Fallen Angel's Harem in the Abyss
Chapter 42: The city of despair

Chapter 42: The city of despair

Some resembled angels, their wings broken and petrified; others were monstrous, with fangs and claws frozen in mid-reach.

Azareel touched one gently, his fingers brushing cold stone that shifted under his hand—not rock, but flesh turned to marble, warm for a fleeting second before hardening again. He jerked his hand back, his silver eyes wide.

"I think these were real," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"No," Sylvara said, her voice tight, her vines curling protectively around her waist.

"They are. The city preserves everything that enters. It... mourns through mimicry."

The gates loomed ahead now—two towering slabs of black stone, sealed shut, veins of red sap glowing faintly like dying embers pulsing in rhythm with the city’s distant heartbeat.

And far above—something watched, a shape that wasn’t there, a silhouette formed only of absence, crouched where spires met fog, its limbs too long, its back humped, its jaw unhinged into a smile that stretched past comprehension.

Azareel felt it, the weight of its gaze pressing on his skin like unseen fingers.

So did they all—the city was not abandoned. _{fre ewe bnove l.com}

It was waiting, patient and insatiable.

They turned to leave, to rethink, perhaps to wait for the Abyss to shift again.

CRASHHHH!

But that’s when the path behind them collapsed with a deafening roar, the cliff’s edge crumbling into the void, no bridge left, just an endless black drop and walls closing in, folding like the petals of a cruel bloom, sealing them from retreat.

They were encircled, the wind howling in mockery, the statues’ empty eyes seeming to gleam with satisfaction.

Only one way remained—forward, into the maw.

Nyxsha growled low in her throat, her black fur standing on end.

"Of course it trapped us. Of course it did," she muttered, her golden eyes blazing with defiance.

Virelya narrowed her eyes, her coils tightening.

"Then let’s greet our host," she hissed, her porcelain mask cracking faintly with a grin that didn’t reach her golden eyes.

Sylvara’s vines curled tighter around her form, her amber eyes unblinking.

Azareel said nothing, his silver eyes fixed on the gates, the city that wanted them.

He stepped forward, his bare feet steady on the obsidian, the others falling in beside him.

The gates did not open.

They simply vanished, dissolving into shadow as if they’d never been, the crimson glow beyond beckoning like a predator’s lure.

And the group entered the city, the statues’ silent laughter echoing in their wake.

They stood just beyond the vanished gates, the obsidian threshold dissolving behind them like smoke in the wind, leaving only a faint shimmer in the air where it had been.

Behind them—nothing, the road gone, the bridge erased, even the cliffs they had descended folded into abyssal smoke and vanished like a dream no one remembered waking from, the void yawning empty and endless.

Before them—stillness, a long, silent courtyard stretching forward, paved with grey, vein-lined stone that pulsed faintly underfoot like a living membrane.

The buildings beyond leaned inward at odd angles, their jagged rooftops and crumbled arches silhouetted against a skyless canopy that churned with muted crimson light.

Faint red moss clung to every surface, like the city itself was bleeding slowly, its tendrils creeping toward their feet with subtle, insidious intent.

No monsters stirred.

No screams echoed.

No traps sprang.

Just silence, thick and watchful, pressing in like unseen eyes from the shadows.

Azareel exhaled softly, his breath misting in the chill air, his silver-white hair catching the faint glow of the moss.

"...It’s quiet," he murmured, his silver-gray eyes, flecked with rain-blue, scanning the empty expanse.

"Too quiet," Nyxsha replied, her arms crossed, her golden eyes scanning every corner, every crack in the stone, her black fur bristling with unease.

"I don’t trust cities that don’t scream."

Sylvara didn’t speak, kneeling beside a low wall where a vine bloomed into a flower with too many petals, its scent like burnt honey wafting through the air.

Her fingertips hovered just above it, trembling faintly, her amber eyes distant, as if listening to whispers only she could hear.

Virelya slithered around a cracked statue of a praying angel, her coils wrapping high and tight, her porcelain mask tilted as she watched Azareel without blinking, her golden, slit-pupiled eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and caution.

He felt all their eyes on him, a weight that had become familiar, like the Abyss itself was measuring his steps.

It was always like that now, his presence a quiet anchor drawing their gazes, stirring something unspoken in the air.

They sat for a moment—no one declaring a rest, but their bodies demanding it, the courtyard’s silence wrapping around them like a shroud.

Even Nyxsha sat, her tail curling like a shield behind her, her massive form a barrier against the unknown.

Azareel leaned against a mossy outcrop, pulling his knees in, his torn robe pooling around him.

"Do you think... the city feels lonely?" he asked, his voice soft, his silver eyes tracing the empty statues.

Nyxsha groaned, rubbing her temples with a clawed hand.

"Please don’t start talking to the walls. You already talk to tendrils and bones," she muttered, her golden eyes flicking to him, a hint of exasperation laced with reluctant fondness.

"But it’s true," Virelya said quietly, surprising them all, her voice a breathy murmur as she uncoiled slightly from the statue.

"There’s a kind of sadness here. Like an old cathedral full of ghosts. No blood. No bodies. Just... what’s left behind."

Sylvara looked at Azareel then, her amber eyes unreadable, her flowering hair rustling faintly.

"What do you feel?" she asked, her voice a gentle hum.

He looked down at his palms, scarred and stained with dried blood, his voice thoughtful. "I feel... like it’s watching. But not to hurt us. Just..." He paused, searching for the words.

"Like it’s waiting to see what we’ll do. Who we’ll become inside it."

Nyxsha snorted, her tail thumping the stone.

"That’s how it eats you. Not with teeth. With mirrors," she said, her voice gruff, but her golden eyes softened as she glanced at him.

Azareel smiled softly, despite everything, closing his eyes for a heartbeat, almost forgetting the Abyss’s weight.