Thousands of years ago, a monumental war was waged throughout the heavens, hells, and all in between. The great division of the three powerful factions of the Judeo-Christian Pantheon. The Angels, the pure white-winged devotees of God. The Devils, cast away their heavenly light, choosing instead to follow Lucifer into Hell's Abyss. Lastly, the angels strayed from God's grace, indulging themselves with their earthly desires as they fell. The clash between these groups would become known as the Great Biblical War, leaving a trail of death and destruction that would forever reshape our reality.
This war would have no winners. The Angels, grief-stricken by the death of God, struggled to find a way to continue His teachings and maintain order in His absence. The Devils, too, were thrown into disarray, teetering on the edge of civil war after the death of their four mighty Maou, and the extinction of their race ever closer. Yet, amid this chaos, one faction emerged battered, but not broken: the Fallen Angels and their Grigori. Led by the former Archangel Azazel, the Grigori had withdrawn from the conflict before its conclusion, seeking refuge and stability in their decision to abandon the battlefield. However, not all within the Grigori ranks were content with this retreat.
Cadre Class Fallen Angel, Kokabiel. His bloodlust and hunger for violence remained unquenched by the Grigori's withdrawal. No longer able to rampage across the front lines of battle, Kokabiel turned his savage attention to the mortal world, wreaking havoc across the small villages and cities of the human world. It is here that we find the start of our story, with the demise of one such village, and the fate of one maiden.
Hyoudou Shiori awoke early, as she always did. The gentle song of the birds filled the air as the soft light of dawn filtered in through the thin paper walls. Stretching her arms above her head, she took a deep breath, her lungs filling with the crisp morning breeze drifting through her slightly open window. The lingering scent of incense from the night before still clung to the air, mingling with the fresh smell of pine from the surrounding woods. With a yawn, Shiori wiped the sleep from her eyes and slid out of her covers, the cool wooden floor beneath her feet grounding her in the calm of the early hour. She savored the peace, but her morning rituals still awaited her. Without hurry, she rose and moved towards the door, her footsteps each soft and measured, ready to greet the new day with her usual gentle grace.
The whole village had been abuzz in recent days, preparing for the upcoming autumn festival, a time of celebration for the harvest. Shiori's thoughts lingered on it as she knelt before the small altar of the shrine, her hands moving fluidly as she arranged offerings of flowers and produce from the previous day. The villagers had already begun their preparations, weaving wreaths and preparing food in anticipation of the festival just a few days away. There was an air of excitement, and though the festival was still some days off, it had already colored the mood of the entire village.
With a delicate hand, Shiori lit a fresh stick of incense, watching as the thin wisps of smoke curled upwards, twisting about lazily before dispersing into the air. The soft scent filled her surroundings once more, wrapping her in a familiar warmth. She closed her eyes and murmured her prayers, offering gratitude for the peaceful land she was blessed to live in and for the beauty around her. She prayed for a bountiful harvest, and for a celebration that would bring joy towards the entire village. Her head lowered into a deep bow as she finished, her forehead gently touching the cool ground.
After finishing her morning prayers beneath the great cherry trees outside the shrine, Shiori rose, brushing off the faint dust that had settled on the hem of her already-donned shrine maiden robes. The soft fabric had shifted slightly during her time kneeling, so she tugged gently at the collar and sleeves, smoothing them back into place. A sudden, faint gust of wind rustled the cherry blossoms above, quick and fleeting, before vanishing as though it had never been. Shiori barely noticed as the light breeze that followed caught her robes, billowing them around her legs as she stood under the canopy of pink blossoms. Petals drifted down like snow, catching in her hair and on her shoulders. She smiled softly, tilting her head back to watch them float gingerly through the air. The world around her was so quiet, so peaceful, as though the cherry trees themselves were offering their blessings for the day ahead.
The village, nestled within a lush valley surrounded by dense forests and rolling hills, was bathed in the golden light of the morning. Thin wisps of mist still clung to the rooftops, slowly evaporating as the warmth of the sun spread throughout the air. The path leading from the shrine into the village was flanked by large cherry blossom trees, their petals fluttering down to the ground gently like soft pink snow. Shiori stood at the peak of this path, her caramel brown hair dancing in the wind as she began her trek into town.
The village below had only just begun to stir, the first signs of life appearing as smoke from cooking fires drifted lazily into the sky. Shiori made her way down the worn stone steps, her sandals clicking lightly against the path. She could hear the soft bleating of goats in the distance, mingling with the rhythmic thud of hammers from the blacksmith's shop and the low murmur of villagers beginning their day. She was a familiar presence here, her calm demeanor and kind smile as much a part of the village as the ancient trees that surrounded it.
As Shiori approached the village proper, a familiar voice called out from the market stalls.