Fallen Angel's Harem in the Abyss
Chapter 56: Crimson Bloom - 4

Chapter 56: Crimson Bloom - 4

"Hisssss~"

"Hisssss~"

"Hisssss~"

"Hisssss~"

"Hisssss~"

"Hisssss~"

Virelya followed, her serpentine body surging forward like a tidal wave, her six hydra heads rearing up with a unified hiss that cracked the stone beneath her.

Each head moved with lethal precision—one snapping a soul-knight’s torso in half with a wet crunch, another coiling around a cluster of ghosts and crushing them into a pulp of spectral gore, a third spraying venom so corrosive it melted stone and soul alike, the sizzling spray eating through a cathedral wall as the horde screamed and evaporated.

Her golden eyes blazed behind her cracked masks, her laughter a mad, echoing hiss that cut through the chaos like a blade.

"Pathetic echoes!" she snarled, her coils lashing, sending debris flying. "You think your pain can touch me?"

Alongside them.

Sylvara walked—

No rush, no sprint, just a casual stride, her thorn-crowned form radiating a beauty so lethal it felt like a curse.

The garden followed her, roots erupting from beneath the pavement with a visceral crack, piercing torsos and dragging shrieking souls into the earth, their forms swallowed by blooming soil.

Her flowers unfurled midair, scattering pollen that glowed with an eerie light, turning the weakest souls into statues of bark and thorn, frozen in mid-scream.

Her amber eyes burned, her flowering hair cascading in crimson waves, each petal marked with the faces of those she’d consumed, their silent wails a haunting chorus to her advance.

The demon leader tried to speak, its jagged skull mask tilting, its voice a rasp of gravel and rot.

"You—"

The ground exploded under its feet before it could finish, stone and bone spraying like shrapnel.

Sylvara had arrived, her thorned fingers glowing with pulsing red sap, her voice a melodic hum wrapped in malice.

"I warned you," she whispered, her amber eyes narrowing as she raised one hand.

She snapped her fingers, and a cascade of vines rose like guillotines, slicing through the second wave of corrupted souls with surgical precision, leaving only twitching torsos and bubbling blood-black ichor in their wake.

The ground drank it greedily, blooming with crimson flowers that pulsed in time with the city’s dying heartbeat.

The demon staggered, its empty sockets wide with shock, its ragged robes fluttering as it struggled to stand.

"No," it gasped, its voice cracking like brittle bone, blood seeping from its mask. "You weren’t supposed to be—this strong—"

Nyxsha descended from above, a meteor of flame and fury, her massive claws slamming into the demon’s chest with a boom that echoed through the ruins.

It flew back, skidding through rubble and bone, its limbs bending unnaturally, blood pouring from its cracked mask in rivulets of shadow.

"You came for an angel," she growled, crouching low, her violet eyes blazing, flames licking her fur like a crown of wrath. "But, hello there, you met monsters."

"You said we could leave," Sylvara added coldly, stepping closer, her vines coiling like executioners’ ropes, thorns glinting in the crimson light. "But you never asked if we would let you leave."

Virelya’s hiss was a venomous laugh, her hydra heads weaving through the air, venom dripping from their fangs.

"Let him bleed," she snarled, one head snapping forward to bite the demon’s arm, venom sizzling as it ate through shadow-flesh.

And they descended—three monsters, a storm of fang, vine, and fury, their movements a deadly symphony.

Nyxsha tore through the demon’s chains with her claws, each swipe leaving trails of black flame that burned the air.

Virelya’s heads struck in tandem, venom melting bone and shadow, her coils crushing what remained.

Sylvara’s vines lashed out, impaling and binding, her flowers blooming with faces that screamed in silent agony, draining the demon’s essence with every thorned embrace.

The city cracked under their wrath—towers collapsing in showers of stone, fountains bleeding black water, the ground fissuring like glass under their combined assault.

Every crack, every crumble, seemed to hurt the demon, its form shuddering as if the city’s pain were its own, its chest heaving like a breaking bone.

But then—the demon smiled, its mask splitting wider, a jagged grin of defiance.

"Burn the angel," it whispered, its voice a serpent’s hiss cutting through the chaos.

The remaining corrupted souls—those not yet destroyed—swarmed the garden cocoon, their translucent forms clawing at the vines with frenzied hunger, tearing through the protective bloom like paper under rain.

Thorns snapped, petals withered, blood-red sap spraying as Sylvara gasped in pain, her bark-skin cracking, her amber eyes wide with anguish.

"No—!" Nyxsha roared, abandoning the demon to charge back, her massive form a whirlwind of flame as she tore through the souls, claws slashing, flames searing, but more came, their hollow eyes fixed on Azareel.

Virelya’s heads whipped forward, but the demon’s chains lashed out, wrapping her coils and yanking her back, her hiss turning to a snarl of rage as she fought to break free.

Sylvara’s vines surged to protect the cocoon, but the souls were relentless, their claws ripping through the last layers, exposing Azareel’s sleeping form—still unaware, his silver-white hair splayed across the moss, his faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat.

A twisted knight-soul reached for his throat, its spectral fingers curling like claws.

Nyxsha slammed into it, her roar shaking the ruins, her claws tearing it apart in a spray of ectoplasm and ash.

"Not him!" she bellowed, her voice a primal cry, her violet eyes burning as she stood over him, a wall of flame and fury.

But more came, the horde endless, their silent screams a pressure that battered her senses, their forms blurring into a wave of vengeance.

The demon laughed again, its voice a mocking thunder.

"You can’t protect him forever," it rasped, its mask gleaming with dark triumph.

Nyxsha’s eyes burned, her claws dripping with spectral gore, her massive form trembling with exhaustion but unyielding.

"Watch me," she snarled, her voice a defiant roar that echoed through the ruins, her flames flaring brighter as she fought to shield the angel who slept, unaware of the war blooming around him.

And in the heart of the garden, sealed within the remnants of thorn and bloom, Azareel’s faint glow pulsed, a beacon of hope in the ashes of war, as the city burned under the weight of their defiance.