In the late autumn of 1900, the British writer Oscar Wilde passed away at the Hôtel d'Alsace in Paris. His close friend, Robert, handed the manuscript of his novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, to a mysterious gentleman. Over a century later, a Chevrolet Impala galloped across the ancient lands of North America. A young man from London gazed up at the stars and began a long, endless hunt. Vampires, werewolves, alchemists, wizards—countless aliens and fallen creatures knelt before the black figure. Another late night, silver swords clashed with fangs, sparks flying. "Hello, my name is Dorian L. Gray, a hunter in the employ of the Conspirators." The young man smiled gleefully, decapitating the ugly head—and pulling out the arm that had pierced his heart. "As you can see, the only thing I have in common with my ancestors is this—we,...

"Damn magical girl, don't underestimate the bonds between us villains!" Dawn said, glancing at his companions.

The organization's leader is actually a magical girl who traveled back from the future, and she's trying to persuade him to surrender.

The taciturn girl that the eldest brother took in has now been recognized and transformed into a magical girl;

His buddy, who called him brother, wasn't a magical girl, but this buddy had a female brother who had been whitewashed into a magical girl, so he was whitewashed too;

"Come on, it's your turn to get cleaned up!" Looking at the kind-faced crowd, he had no choice but to say:

"Quack, don't come near me!"