Fallen Angel's Harem in the Abyss
Chapter 54: Crimson bloom - 2

Chapter 54: Crimson bloom - 2

"No," Nyxsha growled, her tail flicking warningly as she swatted Virelya’s hand away with a quick, precise motion, her golden eyes flashing with protective ire.

Her black fur bristled, her massive form looming over Azareel like a guardian beast.

Sylvara knelt on his other side, her vine-wrapped fingers gently brushing his cheek, her amber eyes softening with a tender ache.

"His skin is so soft... he still smells like sweetroot," she murmured, her voice a melodic hum, her flowering hair rustling as a petal fell, drifting onto his chest.

"Don’t smell him either!" Nyxsha hissed, shoving Sylvara back with a paw, her golden eyes narrowing.

"Why are both of you like this?!" Her tail lashed, stirring the moss, her voice thick with exasperation.

"You’re territorial," Sylvara hummed, one leafy eyebrow raised, her berry-stained lips curving into a teasing smile. "You claim him, then scold us when we enjoy the view."

Nyxsha’s ears twitched aggressively, her fur puffing out further.

"I’m just protecting him!" she snapped, stepping over Azareel to place herself between the two, her massive form a barrier as she swatted at the vine curtain Sylvara had lovingly pulled across his bed.

But in her motion, her claws accidentally grazed one of Sylvara’s leaf-petals covering her chest... and it slid off, revealing a perfect, glistening round breast, its golden skin shimmering in the garden’s glow.

Sylvara blinked, her amber eyes widening slightly.

"Ah. That wasn’t supposed to come off," she said, her voice calm but laced with amusement.

Virelya tilted her head, her golden eyes locked on the sight, her mask cracking faintly with a smirk.

"Pretty," she murmured, her voice a breathy tease.

Nyxsha flushed beet-red, her golden eyes darting away as she pointed a trembling claw.

"I—! That was an accident!" she stammered, her tail thrashing wildly, sending petals scattering.

"Jealous?" Sylvara said, her smile widening, her vines curling playfully as if to mock Nyxsha’s flustered state.

"Of that?!" Nyxsha bellowed, her voice echoing through the glade, her fur puffing out like a storm cloud. "Pfft. I have better ones than either of you!"

Virelya raised an eyebrow, her coils shifting lazily. "Do you, though?" she asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.

Sylvara tilted her head, her amber eyes glinting with challenge.

"I haven’t seen them," she said, her tone light but pointed.

"I—I do!" Nyxsha growled, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, her cheeks darkening further. "I’m a drop-dead hot woman when I’m not covered in fur, okay?!"

"Oh please," Virelya murmured, slithering to a perch beside a thick vine, her golden eyes gleaming. "All fluff and that big round belly."

"I am not fluffy!" Nyxsha roared, her tail slamming the ground, sending a ripple through the moss.

Sylvara’s smile widened, her vines rustling.

"Show us, then," she teased, her voice a melodic challenge.

Nyxsha’s claws flexed, her golden eyes glaring at them both, her body shimmering as her humanoid form began to surface, muscles shifting beneath her fur, light sparking across her limbs as if she were about to prove her point—

But they all froze, the playful chaos shattering like glass under a hammer.

Something shifted outside the garden, a low thrum vibrating through the air, like bone grinding against stone, the sound crawling into their chests and tightening around their hearts.

The warmth drained from the glade, the crimson petals dimming, the vines trembling as if sensing a predator’s approach.

All three turned toward the outer vines, their banter forgotten, the air heavy with sudden dread.

Sylvara extended one hand, her vine-tipped fingers trembling as the thick curtain of foliage parted silently, opening into a narrow slit that revealed the world beyond.

Mist clung to the ruined cathedral walls, swirling with a purpose that wasn’t there before, coiling like tendrils of malice.

And in its center—a towering figure stood, its form a nightmare woven from shadow and decay.

Shadows bled from its body like ink in water, pooling around its feet, its horned silhouette draped in robes that flickered like flame and rotted silk, fraying at the edges as if unraveling with each step.

Its face was hidden beneath a jagged mask carved from skulls, the empty sockets glowing with a sickly light, and its voice was a rasp dragged through gravel and rot, cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Hand over the angel," it declared—not shouted, but inevitable, each word a weight that pressed on their souls, the air trembling in its wake.

Corrupted souls swarmed behind it, dozens, hundreds, their shapes wrong, twitching with broken movements, their hollow eyes glowing with the same sickly light as the figure’s mask.

Limbs bent backward, mouths stretched too wide, they drifted like a tide of despair, their forms flickering between human and monstrous, drawn toward the garden with a hunger that wasn’t their own.

The figure pointed one long, blackened finger toward the garden, its mask tilting slightly.

"Give him to us, and I will let you walk away from the City of Wailing... untouched."

.

The mist clung thick and hungry, silent yet watching, coiling around the garden’s edges like fingers testing for weakness, the air heavy with the chill of impending violence.

The demon figure stood still—massive, horned, draped in rags that whispered like dying prayers, its jagged mask of skulls casting long shadows in the fading glow.

The corrupted horde behind it twitched and shifted, their forms wrong and broken, restrained only by the figure’s looming presence, a sea of malice held at bay.

Inside the glowing garden, Azareel stirred faintly in his sleep, unaware, his silver-white hair splayed across the moss, his frail body nestled in the protective bloom.

And three women stepped out—Nyxsha, her expression calm but golden eyes glowing with fury, her black fur rippling like a storm about to break.

Sylvara, graceful and silent, her flowering hair cascading in crimson waves, her amber eyes steady.

Virelya, her lithe form weaving like a serpent sizing up prey, her porcelain mask cracked with a faint, dangerous smile.

They walked shoulder to shoulder until they reached the edge of Sylvara’s garden, the vines rustling faintly as if in farewell.