Fallen Angel's Harem in the Abyss
Chapter 50: The Plague of Fur and Flame - 3

Chapter 50: The Plague of Fur and Flame - 3

And then—

They threw her in, the chains clanking as she plummeted into the void, her howls echoing upward like a curse on the world above, fading into the darkness until only silence remained.

Azareel fell to his knees in the mist, the illusion’s grip loosening, the vision fading slowly like a candle dying in the wind, the flames extinguishing one by one.

The real Nyxsha stood ahead of him, not wounded, not wild, but trembling, her black fur rippling with suppressed agony, her breathing ragged, her claws out, her golden eyes unfocused, lost in the echo of her own despair.

"...you saw it again, didn’t you?" she whispered, her voice a fragile thread, pain threading through every syllable.

Azareel rose, his footsteps soft on the mist-covered stone, the fog parting slightly as he approached.

He didn’t answer at first, the weight of what he’d witnessed pressing on him like the city’s unseen gaze.

He just walked over, his silver-white hair stirring in the mist, and gently wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his cheek to her soft chest, holding her like she wasn’t terrifying, like she wasn’t cursed, his warmth seeping through the barriers she’d built from pain and betrayal.

"...why?" she asked, her voice breaking, her body still trembling, her claws hovering uncertainly over his back. "Why... still...?"

"I’m still warm," he said softly, his voice a quiet anchor in the storm of her despair, his embrace steady, unwavering. "Aren’t I?"

Nyxsha froze, her golden eyes widening, tears spilling unbidden down her fur.

Her hands hovered over his back, shaking, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

Then, slowly—trembling—they rested on him, her claws retracting, her massive form slumping slightly as the weight of condemnation, betrayal, and despair crashed over her like a wave.

She broke, her head falling forward to rest against him, her voice—raspy, broken—speaking just one word, laced with pain and reluctant gratitude.

"...idiot."

And for once, she meant it as a thank you, the word a fragile bridge over the chasm of her past, the mist swirling around them like ghosts finally at rest.

.

.

.

The hug was warm, fiercely so.

Nyxsha held him like she would never let go, her massive paws clutching his torn robe, her golden eyes squeezed shut against the mist’s encroaching chill, as if the world might vanish if she loosened her grip even a fraction.

The fog swirled around them, thick and oppressive, carrying whispers of the past that clawed at the edges of her mind, the city’s watchful presence pressing in like unseen eyes in the dark.

But warmth never lasted in the Abyss.

The mist around them... stopped moving, freezing in place like breath held in fear.

The shadows stopped breathing, the distant moans of the wind falling silent, the veined stone beneath their feet ceasing its subtle pulse.

Silence descended, heavy and unnatural, the kind that made the skin crawl and the heart race with unspoken dread.

Then—

A whisper, soft and wet, crawling through the fog like fingers dragging across damp stone.

Azareel’s hand, still gently against Nyxsha’s back, suddenly froze, his body tensing as he felt it—a shift, not in her, but around her, the air growing colder, heavier, laden with the weight of forgotten sins.

The city groaned, a low, resonant sound that vibrated through the ground, the mist churning now with purpose, shapes coalescing in the gloom.

Nyxsha’s eyes shot wide, her grip tightening on Azareel, her voice a choked whisper.

"...something is coming," she said, her golden eyes darting into the fog, terror flickering in their depths like flames in a storm.

From the ruined alleyways and cracked cathedral arches, shapes emerged—translucent bodies, ethereal and jagged, curling out of the mist like smoke from a dying fire.

No features at first, just vague silhouettes, but as they drew closer, faces formed—hollow, twisted expressions of agony and rage.

Children with wide, empty eyes; men and women with mouths stretched in silent howls; knights in rusted armor, their forms bent and broken.

Their eyes were hollow pits, black voids that swallowed light, their mouths hung open in endless screams they couldn’t voice, their limbs dragging, crooked, backs twisted as if death had contorted them in its final embrace.

Souls.

The souls of the dead.

The ones Nyxsha had killed, their forms a chaotic swarm of despair and condemnation, drifting with broken steps, limbs bent wrong, heads crooked, some crawling on spectral hands and knees, their translucent forms flickering like flames in the wind.

Dozens of them.

Hundreds.

A surreal tide of the damned, their wails silent but felt in the bone, the mist thickening with their presence, the air growing colder, heavier, the city’s gloom deepening as if feeding on their pain.

Azareel stepped back instinctively, his body tensing, his silver eyes wide with horror.

"W-What are they—?" he stammered, his voice trembling, the fog coiling around his legs like icy chains.

Nyxsha’s voice was low, pained, her golden eyes filled with a bleak recognition.

"They want to take me," she growled, her claws digging into the stone, her black fur rippling with tremors. "They want me to be part of this damned city. A monument to what I did."

The whispers turned to wails, a chaotic surge of soundless cries that pressed on the mind like a migraine, the souls surging forward, their forms overlapping in a surreal mass of despair, their hollow eyes fixed on Nyxsha with unyielding condemnation.

Azareel grabbed Nyxsha’s wrist, his hand trembling but firm.

"We need to—" he started, his voice breaking.

"No," she cut in, her voice a raw snarl, pulling her arm away, her body shaking as she stepped forward, facing the horde.

He turned, his silver eyes wide with confusion and fear.

She was shaking, her claws out, her pupils narrowed to slits, her voice a whisper of despair.

"I... I’ll have to shift," she muttered, claws twitching. "Fully. Into what I was. I’ll lose control again. I might... I might hurt you, Azareel. I don’t want you to see me like that."

He held her gaze. "I already have."

She looked like she might cry again—but there was no time.

The souls surged.

They shrieked.

The world blurred with their hate.

And Nyxsha howled.