Fallen Angel's Harem in the Abyss

The garden had crept too close, its vibrant tendrils inching across the cracked stone like an uninvited neighbor staking claim.

Nyxsha stood at the edge of her ruined cathedral, her golden eyes twitching with irritation, one massive paw tapping aggressively on the mossy trail that now linked her territory to the freshly rooted floral monstrosity nestled smugly beside it.

The air grew sweeter—too sweet, like perfume masking decay—clinging to her black fur with humid insistence, making her bristle from muzzle to tail.

She had questions.

None of them polite.

With a low growl rumbling in her throat, she marched straight toward the blooming wall of verdant temptation, her claws clicking against the stone like a countdown to chaos.

The scent intensified, floral and cloying, wrapping around her like a trap she refused to acknowledge.

And there she was—Sylvara, leaning gently against a tall blooming vine, her glowing skin veined with gold and green, her flowering hair cascading in crimson waves.

Her amber eyes, deep and pupil-less, shimmered with serene amusement, her presence a quiet storm of beauty and threat.

"Good morning," Sylvara said, her voice a breathy lullaby, soft as petals drifting on water, laced with an undertone that promised drowning.

Nyxsha's ears twitched, flattening against her skull.

"Move. Your. Garden," she snarled, her tail lashing like a whip cracking through the air.

Sylvara tilted her head, vines blooming lazily behind her like living jewelry.

"But this soil is rich," she whispered, her lips curving faintly. "And he left footprints in it. My roots followed the memory."

Nyxsha stepped forward, her massive form casting a shadow over the blooming vines, her golden eyes blazing.

"If your roots keep following 'memories,' they're gonna end up picking their teeth out of your own stem.," she growled, her voice low and vibrating, fangs glinting in the corpse-light.

Sylvara's smile deepened, her vines rustling softly. "You're tense."

"I'm territorial," Nyxsha snapped, her tail slamming the ground, sending a puff of moss into the air.

"I'm affectionate," Sylvara countered, her amber eyes unblinking.

"You're obsessive," Nyxsha shot back, her claws flexing, ready to rake through bark and bloom.

Sylvara plucked a ripe orange berry from a low branch, its glow illuminating her palm, and extended it gently.

"A fruit of calm. Perhaps your fur will stop standing like a frightened beast."

Nyxsha slapped the berry out of her hand, the fruit exploding in a sticky orange firework, juice splattering across the vines like glowing blood.

"I do not need therapy fruit!" she roared, her fur puffing out further, her golden eyes narrow slits of fury.

From behind them—

"Is that breakfast?" Azareel's voice, soft and sleepy, drifted out like a yawn given form.

He emerged from the cathedral ruins, his silver-white hair tousled, his torn robe half-tucked and hanging askew, his silver-gray eyes blinking against the light.

He looked like a man rising from a nap rather than one caught in an unfolding floral war, his bare feet padding softly on the stone.

Sylvara straightened immediately, her flowering hair blooming brighter, her amber eyes softening with a hunger veiled in warmth.

"Heartwood," she breathed, her voice a caress.

Nyxsha's spine tensed, her tail freezing mid-lash.

Azareel smiled warmly, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Hi, Sylvara."

She stepped toward him, her hands out, fingers blooming with harmless vines that trailed like living ribbons.

"Did you sleep well, sweet stem?" she asked, her tone a gentle hum.

"Like a cloud," he said, his voice earnest, his silver eyes sparkling. "Thank you for the berries. They were delicious yesterday."

Nyxsha let out a low warning growl, her claws scraping the stone, her golden eyes flashing with possessive fire.

Azareel blinked, his head tilting in confusion. "What?"

She yanked him by the back of his robe so hard he practically teleported backward with a yelp, his feet stumbling over the mossy trail.

"Mine," she hissed under her breath, her voice a rumble of thunder. "Stop offering your gratitude like candy to everyone with hips."

Sylvara raised one vine-covered brow, her lips curving in quiet amusement.

But before another barb could bloom—a hiss cut through the air, long and drawn-out.

"Hiiiiiiiissssssssssssssssss~"