Japan did not fall in a single night. It collapsed in stages — silence before screams, order before fire. The first strikes were precise, targeting government officials, military commanders, and anyone who held authority. By the time the public realized what was happening, it was already too late.
The Devil Angels emerged from the shadows without warning. Their assassins moved through the country like ghosts, leaving behind collapsed administrations and cities drowning in fear. Police stations burned. Military bases fell silent. Emergency broadcasts cut off mid-sentence.
The heart of the nation was struck last.
The National Diet building was surrounded as flames climbed its walls, smoke rising into the night sky like a funeral pyre. Armed forces attempted to intervene — they never stood a chance. Within hours, the government of Japan was reduced to ashes, both symbolically and literally.
As the fire raged behind them, figures clad in black stepped forward onto the ruined steps of the capital. Cameras were forced back online. Screens across the country flickered to life.
A single voice spoke — calm, unwavering, merciless.
"Japan is under the rule of the Devil Angels. If you wish against us, you will not live to regret it."
The message echoed through every home, every shelter, every hidden corner where survivors clung to hope. There was no shouting, no rage — only certainty. It was not a threat. It was a promise.
From that moment on, resistance disappeared. Cities obeyed out of fear. Curfews were enforced by assassins instead of law. Black wing symbols appeared overnight on walls, bridges, and abandoned buildings — reminders that the Devil Angels were always watching.
Death became routine. Silence became survival.