The game begins with all piece identities hidden. What players see are only the movements and positions of the pieces. With limited information, players must deduce who is friend or foe, maneuvering and clashing accordingly.
The presence of three distinct victory conditions adds remarkable depth to this deduction. Angels aim to escape, demons aim to block them, and a third condition allows for a dramatic reversal: winning by deliberately having your pieces captured. This demands strategic decisions that go far beyond surface-level scoring or unit count.
To take, or not to take—that single move could hand victory to your opponent. What seems like a simple capture may hide a deeper intention. This elegant ambiguity elevates the game into a “refined strategic experience” rather than a typical board game.
Though the game depicts a clash between angels and demons, this is no explosive showdown. There are no loud effects or visual noise—only a restrained atmosphere and a beautifully composed layout. The world it paints is best described as a “silent conflict.”
The pieces move quietly, betraying no emotion. Yet behind the stillness lies constant psychological tension, as each player's intentions subtly collide. Even unmoving pieces provoke questions—“Why was it placed there?”—imparting meaning to every element.
Visually, the design avoids excessive fantasy. Instead, the art adopts a refined monochromatic style, lending each piece not the look of a “symbol,” but a “fragment of narrative” standing on the board.
In this way, the aesthetics remain quiet, while an intense battle of wits rages beneath the surface. That contrast is what completes the game’s uniquely serene and strategic atmosphere.
Certain angels and demons come with distinct roles. For example, the “Companion” cannot be captured while adjacent to an ally, and the “Leader” benefits when captured by the opponent. Deciding how to use these abilities—or how to expose them—becomes a turning point in every match.
The key tension lies in the dilemma of “using a role's ability without revealing it.” Maximize the effect, and your movement becomes suspicious. “That piece ran away—could it be a Righteous?” “Was that bait, or just a mistake?” Each move becomes a seed of doubt.
On the demon side, the “Hypocrite” can escape like an angel, adding further confusion. Even advantageous actions come with unease—“Is that piece really one of ours?”— reinforcing the game’s depth as an information battle.
This interplay of role abilities isn't about brute strength; it’s about how value shifts depending on context and positioning. Can you win without revealing your piece’s true nature? More than power, this game tests your reading and your performance.
What transforms this game from a simple clash into a complete “strategic labyrinth” is its three-layered victory system. Escape with three Righteous, force a loss by preventing enough escapes, or let your opponent capture all 4 of your demons. These intertwining goals throw the board into constant flux.
Is it always good to keep capturing enemy pieces? Not necessarily. You may be playing into your opponent’s hands by taking demons they intended to sacrifice—such reversals are commonplace.
On the other hand, focusing too much on escape leaves you vulnerable to pressure and blinds you to your opponent’s strategy. Attacking, defending, capturing, fleeing—every action either gives information or misleads.
Players must constantly ask: “Whose victory condition am I helping right now?” And they must do so while piece identities remain hidden. Navigating three simultaneous goals under uncertainty is a labyrinth in the truest sense.
This complexity doesn’t confuse—it sharpens. It demands judgment, insight, and patience, culminating in an exquisitely dense battle of wits.
The beauty of this game lies in how every “optimal move” is also a piece of narrative. Every action is not just strategic—it’s a story choice.
When a Leader captures an enemy, it’s more than a trade—it’s a dramatic reversal, a quiet trap snapping shut after a long setup. There’s a kind of elegance in that payoff.
And when a Righteous is taken just before escaping, the pieces left behind stand in sorrow. The moment carries more than defeat—it holds regret. That feeling is the product of your decisions and deductions: the final act of your own story.
“What was the opponent aiming for?” “How could I have prevented it?” Win or lose, there’s always drama in every match— and that drama was orchestrated by none other than you.
In this game, tactics are not mere signs—they are meaningful decisions. That’s why each session writes a different plot, drawing you in again and again. It is both a polished strategy game and an unforgettable experience you can speak of.
What this game offers is not merely victory or defeat. It is a dense strategic experience where thought, psychology, and narrative intersect.
Observation and suspicion over who’s who. Tactical prediction about the next move. The triple-layered victory conditions constantly reshaping the meaning of the board. All of this ensures that no two games unfold the same.
Even defeat is beautiful. Victory carries resonance. Every match tells a story. This is the mark of a truly refined strategic game, and the reason the experience stays with you.
With each game, your perception sharpens. With each move, the tension deepens. This game engraves “a match worth recounting” in your memory.
Step into this labyrinth of deep strategy, and discover it for yourself.
Whether it ends in victory or defeat, it's all part of the performance.
Beyond every feint and move, a story unfolds—