled this place.
Lush greenery surrounded them, flower petals danced in the wind, and beautiful angels soared gracefully through the air with chirping birds.
They sang the praises of each day with utter bliss and delight.
With the heavens, the earth, and the planet itself marching toward death, they were the only ones still enjoying life.
In the world of No Game No Life, the races are divided into upper and lower ranks based on their affinity for spirits.
The眷属 (vassals) of the War God—the Flügel—were a member of the upper ranks, and the race most obsessed with slaughter among all upper-ranked races.
In this chaotic war, the delusion that "if you don't die, I will" shrouded the world.
This very delusion was the divine essence that gave birth to the Flügel and their creator.
There was nothing illogical about it; they were the crystalized manifestation of all living beings' desire for war.
They spread the flames of war across the world; they were the incarnations of death.
With high spirits, they slaughtered with all their might in this world filled with carnage, thoroughly enjoying this blood-soaked era.
Today, they were once again engaged in a lively discussion.
The beings living on the surface would probably find this lifestyle illogical.
They lived each day in fear, succumbing to despair, cursing their own powerlessness in a dying world. In their eyes, the flock in the sky, happily singing the praises of slaughter every day, must have been incomprehensible.
But the Flügel themselves were just such an illogical existence.
A race that killed for the sake of killing—the Flügel.
And now, these angels of slaughter, a race whose very existence was the greatest irrationality, had received a command from their master.
"My enemy has arrived."
"My wings, I command you: find him!"
"Master is really making a big fuss, meow~"
As if complaining, the number one individual of the Flügel—Azrael—scratched her head.
"In this world, where could there possibly be anyone who could be called his enemy?"
This was the truth.
In this world, the only being who could trade blows with the War God Artosh was the Dragon King, the End Dragon.
But—
That nigh-invincible Dragon King had been dead for fifteen thousand years.
Since then, no being capable of matching the War God Artosh had existed in this world.
Honestly, Azrael was a little confused.
Based on her master's power, he could have easily killed the other gods with lightning speed and obtained supreme rule over this world.
But—
After defeating the End Dragon, the god who had always been valiant and invincible suddenly fell into a state of lethargy.
For fifteen thousand years, the number of times he had even risen from his throne could be counted on one's fingers.
Is it an illusion?
I can't help but feel like master has grown a bit tired of war.
Thinking this, Azrael couldn't help but laugh.
Such a thought was simply too ridiculous.
Her master was the incarnation of the concept of "war." All the battles, disputes, and slaughters in this world were his concept. Possessing such a concept, he should be the most bloodthirsty existence in the world.
His inaction now was probably due to his lack of interest in crushing ants.
So, it was best to hurry up and find the enemy her master spoke of.
Although she didn't think anyone in this world was worthy of being her creator's enemy, Azrael felt that if she could find a toy to pique her master's interest, it would be a good thing.
With that in mind, she puffed out her chest, trying her best to project the dignity of an elder sister, and announced to her younger sisters.
"Meow, meow, meow!!! Listen up, meow~"
A clear, gentle, and soft female voice echoed through this nightmarish sky-paradise.
Unfortunately, no one paid any attention to this formerly cold, now goofy individual.
Most of the angels of slaughter chose to gather around a Flügel with a broken halo, a single eye, and a single wing.
This Flügel was named Raphael.
The Flügel had once challenged a God-Spirit and had, for a time, defeated and eliminated it.
Back then, Raphael had commanded the army alongside Azrael and had personally pierced the God-Spirit's divine essence, contributing greatly to their victory. The price she paid was a grievous wound that not even the protection of their master god could heal.
Now, Raphael still fought on the front lines, and the vast majority of the Flügel held her in high esteem.
Compared to a goofball who went "meow meow meow" all day, the angels of slaughter clearly preferred to listen to the commands of another Flügel.
Among them was a girl with long, rainbow-colored hair cascading down her back and amber eyes with cross-shaped pupils.
She stood out even among the flock of angels returning triumphantly, spattered with the blood of their enemies.
The Extra Unit—Jibril.
"Meow?! Raphael, you dare to bypass me and raise Little Jibril's affection score, meow?!"
As if her favorite toy had been snatched away, Azrael leaped up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, pushed her sisters aside, and squeezed next to Raphael, shouting indignantly.
"The only one who can team up with my Little Jibril is me! You, back off, meow!"
She hugged Jibril tightly, hissing like a cat in a threatening manner.
"Azrael-senpai, could you please not touch me so casually? You're so annoying-"
Although Jibril was smiling, the look she gave Azrael was like one you would give a piece of trash.
"Meow, why, meow!!"
Azrael, utterly crushed, leaned back and wailed.
Raphael watched the farce before her, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
"Jibril, don't be too hard on Azrael. She's our big sister, after all."
"Even if it's a request from you, senpai, having me show respect to this thing is harder than ascending to the heavens."
Hearing this, Azrael collapsed to the ground, sobbing, and was left behind by the group.
"But speaking of which, it'll be difficult for us to operate as a team from now on."
After ditching her race's eldest sister, the Flügel girl named Jibril spoke to the highly respected elder, Raphael.
"Indeed."
Raphael nodded in deep agreement.
Their mission was to find their master's enemy.
It was a search mission. If the entire Flügel race moved out as a single team, their efficiency would drop significantly.
"Well then, let's part ways here."
The Extra Unit, extremely curious about the enemy who could stir her master's fighting spirit, smiled with great pleasure.