Fallen Angel's Harem in the Abyss

Nyxsha, the Night of Twenty Thousand Screams, did not move.

For the first time in centuries, her massive, feline-lupine form held still, her limbs frozen beneath the jagged overhang of her cathedral den.

The Abyss was never silent—its drips, screams, and distant pulses were a constant—but in this moment, the world seemed to hold its breath with her.

Her glowing yellow eyes, slit-pupiled and sharp, fixed on the fragile figure curled atop her stomach, his weight barely a whisper against her scarred, black fur.

The boy was small.

Pale, like moonlight left to rot in a forgotten crypt.

Blood streaked down his back in two dark, glistening lines, pooling in the fur beneath him.

At first, Nyxsha thought the marks were some grotesque mortal art—tattoos carved by a sadist’s hand.

But as her gaze lingered, her tail twitched, and her claws flexed against the stone. No. Not scars.

Stumps.

Bone-sheared, feather-shredded, still weeping a luminous, gold-flecked ichor that shimmered faintly in the cathedral’s gloom.

Her eyes widened, pupils dilating like twin moons.