The Royal Darkness

9. All around Lies

"Doctor, do whatever it takes," he pleaded, his eyes locking onto the lead physician. "She's my universe. My reason for breathing. If somethinghappens to her none of you will be able live a second longer ."

The doctor's face turn pale , but Abhishek glimpsed the gravity in those eyes-the shared knowledge that Aditi's fate hung in delicate balance. The hospital buzzed with urgency, yet time stretched, elongated into an eternity of fear and longing.

"We'll do our best," the doctor murmured, and Abhishek's heart clenched. "But you must prepare yourself. Sometimes even our best efforts..." The sentence trailed off, unfinished, but its weight bore down on Abhishek's shoulders.

He sank into a chair, his knuckles white as he clenched the edges. The room blurred-the sterile walls, the antiseptic scent-all fading into insignificance. Only Aditi mattered. Her eyelids fluttered, and he willed her to fight, to return to him.

Outside, the world held its breath. India's finest doctors grappled with life and death, and Abhishek's soul hung in the balance. If Aditi slipped away, they would all pay the price.

In that hallowed corridor, love and desperation collided-a symphony of anguish and hope. Abhishek's whispered prayers merged with the hum of machines, and he vowed that if Aditi survived, he would cherish every heartbeat, every stolen moment.

For now, he clung to her, the universe distilled into the fragile form of a woman. And as the seconds ticked by, he wondered if love alone could defy fate.

The operation theater held its breath, a collective silence that clung to the walls like a shroud. Abhishek's gaze remained fixed on the sterile floor, his fingers tracing patterns in the sticky residue of his queen's blood. The crimson stain seeped into his soul, branding him with failure.

Around him, the others stood-doctors, nurses, and anxious family members. Their eyes avoided him, as if acknowledging his grief would unravel the fragile equilibrium of the room. But Abhishek didn't care. He was lost in the tempest of his own emotions.

Fear-a primal force that gnawed at his insides. Fear of losing her-the woman who had become his heartbeat. They had exchanged vows, promising to shield each other from life's storms. Yet here he sat, impotent, as fate swung its merciless scythe.

And anger-oh, the anger! It surged within him, a wildfire consuming reason. Anger at the universe, at the cruel twist of destiny. Anger at himself for being powerless, for failing to protect her. The bullet had grazed her, a mere scratch, but it might as well have torn through his own heart.

His mother's eyes bore into him, a silent plea for strength. But what strength could he summon when his soul quaked? She knew the truth-the depth of his love, the fragility of their newly minted bond. The wedding chaos, the joyous celebration-it all blurred into this moment of reckoning.

And then, like a spectral harbinger, the female doctor emerged. Her footsteps echoed, each one a countdown to revelation. Abhishek's heart hammered against his ribs. Would she confirm his worst fears? Or would hope pierce through the darkness?

Her voice cut through the tension, sharp and clinical: "Now she is out of danger." The words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. Abhishek's breath hitched. Consciousness-that elusive state where dreams and reality collided-would soon reclaim her.

"But," the doctor continued, "the bullet merely brushed her. A scratch, really." Abhishek's mind reeled. A scratch? His queen's blood had painted the floor, and yet she was unscathed? He wanted to laugh, to scream, to demand answers. But he remained frozen, a statue of disbelief.

"She fainted," the doctor added, "probably due to hunger. Wedding chaos, you know." And just like that, the gravity of the situation collided with absurdity. His beloved, lying unconscious, not from a gunshot wound, but from skipping meals. The irony was cruel, almost comical.

Abhishek's red-rimmed eyes widened. Suspense hung in the air. He imagined his queen waking up, blinking at him, and saying, "Darling, next time, let's save the drama for the honeymoon, shall we?"

And so, in the midst of pain and danger, a chuckle bubbled up-a desperate, almost hysterical sound. The operation theater held its breath once more, this time teetering on the edge of laughter.

For Abhishek, the world had tilted. His soul still trembled, but perhaps, just perhaps, there was room for hope. And as he rose from the floor, he vowed to protect her-even from her own hunger-induced fainting spells.

Because love, it seemed, was both tragic and absurd-a wild ride through green-lit corridors and blood-stained floors.

And somewhere, in the cosmic theater of life, the universe chuckled back. 🌟

Meanwhile Abhishek's Demon spoke in his mind taking to mistrious man who dared to even scratch her

Listen, you pitiful vermin, for the hour of reckoning has shattered the hourglass. Each of you who dared to defile my porcelain muse, who wrenched joy from her fragile heart and stained our sacred union-prepare to swallow the bitter draught of retribution.

I, the unyielding monarch of this malevolent realm, am no mere mortal. My veins pulse with liquid malice, my heart beats to the rhythm of vendetta, and my soul is forged in the crucible of damnation. You thought me pliant, a puppet to be manipulated? Nay, imbeciles! I am the architect of chaos, the maestro of malevolence, and my wrath knows no bounds.

Seven lifetimes shall bear witness to your demise. Seven cycles of anguish, regret, and agonizing torment. Your screams will echo through the abyss, and your souls shall writhe in eternal damnation. For I am the shadow that devours, the nightmare incarnate, and my love for her-the fragile glass doll-fuels this inferno.

Prepare yourselves, for the reaper's scythe awaits. Your sins have summoned him, and he comes with a hunger that transcends mortality. Your breaths shall falter, your bones shall splinter, and your very essence shall dissolve into the void. And as your life force wanes, remember this: I am the harbinger of your demise, and my name shall be etched in the annals of terror.

Let the danse macabre commence, my wretched adversaries. The lover mafia king has spoken, and his verdict is final. May your souls find no solace, no redemption, as they spiral into oblivion. In this twisted tango, there is no escape-only obliteration.

🖤🔪🌹

Soooooo sorry for late update am currently hospitalized with Aditi🥲. But still will try my best to update soon but first you guys have to comment what might happen the person who dared to touch his glass doll . Swear next chapter will show my candies real meaning of obsessions possession and madness.