Fallen Angel's Harem in the Abyss
Chapter 43: The city of despair - 2

Chapter 43: The city of despair - 2

Small things happened in that stillness—Nyxsha sharpening her claws but keeping her glances toward Azareel when she thought no one noticed, her fur flattening, her shoulders relaxing despite herself.

Virelya stretched across the cold stones, her coils moving like silk in the shadows, her face unchanging but her tail looping just faintly behind Azareel’s back—close, but not touching.

Not yet.

Sylvara, kneeling beside him, let a single vine rest against his shoulder, her touch holding no drain, no seduction—just warmth, tentative and real.

Then the wind came—a low, vibrating hum that made the air taste metallic, the statues groaning as if awakening from slumber.

The moss recoiled, curling inward like frightened fingers.

Somewhere in the city, a bell tolled once, deep and echoing, like a knell for something that hadn’t died yet, its resonance vibrating through their bones.

They all stood, the moment shattering, their forms tense in the crimson-tinted gloom.

No words this time—the city was ready, its silence no longer an invitation but a command.

Azareel turned to them, his silver eyes steady.

"Let’s stay close, okay?" he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Always," Sylvara said first, her vines unfurling slightly, her amber eyes resolute.

Nyxsha nodded, her golden eyes flashing.

"Fine. But if something grabs your ankle, I’m cutting it. Even if it’s your own shadow."

Virelya gave no reply, her coils slithering beside him, her tail brushing his leg lightly, a silent affirmation.

Azareel took the first step, his bare feet pressing into the vein-lined stone.

The others followed, their footsteps swallowed by the city’s watchful hush, the empty statues seeming to lean closer as they passed.

The city swallowed the sound of their footsteps, its crimson pulse welcoming them deeper into its heart.

_________

Azareel didn’t notice it until they were halfway through the broken archway.

How they all walked in formation around him.

He was in the center, his bare feet padding softly on the veined stone, his torn robe brushing against the faint red moss that clung to the ground like dried blood.

The courtyard’s silence pressed in, heavy and watchful, the air thick with the metallic tang of rust and something sweeter, like honey rotting in the dark.

Nyxsha was to his right, her broad-shouldered beastly stride silent and sharp, her muscles taut beneath ash-dark skin, her golden eyes scanning every shadow with predatory intensity.

Her tail flicked low in irritation with each step, her black fur bristling as if the city’s gaze prickled her like unseen thorns.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to—her presence was a shield, unyielding and fierce.

Virelya slithered behind him, her ghost-pale coils trailing like whispers through the dust, her upper body hovering with eerie grace, her veils drifting like fog in the crimson-tinted gloom.

Her expression was unreadable behind the half-mask, her golden, slit-pupiled eyes fixed on the path ahead, but her coils brushed close enough to feel protective, a silent guardian in the shadows.

Sylvara walked to his left, barefoot across the rubble, her blooming hips swaying slowly with each step, her flowering hair trailing behind in a wake of faint perfume that cut through the city’s stale air.

A gentle hand rested on Azareel’s shoulder when the floor creaked beneath him, steadying him with a touch that was both maternal and possessive.

Her amber eyes scanned not the dangers—but him, as if ensuring his light didn’t dim in this forsaken place.

None of them spoke.

Only the sound of shifting stone beneath their feet and the distant, echoing moans of the Abyssal winds accompanied them, a haunting chorus that made the silence feel alive, listening.

Azareel finally glanced up, his silver eyes widening slightly.

"Are you... surrounding me?" he asked, his voice soft, almost amused, cutting through the hush like a gentle ripple in still water.

Nyxsha didn’t answer, her golden eyes flicking to a shadowed alcove, her tail twitching sharper.

"No," Virelya whispered from behind, her voice a breathy hum laced with faint amusement. "We are... ensuring optimal movement."

"Mm," Sylvara murmured, her lips curving faintly, her flowering hair rustling as a petal fell. "Your safety blooms best when guarded."

Azareel blinked, his silver-white hair catching a stray beam of crimson light. "So... yes."

Nyxsha’s tail gave an irritated twitch, and she muttered, "Just shut up and walk," her voice gruff, but her pace adjusted slightly to match his, her massive form a barrier against the encroaching shadows.

They moved through the winding remains of the outer ruins, the city’s walls half-sunken into the black stone like rotted teeth gnawing at the earth.

Broken archways loomed overhead, their curves etched with faded symbols that seemed to shift when not watched directly.

Staircases led nowhere, ending in sheer drops or crumbling into voids.

Shattered statues with too many eyes lined the paths, their gazes empty but piercing, as if the stone remembered how to see.

And yet, after what felt like hours weaving through the decay—the air growing thicker, the red moss pulsing faintly underfoot—they emerged into something unexpected.

An open courtyard, surrounded by tilted and cracked buildings, with a jagged cliff wall rising behind like a scarred sentinel.

The space was ringed by leaning pillars and fragmented bridges, like the bones of a forgotten temple stripped bare.

Dust hung in the stagnant air like mist, veiling the faint outlines of murals on the walls—figures twisted in eternal agony or ecstasy, their features eroded by time.

A single broken fountain stood in the center, choked by dry roots that snaked through its basin like veins in a desiccated heart.

It was quiet.

Too quiet, the kind of hush that made ears strain for sounds that weren’t there.

"Here," Nyxsha said at last, her voice low but firm, breaking the silence like a stone dropped into still water. "We stop."

Azareel looked around, his silver eyes tracing the courtyard’s edges, the faint red glow from the moss casting eerie shadows.

"This place... feels still," he murmured, his voice carrying a note of cautious wonder.

"That’s what makes it dangerous," Virelya murmured, her coils tightening slightly as she slithered to the fountain’s edge, her porcelain mask reflecting the moss’s glow. "But safer than walking into jaws we can’t see."