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.
His legs twitched faintly, his silver eyes blinking in sleepy confusion.
Virelya glided forward, soundless, her coils rippling like liquid bone.
Her masked face tilted slightly, her golden eyes locking with Nyxsha's in a silent challenge.
One heartbeat.
Two.
The air crackled with tension, the cathedral holding its breath.
Nyxsha exploded forward with a roar that shattered the stone beneath her paws, the sound reverberating through the ruins like a thunderclap.
"You scaled homewrecker!" she bellowed, her voice shaking the walls, her claws gleaming as she charged.
Virelya paused, her mask tilting with an air of detached curiosity.
"…He twitches prettily," she whispered, her voice like breath fogging glass, soft and chilling.
"You coiled my angel-blanket?!" Nyxsha snarled, her tail slamming into a pew, splintering it into kindling.
"We found him alone," Virelya replied, her tone serene, almost pitying. "We believed he was abandoned. Or misplaced. Or left as tribute."
Nyxsha's fur puffed out, her eyes blazing. "I was asleep, you blind slipknot! I was curled around him!"
Virelya's mask tilted again, her golden eyes narrowing. "Then you were insufficiently coiled."
Azareel, still gagged, blinked through the ribbons binding him.
His muffled "…mff?" echoed faintly, his brow furrowing in confusion as he wiggled against the coils.
The cathedral erupted into chaos.
Nyxsha leapt, claws drawn, fangs bared, only to be caught mid-air by a net of luminous serpent-script that flared like cursed parchment.
She snarled and spun, her jaws snapping through the net, her tail slamming down with a boom that cracked the floor.
Virelya floated upward, her veil fluttering as her coils expanded into glowing bands of sin-soaked parchment and golden scale, weaving through the air like a living tapestry.
They clashed—claw against chain, fang against fang, a whirlwind of fur and silk.
A pew launched across the room like a missile, shattering against a pillar.
Azareel, still bound, was flung sideways by the impact, landing in a dusty baptismal font filled with dead moths.
His muffled "MFF!" rang out as a moth landed on his nose, and it itch.
Nyxsha smashed through a wall, tackling Virelya mid-air, and the two rolled across the floor in a blur of snarls, hisses, and ancient curses.
"You creepy noodle ghost!" Nyxsha roared, her claws raking at Virelya's coils.
"You are loud," Virelya whispered, her voice strained but calm, even as she twisted free. "Loudness is not love."
"I don't love him! He's MINE!" Nyxsha snapped, her tail whipping a stone angel statue into rubble.
"You are territorial. How mammalian," Virelya mused, her mask unyielding as she countered with a lash of her coils.
Nyxsha bit into Virelya's shoulder, her fangs sinking into ethereal flesh.
A burst of dreamlight exploded from the wraith's form, illuminating the cathedral in a kaleidoscope of ghostly hues.
Azareel, caught in the shockwave, flew out of the font—upside down—and landed crammed between two angel statues in a pillar niche, his face pressed awkwardly into a cold stone bosom.
He blinked, wiggled, and muffled a confused "…mmmf??"
On the ground, Nyxsha pinned Virelya with a triumphant roar, her massive paws pressing the wraith's coils into the stone.
"He's not prey anymore! I choose what's mine!"
Virelya gazed up through her porcelain mask, her golden eyes unreadable.
A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant drip of the Bone Ceiling. Then, faintly, her lips curved beneath the mask.
"You're purring again."
Nyxsha froze, her ears flattening, her tail twitching in betrayal.
The low rumble in her chest was undeniable, a soft, involuntary purr that vibrated through her fur.
"…Shut up," she growled, her voice thick with embarrassment.
Above them, Azareel, now somehow tangled in scripture ropes and dangling from a rusted chandelier, swung gently like a bizarre ornament.
The cherry fruit remained lodged in his mouth, his silver eyes blinking in bewildered resignation.
He wiggled faintly, his muffled voice barely audible: "…mmf? Any help?"
Nyxsha's eye twitched.
Virelya's mask tilted, her coils loosening slightly.
The cathedral settled, dust drifting through the amber corpse-light, as the two monsters and their hapless angel-blanket faced the absurdity of their morning.