Chapter 11: The Belly of the Beast - 8
Nyxsha heard it.
A soft, wet slithering, like silk dragged through mud.
Nyxsha whirled, her ears swiveling, her claws unsheathing with a metallic shink.
In the far shadows, a translucent, towering coil looped through the broken pews, gliding with eerie grace.
A porcelain mask gleamed faintly through the misted gloom, its surface etched with delicate, unreadable runes.
Golden serpent eyes, half-lidded and glinting, watched her from beneath the mask, serene yet predatory.
Virelya.
The Wraith-Serpent.
A creature of whispers and coils, banished to the Abyss for sins even Nyxsha didn’t care to know.
And in her luminous, silk-like coils, wrapped snugly like a glowing moth in a cocoon, was Azareel.
His silver hair was tangled, his torn tunic askew, his hands loosely bound with scripture ribbons that pulsed with faint, cursed light.
A red, cherry-shaped fruit—its origin a mystery Nyxsha didn’t want to ponder—was jammed in his mouth as a gag.