The Devil's Warrior Queen
Chapter 197: The Grim Reaper II

Chapter 197: The Grim Reaper II

In the hushed whispers of midnight’s veil, a haunting presence materializes, a figure veiled in shadows, draped in a billowing onyx cloak that sways ominously with each deliberate step.

It was obvious the Grim Reaper had come to acquire Rama’s soul, but Draco was burning with resolve, unwilling to let that happen. If he had to, he would disrupt the balance of fate itself.

As he stood in front of the altar, shielding her body from the Grim Reaper, with precise movements, it took off its hood to reveal its face.

His chiseled countenance, handsome yet eerily captivating, was framed by locks of midnight-black hair cascading like tendrils of the night itself.

Eyes as dark as the abyss held an unfathomable depth, devoid of mercy, harboring the wisdom of countless eons. His presence exuded an unsettling aura, an otherworldly magnetism that drew both fear and fascination from those who chance upon his path.

In the ancient realm of swords and sorcery, the Grim Reaper strides forth, not as a mere skeletal specter but as a malevolent harbinger, a maleficent embodiment of fate’s unyielding decree. A gleaming scythe, forged in the fires of inevitability, rests confidently in his grasp, a tool of cosmic balance and finality, its glinting edge a chilling reminder of mortality’s impartiality.

As he moved through the tapestry of existence, the very fabric of reality seemed to quiver in acknowledgment of his presence, a foreboding testament to the inescapable truth that all life must one day yield to his silent call, but Draco wouldn’t watch that happen.

"The Grim Reaper." Aurora breathed out in a rather silent voice that was unheard by the two malevolent presence.

Aware that there was nothing she could do about the Grim Reaper, she decided to sneak out of their sight, as their attention was both fixed on the corpse, with contrasting motives.

Silently, she dragged her feet back until she was out of their sight as she exited the vicinity without their awareness. She would have been thankful of the fact that the Grim Reaper had appeared in the middle of her anticipated end, but if it managed to acquire Rama’s soul, then it would be the end of the world, not her.

The Grim Reaper started moving toward the corpse in a movement that felt rather like floating than walking as he glid through the floor with an uncanny sense constantly hovering around him. His dead black eyes locked onto the body on the stone altar, but as he neared, Draco invoked the sinister forces from within his dark essence, emitting a pulse wave that sent ripples through the air.

A shadowy ethereal mist woven with protective tendrils of dark powers, surged forth to envelop her fragile form. The spectral shroud, a manifestation of Draco’s zealous willpower stood as an impenetrable barrier against the Reaper’s relentless pursuit.

Each time the Reaper dared to breach this spectral barricade as he reached for the essence of her soul, the cloak would rumble with a guttural echo as the shield convulsed with an arcane fury.

Immediately its pale, ashen hands came in contact with the barrier, the macabre forces residing within the shadowy barrier would pulverize its fingers and crush them into dust which drifted into the void within it, preventing even an inch of its soul sucking skin to go anyway near her.

While Draco’s gaze burned like his unwavering resolve, the reaper’s stoic demeanor never betrayed him as he gave multiple trials to take the soul of the dead human, but each trial led to another unprecedented round of failure.

Everytime its fingers would get pulverized, he would retract them to heal and after healing, he would mechanically reach out for her again, despite the repetition of failure, but its relentless will to acquire her soul never waned.

If Draco could, he wouldn’t bat an eyelid before ripping off its head from its shoulders, but he knew better that they were a far cry from living creatures, they had no life, so death was inevitable for them because they were the embodiment of death itself, so how could he give them death if they were death?

They were creatures manifested from the essence of death itself, the only beings capable of blurring the line between life and death, as they did not fit into any of the contexts.

So rather than wasting his time and energy trying to fight off the harbinger of death, he rather watched as it put futile efforts into penetrating his barrier.

After long moments of relatively watching the reaper as he relentlessly tried to break through, it finally stopped. With a dead countenance, it veered around and as it took one step, it felt as though it stepped into the force of time and space as a swirling vortex enveloped it, in which at the next millisecond, it vanished into thin air.

Scrutinizing the area intently, he settled his gaze on her, and the shadowy mists slowly dissipated into thin air. He stroked her cheeks tenderly as he whispered to her ears "I’ll make you strong my love, so we can burn the world together." he said beneath gritted teeth as his eyes burned flaming red.

His guttural promise echoed with the resounding pressure of a damned soul crushed beneath the force of an undeniable loss, one that was beyond just a mere loss but rather transcended mere mortal comprehension.

He was not only drowning in a bloody sea of rage because she had died, he was also drowning in a bloody sea of rage because she was stripped of her mortal form without bracing herself for the life changing transformation.

He worried because he knew just how much she had reviled vampires and now been turned into one without having enough space and time to think thoroughly about it unnerved him, it was supposed to be a significant change in her life, but now it would be a significant trauma for her to wake up as a vampire after her throat had been slashed.

Cradling her gently in his arms, he pressed her against his chest as dark mists swirled around him and then, a fog of darkness imbued with hellish sparks engulfed his form, concealing his figure as it swallowed him into a vortex of darkness and they disappeared back to the castle.

---------

{Malika & Zamiel’s side story}

Malika was taken unaware by Lord Zamiel’s words and even more unaware as he slammed his lips on hers.

She wanted to query him on yet another puzzling knowledge he seemed to share with her but the underlying meaning behind his words left her clueless or perhaps there was no underlying meaning but only a transparent one.

She wondered if what he meant was that he wanted her to be his. She couldn’t understand why, but what she definitely understood was that he was a great kisser, he almost made her melt in his arms like sugar dissolving in water.

She wanted to ask questions, but their locked lips prevented words from spewing out of her mouth, although she preferred their lips locked at that moment, she could ask her questions later.

While she was in the midst of her thoughts, his strong arm wound around her waist as he pushed her slightly for her to lie on the bed.

Her breath hitched when he hovered above her and her body trembled underneath his as he planted kisses down her slender neck to the trail of her collarbone.

She could feel his hands crawling over her body, caressing her in a synchronizing touch of tenderness and lust. The feeling of nervousness bolted through her body but somehow, she gained confidence and rather than pushing him away, she let him touch her, after all she wanted it.

The air charged with tension as her breath shuddered in anticipation of what would happen next, she was anxious and slightly agitated at the next step. She was well aware of the next step, which would ultimately lead to her having to bed him. The thought of their naked skins rubbing against each other made her nervous, but the feeling of excitement surpassed it as she visualized the blissful feeling he would plunge her into.

His hands crawled from her thighs upward to her chest and just as he was about to pull the lace holding her dress together, he stiffly moved away from her as he clambered out of the bed, leaving her confused with furrowed brows and questioning eyes at him.

"They’re back.....but I can smell blood, a lot of blood." He said with a grave look, he was well aware that something was wrong because Draco could never bleed out that much especially since he was immortal and almost invincible, it was a hassle to make him bleed.

Her face, etched with pleasure was now twisted with worry. Without saying a word more, she followed lord Zamiel out of the room as he took long, hasty strides toward a different room.

Every breath she took hung on trepidation and suspense, but she felt an uneasy weight of inauspiciousness clinging to her.

As Zamiel uninvitedly opened the door to a room, she hastily occupied it and her eyes narrowed to the figure on the bed whose throat had evidently being gorily slashed open.

At first, she was confused but then when she took in the features of the person on the bed in the softly lit room, she recognised her.

"R-Rama?" She stuttered with quivering lips, tears cascading silently down her cheeks.

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