The silence after the feeding was suffocating, the chamber heavy with the copper tang of blood and the acrid stench of decayed ichor.

The beast stood in the faint edge-light of Azareel's sigils, its massive frame shadowing the cracked stone, crimson eyes locked entirely on him—not on the women, not on the gore-strewn remains of the fused angels, not on the shattered floor, but on Azareel alone, its gaze piercing like a predator sizing up something unknown.

Azareel's silver eyes,were calm, almost gentle, as if he saw something fragile in the creature that had just ripped apart four corrupted angels without slowing its breath, his torn white tunic fluttering faintly in the stale air.

He stepped forward once, his bare feet soft on the stone, the vines underfoot barely shifting, his voice steady, a quiet beacon in the void.

"You're not here to harm us," he said, the words nearly lost in the cold chamber, carrying a certainty that made the air hum.

The beast's bladed tail lowered an inch, its crimson eyes flickering, its long skull tilting slightly as if testing his words.

Nyxsha's jagged black fur bristled, her twelve-foot feline-lupine form tensing, her golden, slit-pupiled eyes blazing with warning.

"Azareel… You stupid angel. Stop with this bullshit." she growled, her voice a mix of disbelief and protective fury, her claws flexing against the stone.

"I know," he replied, not looking away from the beast, his silver eyes unwavering. "Trust me."

To their credit, the women didn't argue, their monstrous forms bleeding away as they shifted back to their primary selves, wounded but resolute.

Nyxsha shrank in a cascade of shadow, her towering beastly bulk receding into her tall, lethal cat form with black fur, her golden eyes still sharp.

Virelya's coils unwound in a gliding retreat, her pale, almost translucent body settling into her humanoid upper half, torn cathedral veils draping over her cracked porcelain mask, her golden eyes glinting with wary curiosity.

Sylvara's bark-etched limbs softened, petals drifting away and vanishing before hitting the floor, her pale gold skin threaded with sap veins, crimson leaves curling around her hips, her amber eyes never leaving the beast.

They stood behind Azareel, still tense, their wounds—Nyxsha's gashes, Virelya's cracked scales and mask, Sylvara's splintered bark—visible but their presence unyielding, a protective wall in human form.

The beast noticed, its crimson eyes flickering as it took one digitigrade step, then two, then three, its long snout angling toward Azareel's face, needle teeth glinting in the faint light.

The women tensed—Nyxsha's jaw flexing, Virelya's fingers curling toward her blades, Sylvara's vine-hairs stiffening like spear-points.

Another inch, and Nyxsha would move, her mantra echoing in her mind.

There is no strong and weak in a fight, only one living and one dead.

Azareel didn't flinch, his silver eyes steady, his voice calm.

The beast's crimson eyes flared faintly. Its nostrils expanded — a deep inhale, heavy with the smell of angelic light.

Its jaw opened slightly—

And it burped.

A loud, wet sound that bounced off the walls like a grotesque horn, shattering the tension in the strangest way possible.

For half a heartbeat, no one moved.

Nyxsha blinked, her lip curling in disbelief.

Virelya tilted her head, her mask cracking faintly as if her mind had short-circuited.

Sylvara's petals twitched in what might have been shock, her amber eyes wide.

The beast straightened, and changed—ridged spines retracting, bladed tail softening, shrinking, scales folding and flattening, its vast frame compressing with a soft crack of bone and sinew.

The long skull receded, jaw reshaping, needle teeth shrinking to neat white lines, crimson eyes softening to a warmer ember-shade.

In seconds, the Abyss's killing / eating machine was gone.

Standing in its place, barely five feet tall, was a girl—slim, with sun-kissed skin marked by faint, freckle-like scale patterns across her shoulders.

Her short, choppy white-blonde hair was streaked with darker strands, messy as if the wind had been her only comb for centuries.

Torn shorts clung loosely to her hips, an oversized hunting jacket—stitched from the hide of something she'd killed—hung off one shoulder, a small reptilian tail flicking lazily behind her.

Her bright red-orange eyes locked on Azareel, wide with curiosity, a grin spreading across her face, fearless and wild.

"You're… weird," she said, her voice light but rough, like she hadn't spoken in years.

Nyxsha stepped forward, placing herself between Azareel and the girl, her golden eyes narrowing.

"Who are you?," she demanded, her voice a low growl, her black hair swaying.

"Zathra," the girl said, bouncing on the balls of her feet, unfazed.

"Call me anything, like Zath, or 'Hey You,' or 'Stop Eating That.' I'll answer to anything if you throw it with food." Her grin widened, showing sharp but human-like teeth.

Azareel looked at her calmly, his silver eyes softening.

"You saved us," he said, his voice gentle, carrying a quiet gratitude.

Zathra shrugged, as if it was nothing, her tail flicking.

"Mmm, nah. I was just hungry. Felt something moving. Followed the vibrations. Found dinner. Ate dinner." She smirked, her red-orange eyes glinting. "You were just… standing there looking edible but boring."

Virelya's voice slid in, smooth and skeptical, her porcelain mask tilting.

"An angel in the Abyss is never boring," she said, her golden eyes narrowing, her veils trailing like ghosts.

Zathra's eyes widened a fraction, her tail flicking twice.

"Angel?" she asked, her gaze running over Azareel like she was inspecting a weapon she didn't know how to use.

"So that's why you smell so… not-dead. I haven't seen one of you here since—" She waved a hand dismissively.

"Doesn't matter. They all tried to kill me. I tried to kill them. Standard."

"And now?" Sylvara asked quietly, her amber eyes steady, her vines curling slightly, her crimson leaves rustling.

Zathra leaned forward, far too close to Azareel's face, her red-orange eyes burning with interest. "Now? You're alive. And interesting. And… soft-looking," she said, her grin widening.

Nyxsha's fingers twitched, her golden eyes blazing. "Don't get close to him, he is mine."

Zathra ignored her, pointing at her own head.

"Hey. If you wanna thank me—" she said, bouncing slightly, "—pat me."