Fallen Angel's Harem in the Abyss
Chapter 52: The Plague of Fur and Flame - 5

Chapter 52: The Plague of Fur and Flame - 5

A man missing half his face stopped before Azareel, his translucent form flickering, his mouth opening in a silent plea.

Azareel nodded, his voice soft amid the hush.

"You were afraid," he said, his words carrying a weight that echoed through the silence.

The man dissolved—smiling faintly, his form scattering into golden dust that sparkled like stars released from captivity.

A young knight, his spectral sword raised as if ready to strike, faltered mid-swing, his arm dropping, his hollow eyes filling with a faint glow.

He stepped closer, his armor clanking faintly like an echo of battles long lost.

Azareel met his gaze, his silver eyes unwavering.

"You didn’t know. You only followed orders," he whispered.

Gone—like dust on a breeze, the knight’s form unraveling into light, a sigh of release whispering through the mist.

And then... the little girl.

The one who had looked into Nyxsha’s monstrous eyes and asked why, her small, translucent form flickering like a candle on the verge of extinction.

She approached last, her wide ghostly eyes no longer accusatory but filled with a quiet sorrow, her steps tentative, her dress tattered and ethereal.

Azareel knelt softly, his torn robe pooling around him, his silver eyes level with hers.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly, heavy with heartfelt grief. "You should have grown older."

She smiled—so tiny, so heartbreakingly pure—and reached out to hug him, her ghostly arms passing through his body like mist through fingers.

But Azareel shivered—he felt warmth, not from her faded form, but from something deeper, something sacred stirring within him, a forgiveness that transcended the pain.

The girl’s form wavered, her smile lingering as she dissolved into golden dust, scattering like fireflies into the mist, a final, peaceful release.

The light flared once more—a brilliant, blinding surge that washed over the courtyard like a wave of absolution—then collapsed, receding into Azareel like a tide pulling back from the shore.

Everything froze, the mist hanging still, the shadows retreating, the city’s oppressive gaze seeming to withdraw, as if even it had been touched by the divine.

Azareel fell to his knees, his body shaking, his skin pale and slick with sweat, steam rising from him as if he’d burned himself from within, his silver-white hair matted, his torn robe clinging to his trembling frame.

His breathing was ragged, labored, his silver eyes dimming with exhaustion.

"Azareel!" Nyxsha’s monstrous form rushed forward, her paws massive against the broken stone, flames dancing along her fur as she closed the distance in a heartbeat.

Her voice was a raw, desperate roar, laced with fear and gratitude.

But she stopped, her form blurring, breaking apart as the shift reversed, her limbs contracting with a painful crack, her fangs retracting, her black fur settling.

Her knees hit the ground beside him, her arms wrapping around his slumped form, holding him close, her golden eyes wide with worry.

He was light as a feather now, and utterly drained, his head lolling against her shoulder, his breathing shallow.

Nyxsha didn’t speak at first, her massive form cradling him gently, her claws retracted, her touch soft despite the strength in her arms.

Only guilt and gratitude warred in her eyes, tears streaking her fur as she held him, the weight of what he had done crashing over her like the forgiveness he had offered the souls.

"I told you not to step in front of me," she muttered, trying to sound angry, but her voice cracked, thick with emotion, her golden eyes shimmering.

Azareel smiled weakly, his silver eyes barely open, his voice a faint whisper.

"I know... but I didn’t want you to be alone again."

Her lip trembled, her hold tightening as she buried her face in his hair.

"You stupid... beautiful idiot of an angel," she whispered, her voice breaking, the words a confession of something deeper, something she had buried beneath layers of fury and fear.

He blinked slowly, his smile lingering as his eyes fluttered closed, his body going limp in her arms, not dead, but exhausted, spent from the light he had summoned.

From the far end of the city, a soft glow pulsed—a twisting, luminous vine of crimson-gold berries sprouting from the ruins, towering upward, draping across the shattered courtyard like a banner of hope, its light cutting through the mist.

Nyxsha looked up, her golden eyes widening as the vine grew, blooming with flowers that shimmered in the gloom.

Sylvara’s garden—it had grown toward them, reaching out like a hand extended in solidarity.

Nyxsha held Azareel tighter, her voice a whisper lost in the wind.

She stood, her movements careful, cradling him like something precious, something fragile.

And as she walked toward the growing light, the city’s shadows seemed to retreat, the mist parting before her, the warmth of his presence guiding her forward.

.

.

The garden bloomed as they arrived, crimson petals unfurling slowly like yawning mouths in the dim light, leaves shimmering with muted luminescence that cut through the Abyss’s perpetual gloom.

Vines twisted upward, forming arches that pulsed faintly, as if the garden itself were alive and breathing, welcoming them with a quiet hunger tempered by familiarity.

Nyxsha stumbled through the veil of flowers, her massive form heaving with exhaustion, her black fur matted with dust and Azareel’s dried blood, her arms trembling from the strain of holding his unconscious body close to her chest.

His silver-white hair draped over her arm like a fallen veil, his face pale and slack, the faint glow that had once radiated from him now dimmed to a barely perceptible flicker.

"Move," she snapped at Sylvara, her voice hoarse and shaking with something unspoken, her golden eyes flashing with a mix of fury and fear.

The dryad didn’t argue, her amber eyes widening slightly as she took in Azareel’s state.

With a flick of her wrist, her vines curled inward, retreating like obedient shadows to form a soft bed of moss and flowers, petals blooming in layers of crimson and gold, cushioning the ground like a living cradle.

Nyxsha dropped to her knees with a grunt, gently laying Azareel down, her paws lingering on his chest as if afraid to let go completely.