The dust settled in the cathedral's ruins, a haze of ash and bone fragments swirling in the dim corpse-light.
Only three things remained upright amidst the wreckage.
A shattered pew, splintered and barely holding together where Azareel's face had briefly made its acquaintance.
A bone chandelier, creaking mournfully as it swayed.
And Nyxsha, the Purring Extinction, pacing in furious circles, her black fur bristling, her tail flicking like a whip.
Her claws, still half-unsheathed from her clash with Virelya, scraped the stone with each step, her golden eyes blazing with a mix of rage and exhaustion.
She wanted sleep. She wanted silence.
She wanted to yeet that slippery serpent off a cliff.
Unfortunately, Virelya had other plans.
The wraith-serpent, no longer a towering coil of silk and bone, now stood in her humanoid form near the center of the den, humming a soft, eerie melody that made Nyxsha's fur itch.
Virelya was tall and elegant, barefoot, her skin pale as polished ivory, glistening as if she'd emerged from a cursed pool.
Her long, damp black hair dripped onto the stone, leaving trails of water that shimmered with unnatural light.
Her body was sheathed in wet silk robes, clinging to her curves like whispered secrets, open at the sides to reveal a narrow waist, high thighs, and delicate golden serpent scales tracing her hips and collarbone.
Her arms moved with liquid grace, fingers trailing like brushstrokes in water.
Her lips, pale and parted, curled in a curious smile, and her golden, slit-pupiled eyes blinked too slowly, glinting with a predatory calm that was both divine and terrifying.
And Azareel?
He dangled upside-down from a prayer arch, his ankles bound by glowing scripture ribbons, his silver hair falling in a tangled curtain.
The crushed rind of a red, cherry-shaped fruit—its origins best left unquestioned—remained lodged in his mouth as a gag, muffling his confused murmurs.
His silver eyes, blinked in bewildered resignation as he swayed gently, like a broken ornament in a storm.
Nyxsha's growl rumbled through the ruins.
"Why are you still here, slippery corpse?" she snapped, her tail slamming the ground, sending a cracked bone skittering.
Virelya ignored her, gliding toward Azareel with a serpentine grace that made the air hum with quiet menace.
She reached up, her pale fingers brushing his cheek with a gentleness that felt like a threat.
"…You're twitching again," she whispered, her voice like breath fogging a graveyard mirror.
Azareel mumbled something unintelligible through the fruit rind, his brow furrowing as he wiggled faintly in his bindings.
Virelya tilted her head, her golden eyes narrowing as she leaned closer, her damp hair brushing his face.
"We should eat him," she murmured, her tone calm, almost academic.
Nyxsha choked on her own spit, her claws digging into the stone.
"WHAT?"
Virelya didn't turn, her fingers trailing along Azareel's jaw as he spun lazily.
"He's prey. Soft. Vulnerable. His skin smells of endings and forgiveness. If we do not consume him, someone else will—the hounds of rot, the mouth-things, the Lurker of Hooks, or the girl with too many faces. They won't be gentle."
Nyxsha stalked forward, her fur puffing out like a thundercloud.
"I told you," she snarled, her voice shaking the chandelier above, "he's not prey."
Virelya's fingers paused on Azareel's ankle, her touch lingering.
"You let him sleep beside you," she said, her voice soft but pointed.
"And?" Nyxsha growled, her tail lashing a pew into splinters.
"You let him touch your belly," Virelya continued, her mask-like face tilting slightly, her golden eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
"I—he—SHUT UP!" Nyxsha's roar echoed through the ruins, her claws scraping furrows in the stone as she loomed closer.