CHAPTER 73: IS THERE AN ABYSS IN THE ABYSS ? - 8

The corrupted angel snarled, its divine eye widening, its warped wing spasming as the mist it poured shriveled where Azareel’s light touched.

The corrupted aura cracked like burning paper, vanishing inch by inch, the ground beneath it trembling as if the Abyss itself feared the glow.

Sylvara stared, her voice trembling with awe.

"H-he’s cleansing it... the rot... it can’t stay," she whispered, her shriveled vines twitching as if yearning to bloom again.

Nyxsha’s golden eyes widened, her massive form stilling, blood dripping from her wounds as she watched, transfixed.

Virelya’s coils froze, her four heads falling silent, their masks reflecting the golden light, their golden eyes wide with wonder.

Azareel’s entire form gleamed like a walking star, the branch tracing sigils with perfect grace, forming an array in the air that pulsed with a heartbeat not his own—hope, radiant and unyielding, a light that burned brighter than the Abyss’s despair.

The corrupted angel screamed—an awful, high-pitched noise that didn’t belong to heaven or abyss, its wing spasming, pustules bursting, spraying black ichor that boiled away in the light.

It stepped back, then forward again, its divine eye blazing with anger, its certainty faltering.

It raised a hand, summoning more mist, but Azareel lifted the branch one last time, completing the radiant glyph with a final stroke.

The glow from the sigils didn’t fade, its golden radiance pooling from the floating glyphs into the soil, into the air, into the very cracks of the Abyss itself, a divine light that sank deep, forming a shimmering ring on the corrupted ground.

The moment the circle closed, the black mist that had suffocated them hissed like boiling tar, thrashing against the boundary, curling like claws on invisible glass, but unable to seep back in.

For the first time since their fall into this depth of the Abyss, the air was clear, the oppressive despair lifting like a veil torn asunder.

Sylvara’s thorned crown tilted slightly as she inhaled deeply, her amber eyes widening.

"I can... smell again," she whispered, her voice trembling with awe, her shriveled vines twitching as if yearning to bloom anew.

"See again," Virelya muttered, her six masked hydra heads rising in unison, their golden, slit-pupiled eyes narrowing as they fixed on the corrupted angel, venom dripping from their fangs.

Nyxsha’s golden gaze cut through the cleared air, pinning the angel in her sight, her violet flames flaring high, licking the space around her like a living storm.

"No more hiding," she growled, her massive form heaving, blood—black and violet—still dripping from her gashes, sizzling on the ground.

The corrupted angel stood fully revealed, its grotesque form bathed in the unrelenting light—pale, twisted, half-beautiful, half-abomination.

Its abyssal wing twitched violently, dripping black rot that burned holes into the cold ground, hissing like acid.

The beautiful half of its face looked almost human, divine in its sculpted grace, but the other half spasmed, tendrils writhing beneath the melted flesh as if something inside clawed to escape, its milky blue eye unblinking, its divine eye glistening with a desperate sorrow.

It looked at Azareel and screamed again—a sound that shook the holy barrier but didn’t break it, a wail of rage and despair that tore at the soul, echoing through the void like a hymn of fallen stars.

Then it charged, its claws—both angelic and monstrous—swinging with the force of a collapsing mountain, aiming for the glowing sigils at Azareel’s back, its divine wing flaring, its warped one pulsing with rot.

"Not a chance!" Nyxsha roared, her massive form lunging forward, claws colliding with its strike, violet flames exploding on contact, the impact sending shockwaves through the holy circle, the glyphs pulsing in rhythm with Azareel’s heartbeat.

The angel staggered back, and Sylvara’s thorned arms lashed forward, wrapping its corrupted wing, crimson sap dripping from her bark as thorns bit deep, anchoring it in place.

Virelya struck next, her serpentine coils whipping forward, her hydra heads spitting streams of venom that sizzled against the angel’s pale flesh, leaving steaming pits that burned through its divine aura.

The angel thrashed, its movements violent enough to crack the stone beneath, but the women didn’t yield, moving faster, harder, each blow landing with a ferocity born of love and fury.

It lunged at Azareel again, desperation twisting its once-holy expression into something feral, its claws slashing through the air, trailing black mist.

Nyxsha’s claw intercepted its throat, her massive form a wall of flame and fang, her golden eyes blazing.

Sylvara’s vines tightened, the wood in her arms splintering with the effort, thorns digging deeper into the angel’s corrupted flesh.

Virelya’s coils constricted, the crack of bone echoing in the chamber as her heads hissed in unison.

"Stay away from him," Nyxsha snarled, pressing the angel back with a burst of violet fire that scorched the ground, leaving trails of blackened stone.

The angel thrashed, its divine wing flaring, its warped one oozing rot that burned the air, but the women were relentless, their movements a deadly dance—Nyxsha’s claws slashing, Virelya’s venom burning, Sylvara’s thorns piercing.

With their senses restored, they fought as one, each strike heavier, more precise, their monstrous forms unyielding despite their wounds.

Azareel stood at the center, bathed in golden light, his silver eyes steady as he traced smaller glyphs into the air with the glowing branch, reinforcing the holy barrier each time it pulsed, its radiance a shield against the Abyss’s hunger.

The shadows outside the circle writhed and snapped like starved beasts, but they couldn’t cross, the light holding them at bay like a divine fortress.

The angel dove low, slipping past Nyxsha’s claws, its claws outstretched toward Azareel, its divine eye blazing with desperation.

Virelya’s coils snapped forward, catching its legs and slamming it into the cold floor with a bone-rattling thud.

Nyxsha was there before it could rise, her claws flashing, tearing into the corrupted wing until rot splattered across the barrier, dissolving into nothing in the light.

Sylvara’s flowers bloomed wide, their screaming faces wailing as she drove a thorned spear deep into the angel’s shoulder, pinning it to the ground.