The Devil's Warrior Queen
Chapter 317: Secrets In The Crypt

Chapter 317: Secrets In The Crypt

It had been hours since he left, when he said he’d be right back, she figured he would arrive immediately, but then his arrival was taking longer than expected.

The thought that he was now avoiding her made her breath hitch, perhaps she had offended him and inflicted a wound more severe than she had thought its effect would be.

She hoped she hadn’t spewed out mindless words and unknowingly triggered him. She cursed her sharp mouth as she reasoned out the odds and possibilities of her words.

The silence of the chambers was interrupted only by the distant howls of night creatures and the occasional creaking of the castle’s timeworn structure. Rama’s mind wandered, conjuring images of Draco traversing the shadowy paths beyond the castle walls.

In that moment, Rama’s inner turmoil surpassed the fantastical tales. The weight of her words hung heavily in the air, mingling with the scent of ancient tomes lining the shelves. She closed her eyes, trying to banish the regrets that clouded her thoughts.

Outside, the moon cast its silvery glow over the courtyard, bathing the castle in an ethereal luminescence.

The chambers felt like a sanctuary frozen in time, as if the very walls held their collective breath in anticipation of Draco’s return. She longed to see his familiar silhouette against the moonlit backdrop, to hear the echoes of his footsteps drawing near.

The minutes turned to hours, and the silence grew more oppressive. Her worry deepened with each passing moment. Had he been harmed by the treacherous entity surrounding the castle, or had he chosen to distance himself from her cutting words? She couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that coiled in the pit of her stomach.

Desperation drove Rama to the balcony overlooking the castle grounds. The night air whispered through her hair as she peered into the darkness, straining her senses for any sign of Draco’s return. The stars above seemed to mock her with their distant, unattainable glow.

In the flickering candlelight, Rama’s gaze fell upon the gift Draco had given her, a delicate ruby necklace as he had said.

She clutched it in her hand, the cool surface a reminder of the connection they shared. The necklace seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, amplifying the longing in her heart.

As the night wore on, her patience waned, replaced by a gnawing anxiety. The castle seemed to close in around her, its stone walls suffocating in their silence. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Draco’s absence was a consequence of her own actions, a punishment for her thoughtless words and she was well aware it was.

As each second ticked, her eyes never strayed away from the door, within those lonely hours she had struggled with her rational and irrational mind, to let go of the guilt she felt, she had tried to convince herself that he was a monster and she need not feel guilty for her words, but amidst all the struggle to retain her sanity, she succumbed to the familiarity of the connection they shared.

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(In The Abyssal Crypt)

Draco’s form blended with the shadowy darkness as he delved deeper into the crypt, his eyes surveying the place that had once been a prison of torment to him.

Proceeding farther into the crypt, he emerged into a dark expanse, where his flaming eyes narrowed to the sight in front of him, where the familiar girl lay on a pyre enclosed with demon essence, well preserved in the enclosure.

His eyes dilated as his lips twisted into a disdainful, half-hearted smile that barely reached his lips.

"So this is the infection..." He murmured under his breath as he moved slowly toward the pyre.

His head tilted slightly to the side as he examined her, while his eyes swiftly darted to the empty vessel beside her before it dropped back on her body.

No one needed to divulge to him what had transpired as he examined the corpse. Stretching his hand toward her, his arm penetrated through the dark shield reaching for her, but then he retracted his arm back.

He could feel the malignant entities encroaching on her, feeding on her life form and wielding her as a vessel to survive in.

"Perhaps you thought I was stupid to let you keep this thing." Draco drawled lazily without turning back, his gaze fixated on the corpse.

"I wasn’t asking for your permission and she’s not a thing." Zamiel concluded behind him.

Draco chuckled dryly as he turned around to face him "I’m amused by your nonchalance, but I could easily destroy this thing with just a snap of my finger, how easy it would be." Draco remarked calmly, not a hint of threat or warning in his unusually calm tone.

"You seem furious and I doubt it’s because of her, perhaps did Rama reject you? Is she scared of you or even better, does she hate you now after watching you rip Dalen’s head off?" Zamiel implied, that his demeanor as he spoke was as calm as an untouched lake, despite fully being aware of the severity of his words.

Draco’s eyes narrowed to a slit with sadistic intent flitting through them as he uttered every word with menace coating it, emphasizing on the words ever slowly to bury the words in his head "You grew more balls after Malika died. I wonder what will happen when you watch her die for the second time, while I burn every cell in her body and make her bones shrivel to dust, then there would be no hope to bring her back to life anymore."

Zamiel sighed in exasperation, nonchalance masking his insensitive face "You need a drink, Draco. Sort out whatever happened between you and Rama, and leave us out of your raging spree."

"You must be fucked in the head Zamiel, to think I would let you bring this thing into the world even on my best day, right now I’m being reasonable and empathetic, I’ll let you destroy it yourself and if you won’t, then I’ll just have to do it myself." His baritone voice reverberated through the air.

"There’s no reason to destroy her, Draco. She won’t cause any troubles when she wakes up, she’ll still be the same Malika so let her be." Zamiel said, the pain in his voice was discernable even as he struggled to suppress it.

His crimson eyes, once ablaze with the fiery intensity of a thousand hells, now bore the weight of profound sorrow. The usually vibrant hue had dulled to a muted, bloodshot red, reflecting the agony that festered within. Each glance was a glimpse into a realm of anguish, an abyss that threatened to consume even the most indomitable of spirits.

Zamiel’s stoic mask, an expressionless facade worn to instill terror in the hearts of his subjects, now faltered under the weight of his grief. The sharp angles of his demonic features contorted, revealing the subtle vulnerability that lurked beneath the surface.

His jaw clenched with an intensity that betrayed the tempest raging within, while his hands, trembled imperceptibly, the only outward sign of the emotional maelstrom churning beneath the surface.

The black armor that encased his formidable frame seemed to mock the fragility of his emotional state. It clung to him like a second skin, a manifestation of the impenetrable fortress he had built around his wounded heart.

Yet, even the most impenetrable fortresses have weak points, and Zamiel’s vulnerability leaked through the cracks like shadows in the moonlight.

The air resonated with an unspoken sorrow, a symphony of pain that wrapped around the demon lord like a shroud.

Zamiel’s attention remained fixed on the void before him, his gaze unyielding, yet haunted.

His thoughts, normally consumed with schemes and strategies, were now imprisoned in a labyrinth of memories. Images of his lost mate danced like phantoms in the recesses of his tortured mind, a relentless torment that refused to be banished.

Despite the overwhelming grief, Zamiel fought to retain a semblance of control. The struggle played out across his countenance, a silent battle between the ruthless sovereign and the anguished soul.

His lips, usually etched in a cruel, predatory smirk, now formed a tight line as he fought against the surge of emotions threatening to spill forth, but the formidable fortress surrounding his emotions firmed up.

Looking weak in front of Draco was an unthinkable feat he would never let transpire.

"She’s dead Zamiel, you can’t bring her back." Draco pointed out in a calm tone, although he was well aware that his words would be nullified in his head, at that moment, it was impossible to let go of her and the only thing keeping him in one piece, was the hope that he could bring her back.

"I have to try even though it’s impossible." Zamiel said with an unwavering resilience, his eyes getting hardened as he clenched his fists in unease.

"It is impossible and if she comes back to life, it won’t be Malika, but rather the entities using her body as a vessel to live, she’s dead and she’s never coming back to life!" Draco hissed in a guttural tone.