My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 136 - No. My Crying Angel (2)

[Location: ???]

"...Let go... you’re supposed to... let go."

The words lingered between us, fragile, uncertain—like I wasn’t entirely sure I was allowed to say them.

Helel stared at me.

Not blankly.

Not confused.

But the way someone looks at a door they’ve been afraid to open for so long that they’ve forgotten what’s on the other side.

"...Let go," he repeated softly.

His fingers curled slightly, then relaxed, then curled again. The silver-gold threads of his wings dimmed and brightened in uneven pulses, like a heartbeat that hadn’t decided on a rhythm yet.

"I... don’t understand," he admitted. "I’ve been... trying to hold on. For so long. If I let go..." His voice thinned. "What will be left?"

I exhaled slowly.

"Nothing," I said honestly.

He flinched.

Then I continued.

"And that’s okay."

He looked up at me, startled. "O-Okay...?"

"Yeah," I said, meeting his eyes. "Because you’re not supposed to be left behind."

The darkness around us stirred again—not aggressively this time, but attentively. As if the space itself was listening.

"Helel," I said gently, "this place? It isn’t a prison. And it isn’t a sanctuary either. It’s... residue."

"...Residue," he echoed.

"A seal always leaves something behind," I went on. "Intent. Will. Meaning. When you sealed Alucard... you didn’t just lock him away. You left an answer behind."

His wings trembled.

"I did?"

"You didn’t mean to," I added quickly. "You never mean to. But you always do more than you think."

He swallowed.

"I only wanted... to stop him," he said quietly. "He was... hurting so many. Consuming so much. I thought if I could just... contain him... then maybe..." His voice faltered. "Maybe I could apologize later."

...Of course you did.

"That’s exactly it," I said. "You didn’t seal him out of hatred. Or judgment. Or pride."

I stepped closer. The darkness parted slightly to allow it.

"You sealed him because you believed even someone like Alucard shouldn’t be erased."

His eyes widened.

"I... I didn’t want him to disappear," he whispered. "Even though everyone told me it was necessary."

There it is.

The core.

"You left this behind," I said, gesturing vaguely around us. "An echo that refuses to accept erasure as a solution."

The silver-gold light around him wavered violently.

"...Is that... wrong?" he asked.

"No," I said immediately. "It’s dangerous. But it’s not wrong."

He laughed softly.

It wasn’t a happy laugh.

"I’ve been told that before."

I smiled faintly. "Yeah. I figured."

Silence settled again—but this time, it felt like a held breath nearing release.

"So..." Helel said hesitantly. "If I... let go... what happens to you?"

Ah.

There it was.

Even now.

Even as an echo losing himself piece by piece.

He was worried about someone else.

I scratched my cheek, deliberately casual.

"I wake up," I said. "Eventually."

"...Eventually?"

"Well," I shrugged, "I might be unconscious for a while. Or stuck in my own head. Or screaming internally while my body pretends everything’s fine. Hard to say."

He looked horrified.

"Oh! Th-That sounds... extremely unpleasant!"

"It’s a hobby."

"That’s not funny!"

"It kind of is," I said. "In a cosmic irony sort of way."

He frowned, then hesitated. "Will... will you remember me?"

The question hit harder than it had any right to.

I didn’t answer immediately.

Because the honest answer was complicated.

But I gave him the truth that mattered.

"Yes," I said. "Even if you disappear completely... I’ll remember that you existed."

His lips trembled.

"...Thank you," he whispered.

The darkness around us began to shift—not violently, not suddenly—but like sand loosening under gentle water.

Something was changing.

"I’m... scared," Helel admitted, finally. "I don’t know how to... stop being."

I stepped closer, until we were only a few paces apart.

"You don’t stop," I said softly. "You finish."

He tilted his head, tears beginning to pool in his eyes—bright, luminous drops that fell upward instead of down, dissolving into light before they could reach the ground.

"...Finish... what?"

I raised my hand—not touching him, not interfering—just close enough that he could see the intention.

"The apology," I said. "You never got to finish it."

The silver-gold threads of his wings froze.

Then—

They resonated.

A low, gentle hum filled the void. Not sound, not vibration—recognition.

"...I remember," Helel breathed.

Fragments flickered around us.

Not memories exactly—feelings.

A sense of standing before something impossibly vast.

A desire to explain.

A fear of causing harm.

A hope—fragile, naive, sincere—that kindness might be enough.

"I... wanted to say," he whispered, tears flowing freely now, "that I didn’t mean to overstep. That I only wanted to help. That I believed... even monsters deserved a chance to stop."

His voice cracked completely.

"But I never asked if they wanted saving."

The hum deepened.

The darkness recoiled.

"That’s not a sin," I said quietly.

"It isn’t?" he asked, desperate.

"No," I said. "It’s a mistake."

He laughed weakly through tears.

"...I make a lot of those."

"Yeah," I said. "But you own them."

The light around him began to unravel—not fading, but loosening. Threads of his wings detached gently, drifting upward like dandelion seeds caught in a nonexistent breeze.

"I think..." Helel said softly, "...I’m tired."

"I know."

"Will... will it hurt?"

I shook my head. "No. Not this part."

He nodded.

Then—slowly, carefully, as if afraid of breaking something—he bowed to me.

Deep.

Formal.

Polite.

"Thank you," he said, voice trembling. "For... seeing me."

I returned the bow.

Because some beings deserved that respect—no matter how small their echo had become.

"Goodbye, gramps..."

He straightened.

For a brief moment—just a heartbeat—his wings flared fully, radiant and beautiful beyond words. Not majestic. Not dominating.

Just... kind.

Then he smiled at me.

A small, shy smile.

"I know, I won’t be there for you, my g-grandson... But know this—I’m proud... proud of being able to—"

His voice faltered.

Not because of fear.

But because the words themselves were becoming harder to hold.

The silver-gold light around Helel fractured gently, like glass warming under the sun. Not shattering—releasing. Each fragment peeled away with deliberate softness, drifting upward and outward, dissolving into the dark like embers returning to a forgotten fire.

He frowned slightly, confused.

"Proud of... being able to..." He searched for the thought, blinking as if it were on the tip of his tongue. "Ah—I’m sorry. I lost it again."

I swallowed.

"It’s okay," I said. "You already said enough."

He studied my face for a long moment. Really looked at me. Not as an echo. Not as an obligation. But as a person standing in front of him.

"I wish..." he began, then stopped himself, smiling apologetically. "No. I shouldn’t wish. Wishes cling."

"You’re allowed one," I said.

He hesitated.

Then leaned forward slightly, conspiratorial.

"I wish," he whispered, "that you won’t have to apologize as much as I did."

...Damn it.

I laughed quietly. "No promises."

He chuckled—a soft, breathy sound that carried more relief than humour.

"That figures."

The darkness around us loosened further. The sense of place was thinning, like fog burned away by morning light. There was no floor anymore. No direction. Just presence and absence negotiating a final truce.

Helel’s wings were almost gone now. What remained were faint outlines—afterimages of kindness etched into nothing.

"I think..." he said slowly, touching his chest as if checking for something that wasn’t there anymore, "I think this is where I stop."

I nodded.

"Yeah."

He didn’t sound sad about it.

Just... peaceful.

He took a breath.

Then another.

The second one didn’t come out.

Instead, light flowed from his mouth—not speech, not breath, but intention. A single thread, thinner than the rest, drifted toward me instinctively.

I felt it brush against my chest.

Not entering.

Not merging.

Just... acknowledging.

[—Unregistered phenomenon detected—]

I ignored it.

Helel blinked.

"Oh!" he said, surprised. "You’re still very... solid."

"Annoyingly so."

"That’s good," he said earnestly. "Solid things can be relied on."

The last of his wings dissolved.

Only Helel remained now—no radiance, no geometry, no celestial grandeur.

Just a young man in simple robes, standing barefoot in nothing.

He looked... smaller.

But somehow more real.

"One more thing," he said suddenly, lifting a finger. "Before I forget how to speak."

"Go on."

He hesitated, then asked, very seriously, "Did I... do okay?"

The question wasn’t cosmic.

It wasn’t divine.

It was painfully human.

I didn’t sugarcoat it.

"You messed up," I said.

He winced.

"But," I continued, "you messed up trying to be kind in a universe that punishes kindness. And you paid the price. And you still tried."

His shoulders relaxed.

"I see," he said quietly.

Then he smiled.

A real one.

Not shy.

Not apologetic.

Just... content.

"Then that’s enough for me."

The darkness surged inward.

Not violently.

Gently.

Like a curtain closing.

Helel closed his eyes.

His form began to fade—not erasing, not collapsing—but completing. As if a sentence had finally found its punctuation.

Just before he vanished completely, his lips moved one last time.

No sound came out.

But I understood it anyway.

Live well.

Then—

He was gone.

No light.

No echo.

No presence.

Nothing rushed in to replace him.

The space didn’t feel empty.

It felt... resolved.

For a moment, I simply stood there—if standing was even the right word—alone in a place that no longer had a reason to exist.

The darkness wavered.

Then peeled away.

...

[Location: 99th Floor Of Vampire King’s Castle]

Pain hit me like a delayed freight train.

Not sharp.

Not explosive.

Deep.

Bone-deep.

Soul-deep.

Like every cell in my body, suddenly remembered it was never meant to house something like Genesis.

I gasped.

Lungs screamed into existence.

Gravity returned with a vengeance.

I slammed down onto cold stone, choking as air burned its way into my chest.

"Cough—!"

My vision swam violently. Blood thundered in my ears. Every nerve lit up as it had just been plugged directly into a sun.

[Authority disengagement complete.]

[Residual backlash—ongoing.]

[Warning: Vessel integrity compromised.]

I groaned, curling slightly on the ground.

"Yeah... yeah... I know..." I muttered hoarsely.

My shadows reacted instantly.

But they were a step late—

"UWAH-UWAH!-UWAH! PAPA! DON’T LEAVE EWIS PLEASE! I BE GOOD!"

A small bundle of silver-white hair with faint golden tips clung to my figure, crying her eyes out.

The cry hit me harder than the stone floor.

Not because it was loud.

Because it was real.

Tiny hands clutched my collar with terrifying strength, fingers digging in like she was afraid reality itself might peel me away again. Her face was buried against my chest, sobs hitching so violently that her whole body shook.

"Papa—! Papa—! Don’t go again—! I be good, I swear—!"

...Ah.

So that’s how I wake up.

I groaned softly, every movement sending lightning through my ribs, but I forced my arm to move. Forced it to work. My fingers brushed against warm hair—soft, messy, very much alive.

"Hey," I rasped. "Hey... I’m here."

She froze.

Not slowly.

Instantly.

Like a statue struck by a command word.

Then she lifted her head.

Big golden eyes—too big for her face, red and swollen from crying—stared straight into mine. Her nose was running. Her cheeks were blotchy. Her lips trembled like she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

"...Papa...?" she whispered.

"...Yeah," I said weakly. "That’s me."

For exactly half a second, her brain tried to process that.

Then she screamed.

Not in fear.

In relief.

"PAPAAAAAA—!!!"

She launched herself fully onto me, wrapping arms and legs around my torso with zero regard for my injuries. Pain flared so hard I saw stars, but I bit it back hard enough to taste iron.

"Okay—okay—easy—!" I hissed. "Ow—ow—ow—!"

She didn’t listen.

She never does.

Her face mashed against my neck as she cried with renewed intensity, tiny fists clutching fabric, hair, me, like if she loosened her grip even a little, I’d vanish again.

"I thought—hic—I thought Papa gone forever—! Big scary blood man—! Castle scream—! Papa fall—! Papa not wake—!"

...Right.

"...Hey," I murmured again, forcing my arm to move despite how much my body protested. "Easy. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

The little girl shook her head violently, silver-white hair whipping everywhere.

"No! Papa say that before—then Papa disappear—!" she sobbed, clinging tighter. "I don’t believe—!"

"Yeah, yeah, fair," I croaked. "That one’s on me."

Her grip tightened anyway.

Pain screamed up my ribs. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

I hissed through my teeth but didn’t push her away.

Some things were worth breaking for.

"I’m breathing, aren’t I?" I said softly, angling my head so she could feel the warmth of my breath against her ear. "See? Still warm. Still annoying. Still alive."

She froze again.

Then—very carefully—she pressed her ear against my chest.

I felt her listening.

Counting.

One heartbeat.

Then another.

"...Thump," she whispered.

I smiled faintly.

"Yeah," I said. "That one’s mine."

Her shoulders sagged all at once.

Like a tower collapsing after the storm passed.

The crying didn’t stop—but it changed. Became quieter. Softer. The kind of sobbing that came from exhaustion, not panic. Her fingers loosened just enough to stop hurting but never fully let go.

"...Papa... don’t go..." she mumbled, words slurring together. "Stay... please..."

"I will," I said immediately. No hesitation. No qualifiers. "I promise."

I meant it.

Even if the universe objected.

She sniffed, rubbed her face against my collar like a kitten, then went still.

Asleep.

Just... like that.

Her breathing evened out, tiny chest rising and falling steadily against mine.

I exhaled slowly, staring up at the cracked stone ceiling of the 99th floor.

"...Guess I missed a lot," I muttered.

***

Stone me, I can take it!

Please leave a review; it really helps.

Comments are almost nonexistent. Which, in turn, demotivates the authors. Please have some compassion.