The Devil's Warrior Queen
Chapter 256: Hysteria Comes Again

Chapter 256: Hysteria Comes Again

{The Present after Draco regains consciousness}

Rama was in a rather frenzied state when he revealed to her there was no peace treaty between him and his father, he had brainwashed her with lies, but knowing the reason why he did, she didn’t react.

"Zamiel says you’ll be fine after some time, but what if HE comes to attack us before you recover?" She pointed out as she emphasized on the he.

"You shouldn’t worry, he still won’t be strong enough to weaken me, besides I feel better now." He said in a rather nonchalant tone as he sat up on the bed.

Not saying a word, Rama climbed the bed as she locked her arms around his torso in a tight embrace, closing the distance between them as she nestled her body next to him.

Resting her head on his chest, she stole a furtive glance at him as she said "Don’t ever scare me like that again."

Stroking her hair, he planted a soft kiss on her forehead as he murmured out the words "Never."

As the days passed by slowly, the beclouding veil of distress and apprehension shrouded them all. Every break of dawn and appearance of the twilight left them in a state of upheaval as they anticipated the presence of Lucifer anytime soon.

Zamiel, on the other hand had been putting in efforts to persuade Malika on releasing Morwana, but his efforts were proved to be futile as she stood against it. She could still vividly recollect every terrifying energy she had felt from Morwana’s dark essence that had been subdued with hate, rage and vengeance.

She could only imagine the catastrophic damage and chaos she would induce on the world if she were ever to be released. Malika was rather adamant on freeing her, she couldn’t bring herself to.

Thankfully, Rama had been preoccupied with the vampire king, so she had barely noticed that Malika was being secretive even though her efforts to hide a secret was quite blatant, her body language was enough to give her out, but fortunately she hadn’t noticed a single thing.

With each passing moment of the inauspicious days, the acrid taste of fear hung on her tongue like a haunting reminder of what was to befall them, of the devil’s sinister designs against them.

Days of hysteria had woven a dark tapestry of foreboding, casting an inauspicious shadow upon her weary soul. The world around her seemed draped in a cloak of uncertainty, where every passing moment carried the weight of impending turmoil.

From the high towers of the castle to the humblest hamlets nestled amidst verdant fields, a palpable sense of unease lingered in the air.

The once vibrant tapestries that adorned the castle walls now seemed to mirror the despondency that lingered in Rama’s heart. Hues of vibrant emerald and royal crimson appeared muted, as though dulled by the pervasive malaise that had settled upon the kingdom.

Nights brought little solace, for slumber often eluded her troubled mind, the only way for her to evade the nightmarish reality she was trapped in. Dreams, once a sanctuary of respite, became haunted by visions of impending calamity, ominous omens and veiled prophecies that spoke of a world teetering on the brink of upheaval.

The clamor of daily life was disturbed by an unsettling stillness, a silence pregnant with unspoken fears and apprehensions.

Rama’s own heart echoed the disarray that engulfed the kingdom, a relentless storm of worries and concerns that threatened to erode her resilience. Her steps, once imbued with purposeful determination, now carried the weight of their world burdened by strife.

Amidst the chaos that swirled around her, Rama stood as a beacon of quiet fortitude, her unwavering resolve a testament to her unwavering spirit. Yet, even her steadfast demeanor couldn’t shield her from the relentless barrage of troubles that assailed her senses, leaving her feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

As the days of hysteria lingered, Rama grappled with the disconcerting realization that truly there was no evasion from the gripping claws of the devil’s wicked machinations, so rather than sulking over a fate she could not alter, she readied herself for the impending battle against the devil.

In the discreet silence of the darkness cloaking the underground prison where Morwena was imprisoned, a strange wave of energy consumed the coffin, stimulated from Malika’s touch from whence her powers had been unexpectedly provoked when she touched the coffin.

The crypt itself was a realm veiled in an almost suffocating silence, broken only by the echo of distant whispers, a spectral chorus that seemed to emanate from the very stone walls. The air hung heavy with the weight of ages, charged with a palpable sense of foreboding that seemed to cling to the shadows.

As the midnight hour approached, a subtle shift stirred within the confines of the coffin. Faint tendrils of dark energy, unseen by mortal eyes, coiled and writhed, a manifestation of the entity’s restless essence. The sorcerous bindings that had held Morwana in check for millennia quivered imperceptibly, their stability shaken by an alteration in the enchantments.

A pulsating aura of dark energy enveloped the coffin, casting an ominous glow that danced along the ancient runes etched upon its surface. The once serene vessel now writhed with an unsettling life of its own, as if the very wood strained against the confines of its containment.

Within the depths of the coffin, Morwana, the goddess of death, stirred from its ageless slumber.

An otherworldly awareness pervaded its consciousness, a primal instinct that sensed the subtle disturbance in the fabric of its imprisonment. A surge of malevolent energy emanated from the entity, radiating outward in invisible waves that reverberated through the underground crypt.

The air crackled with an intensity born of ancient darkness, an unseen storm gathering strength within the confines of the chamber. Shadows seemed to elongate and writhe, twisting like specters cast from the depths of the entity’s malevolence.

With each passing moment, the pulses of dark energy intensified, resonating in a rhythm that echoed the entity’s awakening fury. The coffin, once a bastion of containment, now seemed to strain against the mystical chains that bound it, creaking and groaning as if protesting the alteration that had disturbed its ancient balance.

Arcane symbols etched upon the coffin’s surface flared to life, glowing with an ominous luminescence. The very essence of the vessel seemed to throb in sync with Morwana’s burgeoning wrath, as though the dark entity sought to rend the fragile veil that held it captive.

As the crypt’s ethereal silence shattered, a palpable sense of dread permeated the chamber. The walls themselves seemed to quiver in fear, an unsettling tremor that mirrored the impending release of the malevolent force within the coffin.

Within the confines of the castle, a chill wind whispered through the corridors, carrying with it a haunting melody, an eerie symphony that spoke of impending doom. Unseen to all but those attuned to the arcane, spectral wisps danced around the crypt, a spectral ballet drawn forth by the entity’s burgeoning power.

Ensnared within the confines of the coffin, Morwana sensed the disruption in the carefully woven threads of its imprisonment. A sentient darkness, it lingered at the edge of its containment, a seething mass of malevolence restrained by the weakened sorceries that bound it.

The entity’s consciousness, an amalgamation of shadowy essence and insatiable hunger for freedom brushed against the fraying boundaries of its confinement. An insidious awareness pulsed within the confines of the coffin, akin to a caged beast testing the limits of its enclosure.

The dark energy that permeated the crypt surged in response to Morwana’s burgeoning agitation. A palpable tension hung in the air, suffused with an aura of impending turmoil.

The ancient stones of the crypt seemed to resonate with the entity’s mounting unrest, as though the very foundations of the castle quivered in anticipation of an imminent cataclysm.

Yet, despite the goddess of death’s fervent attempts to rupture the weakened bindings, the coffin held firm, its surface undisturbed, the sigils maintaining their enigmatic luminescence. The altered enchantments, though straining under the entity’s malevolent pressure, held fast against the onslaught of its insidious will.

The coffin acted as a crucible, containing the maelstrom of Morwana’s formidable power within its confines. Shadows roiled within the vessel, an ever-shifting tempest of darkness restrained by the lingering remnants of the sorcerous restraints.

Amid this arcane turmoil, wisps of dark energy snaked and twisted, seeking escape routes through the smallest fissures in the ancient oak. The crypt echoed with the faint sound of whispers, hushed, sinister murmurs that reverberated from the coffin, an ominous chorus heralding the entity’s restless yearning for liberation.

The castle above remained oblivious to the turmoil brewing beneath its foundations. Unseen by mortal eyes, the struggle between containment and liberation unfolded within the crypt’s silent confines, a clandestine battle waged in the realm of unseen forces.

Morwana’s relentless efforts to exploit the weakened imprisonment persisted, each surge of dark energy akin to a tempestuous wave crashing against the resilient shores of the coffin’s enchantments. Yet, despite the entity’s malevolent fervor, the ancient sorceries of Draco’s malignant powers, though frayed and strained, held resolute against the goddess of death’s insidious bid for freedom.