Fallen Angel's Harem in the Abyss

The garden's tender hush lingered, a quiet that cradled rather than consumed.

Sylvara knelt where Azareel had fallen, her bare knees sinking into the pulsing moss, her fingers brushing the remnants of the squashed berry—its faint warmth clinging to the earth like a fading heartbeat.

The vines around her hung slack, their crimson leaves drooping, and her flowering hair draped over her shoulders, petals falling in a slow, silent rain.

The air was still, the garden's pulse subdued, as if mourning the warmth that had slipped away.

Beneath her root-veins, something stirred—a quiet ache, a longing that bloomed where hunger once reigned.

Sylvara reached into the soil, her hands carving a gentle hollow with reverent care.

Her breath was slow, shaky, as she pressed a hand to her chest, where Azareel's warmth had rested moments ago, then to the earth.

She planted a single seed, small and glowing with orange-gold light, pulsing with laughter, gentleness, and a memory still forming.

Around it, petals unfurled—crimson at first, then shifting to silver and soft ivory, their scent clean, warm, like him.

Sylvara stared at the flower, her amber eyes shimmering, her vines coiling around her like a blanket she couldn't quite hold.

The roots beneath trembled, echoing her silent longing, as the garden seemed to sigh, its glow softening in the wake of his absence.

_________

"You're a damn idiot," Nyxsha growled, her massive paw twisted in the back of Azareel's tattered robe as she dragged him along the cracked blackstone path.

His bare feet stumbled over jagged stones, his silver-white hair bouncing, still slick with berry juice and moss.

The cathedral den loomed ahead, its half-collapsed walls and scattered bones a stark contrast to the garden's deceptive beauty.

Azareel opened his mouth to speak.

"No," Nyxsha snapped, cutting him off before a word could escape, her golden eyes blazing with exasperation.

They reached the den, its air heavy with dust and the faint scent of old blood.

She shoved him forward, and he tripped over a ribcage, landing face-first on a half-eaten blanket with a muffled thump.

He rolled over, blinking up at her, his silver-gray eyes, flecked with rain-blue, wide with innocent confusion.

"Was it something I—"

"YES," Nyxsha roared, her voice shaking the rafters, her tail lashing like a whip.

She paced away, claws clicking against the stone, her black fur bristling.

Spinning back, she loomed over him, fangs bared.

"She was about to kill you. That garden, her vines—everything—it was a slow digestion trap. You were this close—" she held up two claws, inches apart, "—to being mulch with good cheekbones!"

Azareel sat up, brushing moss from his robe. "But she didn't," he said softly, his voice calm, unshaken.

Nyxsha's ears flattened, her golden eyes narrowing to slits. "Because you're an idiot!"

He smiled, gentle and earnest. "That's fair."

She groaned, the sound so loud it made the rafters creak, a bone shard falling with a clatter.

"She kissed you," she snarled, leaping onto a broken altar and kicking a skull off the edge.

It bounced, rolling across the floor with a hollow thunk.

Azareel blinked, his head tilting slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle. "It was… nice," he said, his voice hesitant but sincere.

Nyxsha froze, her claws still drawn, her fangs glinting in the corpse-light.

"Do you have any idea how many people she's kissed and then digested?!" she shouted, her tail slamming the ground, sending dust billowing.

"She doesn't love. She blooms around corpses. Her kisses are traps!"

Azareel's brow furrowed, his silver eyes flickering with thought.

"…Maybe she just wanted to feel warm?" he said, his voice soft, almost hopeful.

Nyxsha stared, her claws trembling, her fangs still bared.

His words, pure and infuriatingly sincere, doused her rage like water on a flame.

He wasn't smug, wasn't stupid—just Azareel, his gentleness a quiet defiance against the Abyss's cruelty.

Her shoulders slumped, and she sat down hard on a cracked pew, rubbing her temples with one paw, her tail twitching.

"You can't keep doing this," she muttered, her voice low, almost pleading. "You're going to get eaten."

Azareel stood, his movements slow and pained, and crouched beside her, his slender hand gently touching her shoulder.

Nyxsha flinched, her fur bristling, but didn't pull away.

"I didn't go back to be taken," he said softly, his silver eyes steady. "I went back to give something."

Her breath hitched, her golden eyes flickering with something raw—anger, fear, and something warmer she refused to name.

She growled, but it was gritted, reluctant, barely a whisper. "…Next time, I'm killing her first."

Azareel smiled, his touch lingering, light but sure.

"Okay," he said, his voice a gentle promise.