The first step they took was soundless—not an absence of noise but a deliberate smothering, as if the air itself was unwilling to carry their movement, the void swallowing sound like a predator claiming its prey.

Four shapes pressed at the edges of the fading glow, the withered husks of Sylvara's glowberries offering barely enough illumination to outline their twisted frames, their forms a gallery of horrors sculpted by the Abyss's cruel hand.

Azareel's silver eyes, widened, his initial impression shifting—they weren't merely angels twisted by the Abyss.

Each was individually sculpted into something that mirrored the same cruelty but in a different language, their presence a weight that pressed on the soul.

The first stepped forward from the left, his body almost skeletal, every bone wrapped in blackened sinew that pulsed with a slow, steady light—like a dying heartbeat, faint and mournful.

His wings were gone, replaced by two elongated arms ending in bladed bone, each movement scraping against the air like steel over stone, a grating sound that clawed at the senses.

His face was hidden behind a shroud of molten gold fused to his skull, the metal weeping black ichor that steamed faintly, dripping onto the cold, polished floor.

The second emerged to the right, tall—taller even than Nyxsha's beast form—her flesh replaced by crystalline shards that refracted what little light remained, making her shimmer with a thousand fractured reflections, disorienting and dizzying.

Her wings were jagged glass, the edges whispering as they sliced through the air, leaving floating shards that hung like frozen rain, glinting with malicious intent.

The third came from behind, his body swollen, grotesquely muscled to the point of distortion, his skin covered in cracked bronze armor plates fused directly to his flesh, immovable and unyielding.

One wing was a mangled cluster of tendrils, writhing like a nest of serpents; the other was a massive claw-like appendage that scraped the ground, leaving grooves in the stone, his breathing heavy, laborious, each exhale carrying a wave of heat so intense it scorched the air, warping it like a mirage.

The fourth descended from above, her form half-melted, as if caught in divine fire and never healed, one side of her face a perfect angelic visage, serene and flawless, the other raw muscle beneath peeling skin, grotesque and exposed.

Her single remaining wing was white, pristine, yet it dripped a steady stream of black tar that sizzled on the stone, filling the air with the acrid stench of decay.

"I want to go home." One of them muttered.

"I want to go home." Another repeated.

"I want to go home." "I want to go home." "I want to go home." "I want to go home." They repeated in unison as if a dreadful choir.

Sylvara's vines curled tighter at Azareel's feet, anchoring him in place, her root-like toes digging into the soil-strewn floor, her pale gold skin threaded with glowing veins of sap, her crimson leaves trembling.

Her voice was low, deliberate, her amber eyes sharp with warning.

"Stay behind us. No heroics this time," she said, her flowering hair swaying gently, though there was no wind here.

Azareel's lips pressed into a thin line, his silver eyes steady, but he didn't argue—yet, his torn white tunic fluttering faintly.

Nyxsha's black fur bristled, her twelve-foot feline-lupine form radiating power, her golden, slit-pupiled eyes locking onto the skeletal angel with predatory focus, a low growl rumbling in her chest.

"They're not here to talk. don't even think about it," she said, her voice a guttural snarl that made the skeletal one pause, his bladed arms twitching.

Virelya's cracked porcelain mask tilted fractionally, her sleek, pale, almost translucent body rippling in readiness, her torn cathedral veils trailing like ghostly remnants, her serpentine lower half coiling endlessly.

Her golden eyes glinted, her voice a breathy hiss. "They're here to finish what the first one couldn't."

The skeletal angel moved first, a blur of motion, his bladed arms swinging down in a crisscross meant to cleave Nyxsha apart.

She caught the strike with both claws, sparks flaring as her glass-like talons met bone, the impact rattling the chamber walls, a deafening crack echoing through the void.

The crystalline angel swept in immediately after, her jagged wings slicing through Sylvara's vines, crumbling them to dust instead of pieces, the air filled with the sharp scent of scorched sap.

Sylvara's amber eyes narrowed, her branch-like arms snapping forward, blooming with screaming-faced flowers that latched onto the shards like starving mouths, their silent wails a haunting chorus.

From behind, the bronze-armored brute charged, the ground shaking under his thunderous steps, his claw-wing crashing toward Virelya with earth-shattering force.

She uncoiled upward, her humanoid torso rising as six serpentine heads snapped, their masked faces lunging to tear at his plated flesh, venom hissing and sizzling as it ate into the bronze, leaving smoking pits.

Above, the half-melted angel descended toward Azareel, her wingbeat stirring shadows, her black tar dripping into sizzling puddles on the stone.

She reached for him—gentle with one perfect hand, claws extended on her ruined side—but Sylvara yanked him back just in time, roots bursting from the floor to ensnare her, thorns biting deep, drawing streams of tar-like ichor.

The battle became chaos—a whirlwind of fang, vine, and claw, the chamber ringing with the sounds of impact, shattering glass, and cracking bone.

Nyxsha roared, slamming the skeletal angel into the wall with such force the gold shroud cracked, revealing a single milky eye staring unblinking before he hissed and lashed out again, his blades flashing toward her ribs.

Sylvara tangled with the crystalline angel, a cacophony of cracking vines and shattering glass, her flowers latching onto shards, crumbling under their sharpness.

Virelya wrapped three of her hydra heads around the bronze brute's claw-wing, pulling it back while two others struck at his throat and torso, venom sizzling, the sixth head hissing into his face, forcing him to recoil as molten breath scorched her scales.

Azareel moved carefully between them, hands raised to ward off the tar-like corruption rolling off the half-melted angel as she tore through Sylvara's roots, her perfect hand reaching for him.

The Abyss robbed them of senses—the air reeked of death and corruption, coating their throats, the skeletal angel's blades moving in perfect silence, offering no sound to track.

The crystalline one's reflections disoriented, mirroring their own movements back, making it hard to tell where she was.

The bronze brute absorbed blows that would have crushed mountains, his molten breath burning the air.

The half-melted angel slipped between attacks like water, her pristine wing cutting arcs through the dark, her tar dripping like poison.

Sylvara's cheek bled from a crystal shard, slicing deep, her crimson sap mixing with the dust.

"Azareel! Stay back—" she yelled, her voice cut off as another shard tore across her thigh, petals and sap scattering in the dark.

Nyxsha snarled, seeing the blood, and slammed her opponent into the wall again, her claws raking across his chest, sparks flying.

"Stop getting distracted!" she barked, but the skeletal angel's blades flashed toward her ribs, carving a gash across her arm, blood—black and violet—sizzling on the ground.

Virelya coiled tighter, her heads striking the bronze brute's exposed joints, venom hissing, but his molten breath forced her to loosen her grip or risk burning alive, her coils slamming into the ground, cracking stone.

Azareel saw it—the balance tipping, not slowly, but violently, the women's forms battered, their strength waning under the relentless assault.

The skeletal angel broke free of Nyxsha's grip, carving another gash across her arm.

The crystalline one's wing tore through Sylvara's thigh, more petals falling.

The bronze brute slammed Virelya into the ground hard enough to crack the stone beneath her coils.

The half-melted angel hovered just outside the fight, her eyes locked on Azareel like she was waiting for her moment.

"Enough," Azareel said, his voice soft but resonant, carrying a weight that made even the corrupted pause for half a breath, light flickering faintly from his skin, catching their eyes—before Nyxsha lunged back in, refusing to give ground.

The fight surged again—Nyxsha ripping into the skeletal angel's chest, violet fire eating into the bone, Sylvara driving thorned branches through the crystalline angel's torso, shattering several jagged spines, Virelya coiling the bronze brute's legs, forcing him down as her venom hissed against his armor.

The half-melted angel dove for Azareel, her pristine wing cutting through the air, but Nyxsha's burning paw caught her mid-flight, slamming her sideways into the wall with a bone-rattling crash.

The chamber rang with the sound of impact, glass breaking, bone cracking—then silence, broken only by ragged breathing.

They'd hurt them—badly.

The skeletal angel rose, slower, his gold shroud fractured.

The crystalline angel's wings reformed in jagged bursts, glinting maliciously.

The bronze brute tore free of Virelya's coils, his molten breath scorching the air.

The half-melted one pushed herself from the wall, tar dripping faster now, her perfect eye fixed on Azareel.

Azareel's glow dimmed, his heart pounding, his silver eyes wide with fear for the women.

They stood around him, wounded, breath heavy—but ready, their forms a battered shield against the Abyss's cruelty.

Then, from the black beyond the four angels.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWRRRRR"

A roar—not like the others, not human, not angelic, but older, deeper, soaked in primal dread that made even the corrupted falter for a moment.

The Abyss itself seemed to shiver, a new shadow stirring in the depths.

"Now what in the abyss's new hell is this." Nyxsha muttered.