Review of Shinsei Kourin Dacryon Luna Episode 1
Right out the gate, I’m hit with this gut-punch of a whisper—“Huh?”—from Luna, and it’s not just confusion, it’s this tiny, trembling note of dread that hooks me hard, like a fish on a line, yanking me into the abyss of what’s coming.
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Twilight Terrors and That First Sinful Plunge
Man, when they’re sitting around chatting about this “Angel Maker” app, it’s all innocent giggles and curiosity until the rumors drop—monsters dragging you into another world during twilight hours. My skin prickled. Then it gets worse, or better, depending on how twisted you are—Luna shyly admits she heard the monsters do “naughty stuff” to you. That hesitation in her voice, that embarrassed stammer, it’s like watching someone accidentally confess their dirtiest fantasy at a sleepover. I’m already squirming in my seat, picturing the inevitable. And when they all decide to install the app and press “Blow Up” together, counting down like it’s a damn ritual—one, two, three—I swear I felt my own pulse spike, like I was pressing that button too, begging for whatever hell they’re about to unleash. The tension’s so thick I could bite it.
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Monstrous Assaults and the Filthiest Details
Then it happens. Three days later, they’re surrounded, and the monsters aren’t just scary—they’re grotesque, slimy, invasive bastards. The way Miyu screams “Noooo!” as tentacles or whatever the hell those things are wrap around her, it’s not just fear, it’s this raw, desperate plea that cuts through me. I can almost feel the slick, cold grip on my own skin, the way it probably burns and clings, leaving trails of god-knows-what. The animation lingers on their faces—Luna’s wide, teary eyes, Rena’s gritted teeth as she tries to fight back—and every little gasp, every sob, sounds so wet and real it’s like I’m hearing it through a thin wall. When they’re stripped in the schoolyard, the humiliation’s palpable; their uniforms are torn, exposing every curve, every tremble of those big, heaving chests, and yeah, I’m staring, I’m guilty, I’m into it, but I’m also kinda pissed at myself for being this turned on by their despair. The monsters don’t hold back—there’s this brutal, messy rhythm to their attacks, all squelching sounds and grunts, and when one of them growls about “knocking them up,” I felt this weird mix of revulsion and heat crawl up my spine. It’s wrong, so wrong, but the sheer intensity of the scene, the way their bodies arch and shake, glistening with sweat and worse, it’s like a fever dream I can’t wake up from.
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Blow by Blow—Literally, and I’m Losing It
Let’s talk about that blow job scene, because holy hell, I wasn’t ready. It’s not just the act—it’s the way the camera, or whatever passes for one in this cursed world, zooms in on the reluctant, trembling lips, the way saliva drips in slow, obscene strings, mixing with tears. The sound design here is straight-up pornographic, all wet slurps and choked whimpers, and I’m sitting here gripping my chair like it’s a lifeline. I’ve got this dumb memory flashing up of the first time I stumbled on something this explicit as a teen, hiding under my blanket with headphones, heart pounding like I was committing a felony. Same vibe here, except now I’m grown and still feeling like a pervert for how much I’m into the way Rena tries to stay defiant even with her mouth full, her muffled protests vibrating in a way that’s just… unholy. I almost laughed when a background track kicked in, some eerie synth that somehow made it hotter, like it’s scoring my own damn descent into depravity. But then I’m snapped back by her gagging, and I’m torn between wanting to look away and needing to see every second of that messy, degrading finish.
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Creampie Chaos and My Brain Melting
By the time the creampie moments hit—and there are a lot, relentless, one after another—I’m a mess. The Fallen Angel’s taunts, all that “cumming inside” trash talk, it’s vile, but the way it’s paired with the visuals of their bodies jerking, overwhelmed, fluids spilling out in these exaggerated, glistening gushes, it’s like the animators wanted to make sure I’d never forget this. The aftermath is somehow worse—Luna’s broken whisper of “it’s hot… too hot” as she’s left trembling, leaking, her thighs twitching like she’s still feeling it. I’m picturing the heat, the sticky weight of it, the way it probably clings to every inch inside and out, and I’m honestly blushing so hard I might pass out. There’s this one shot where the camera pans over Miyu’s defeated form, her chest heaving with those massive curves, and the sheer mess of it all, the way the light catches every wet streak, it’s like a painting of pure, filthy ruin. I hate how much I’m into this, how it’s tapping into some primal, caveman part of my brain that just wants to keep watching, keep feeling this weird, guilty rush. Hell, is this even okay to feel? I don’t know, man, I don’t know.
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Teamwork Makes the Nightmare Work—Kinda?
Toward the end, when they finally fight back with their magic attacks—Aktís Dri, Poseidónas Tríaina, all that cool shit—I’m almost relieved, like I can breathe again. But even then, the lingering trauma’s in every move, every shaky yell. Their teamwork is hot in its own way, the way their bodies sync up, curves bouncing as they strike, sweat flying, determination mixing with the ghosts of what just happened to them. It’s erotic, yeah, but it’s also kinda heartbreaking, and I’m stuck on this emotional seesaw of lust and pity. When they collapse after, exhausted, just lying there by the wayside, I’m hit with this weird protective urge, like I wanna scoop them up and tell them it’s gonna be okay, even though I know damn well more episodes mean more of this brutal cycle. The closing song, with its haunting “whisper to me” lyrics, just twists the knife deeper, making me feel like I’m complicit in their suffering—and somehow still craving the next hit.
Look, I’m not okay after this. I’m sitting here, half-hard and half-horrified, wondering if I need to take a cold shower or just stare at a wall for an hour to process. That schoolyard scene’s burned into my retinas, and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be muttering “Aktís Dískos” in my sleep like some cursed incantation. If anyone’s got coping mechanisms for this level of depraved obsession, hit me up, because I’m already itching to see how much worse—or better—it gets in Episode 2. God help me, I think I’m in too deep.
