Here's something that might ruffle a few feathers: Yûji Iwahara's Clevatess just proved that ultra-violent fantasy anime isn't dead—it's been waiting for the right story to resurrect it in spectacular fashion.
While most modern anime plays it safe with sanitized action sequences, Clevatess Season 1 throws caution to the wind and delivers what feels like a love letter to the brutal, unapologetic storytelling of classics like Ninja Scroll and Berserk. But here's where it gets controversial—this isn't just mindless violence for shock value. This is strategic brutality that serves a deeper narrative purpose.
The storyline centers around an unlikely alliance that would make most fantasy purists cringe: a band of legendary warriors initially sets forth to eliminate Clevatess, the fearsome sovereign of monsters. However, their mission takes an unexpected detour when they uncover a sinister plot threatening worldwide annihilation. The twist? They must now depend on the very creature they sought to destroy for salvation. Talk about swallowing your pride.
Iwahara constructs a fascinating world where civilization clings to five distinct territories, each governed by different factions representing humanity's last strongholds. Beyond these carefully guarded boundaries stretches an endless expanse of shadow and terror, dominated by malevolent Dark Lords and creatures that defy natural order. At the heart of this precarious balance sits the kingdom of Hiden, home to a legendary forge capable of creating weapons powerful enough to challenge the encroaching darkness.
And this is the part most people miss—the forge isn't just a MacGuffin. It represents humanity's desperate gamble for expansion and survival, making every territorial dispute feel genuinely high-stakes.
The character dynamics drive this series beyond typical fantasy fare. Alicia Glenfall emerges as the sole survivor after Clevatess decimates her heroic companions. Instead of a typical revenge arc, she becomes bound to the demon king through his dark essence, tasked with protecting an infant under his guardianship. This unconventional master-servant relationship creates fascinating moral ambiguity that challenges traditional hero-villain narratives.
Clen, serving as Clevatess's humanoid manifestation, brings intellectual curiosity to the role of antagonist. His desire to understand humanity before potentially exterminating it adds philosophical depth that elevates the material above standard monster-slaying adventures. Meanwhile, Nelluru transforms the wet nurse archetype into something unexpectedly formidable—a muscle-bound caretaker whose sweetness masks incredible strength.
But here's where opinions might diverge: the series' approach to violence borders on excessive, yet it never feels gratuitous. Every brutal encounter serves character development or plot advancement, though some viewers might find the intensity overwhelming. The show doesn't hesitate to dispatch characters in shockingly creative ways, making emotional investment in secondary characters a risky proposition.
The antagonist roster deserves special mention. Dorel pursues the Haiden Forge with single-minded determination, while Maynard controls insects with unsettling precision, and Naie manipulates metal with casual expertise. Interestingly, these villains display surprising inefficiency during crucial moments—a creative choice that either demonstrates realistic character flaws or represents missed storytelling opportunities, depending on your perspective.
Technically, the series excels across multiple fronts. Nobuaki Nobusawa's musical score perfectly complements the Dungeons & Dragons atmosphere, while Mayu Maeshima's opening theme "Ruler" delivers heavy metal energy that sets the tone beautifully. The pacing maintains urgent momentum through Luna's protection mission while gradually unveiling forge-related mysteries that carry warnings about power's corrupting influence.
The series' exploration of truth versus accepted narratives raises uncomfortable questions about information control and the stories societies choose to believe. These themes feel particularly relevant in our current media landscape, though some might argue the parallels are stretched too thin.
Clevatess succeeds by combining character-rich storytelling with uncompromising action sequences that recall anime's more visceral past. The twelve-episode structure allows sufficient development time without overstaying its welcome, creating anticipation for future installments.
However, this raises a contentious question: Does modern anime need more series willing to embrace graphic content, or has Clevatess crossed lines that contemporary storytelling should respect? The series forces viewers to confront their comfort levels while delivering undeniably engaging entertainment.
Ultimately, Clevatess earns recognition as essential viewing for fantasy anime enthusiasts seeking something genuinely different. Whether it represents a welcome return to form or an unfortunate regression depends entirely on individual sensibilities.
What's your take—does Clevatess strike the right balance between visceral action and meaningful storytelling, or does it rely too heavily on shock value to mask narrative weaknesses? And more importantly, should more anime series embrace this level of unfiltered brutality, or has the medium evolved beyond such approaches? Share your thoughts and let's debate whether Clevatess represents anime's past, present, or future.
