The Tale Of The Lost Vampire Queen

Three months ago,

Middle East

Thunder echoed off the cavern walls. The old gentleman sat by the detonator at the passage's entry, keeping an eye out for anything that might disturb the desert's natural balance. His pulse could be heard even in the silence. Regardless, he was perspiring, but not from the dampness. His younger partner seemed oddly accommodating and unaffected by the situation, but he was much more worried than before.

Why not? He had committed a suicidal venture, no royal bloodline vessel, and he was dead.

But they'd been on a long journey together, starting in his office and ending up here. A mission that began with the promise of extraordinary social things, money, and fame has since descended into cruel illicit territories and has grown increasingly risky.

But he couldn't comprehend how they'd arrived at this final juncture, how everything had spiraled out of control into a terrible disaster. The older man turned to face his younger partner. He feared there would be more to come. Death and misery are not far away.

"Now what, my friend?" The older man's words flew out of his mouth, unsettling him. His voice shivered. He was worried about his resilience. "How could this happen to us?" He continued. He couldn't hide his anger or regret.

In any case, his sidekick, a handsome younger man, turned to face him. He wore an old brown coat with torn sleeves, unsuitable for a person of such power and importance. Dark earth-toned pants, too big in the abdomen and too short in the back, with military-style boots. Next came the ridiculous wild silver facial hair and slicked hair down the center, which was rather stupid.

The older man knew that everything was planned and that the deliberate look played a big role. In front of a seasoned double-dealer, the younger man introduced himself as both overseer and observer. It was made to show the modesty and tolerability of a godly man to those who see him.

After an hour of searching for the royal blood vessel, or the queen's vampire bloodline, they were terrified and began to flee. No signs of it, and the older man felt a desensitizing shortcoming as he sat there. He couldn't do anything but stare at the ruins and close his eyes. Is it possible they got mixed up? he wondered.

The stone map confirmed their location. In any case, he considered the consequences if the main royal vessel had been damaged or floated into the air when the passage had been bombed earlier. "Damn it! This is not good." He muttered under his breath.

He began to fear. "What was I doing? Hell! We've been looking for it for an hour now." He growled.

Fear was palpable. A person close to him was dragged away by his thrashing hands. Something was wrong, and he knew it as they could tell by the pain in their stomachs. "Didn't we both know when the vessel was gone?" he asked.

Yet he received no response. His eyes flitted about looking for an exit as a crude alarm rang in the elderly's head. Then, suddenly, a blade cut off his head, and he didn't see it coming.

*****

Present time

At the point when Jessica imagined herself blacking out, she did it with a fragile female air about her. The truth, then again, was somewhat unusual. Sick and dizzy she dropped on the floor before the whole shop, her face whacking the table as she slid down.

Shawn's face had lost its tone. Maybe his heart had halted suddenly and all of his blood had hurried down to his feet. Jessica was simply ready to hang on for a couple of seconds before she was seized and dropped to the cold tile floor by him. "Good gracious! Jess! Somebody! Help! Require a rescue vehicle! Rush!" He let out a shout. "If it's not too much trouble, help! Please!" He shouted.

The rescue vehicle trip to the medical clinic was significantly more nerve-wracking than the episode; Shawn's nervousness expanded with each blow that the rescue vehicle experienced. At the point when he saw her tied into the cot, he realized it was just the start of his bad dream. They expressed that on the off chance that he hadn't called for help when he did, Jessica might have died. Shawn knew that they were struggling to help her, however, their words just deflected away from him. Shawn was uninterested with regards to how they figured out how to save Jessica. He was simply worried about whether or not she would have been alright.

While the hints of the shrieking tires and shouting of the alarm reverberate across the locale, the hysterical drivers of the ambulance race through the roads trying to save another life.

In the emergency room, the doctor accepted them with the stance of a soldier when the circumstance called for it. Each progression he took was arranged out exhaustively and with a gauge. He had a cold and far-off demeanor all over, as doctors often do. Shawn won't ever have the option to loosen up amid such civility and respectability. He did, nonetheless, anticipate a characteristic manifestation, ideally a smile, however if not, he would lean toward that they not fake it.

Jessica was like a sister to him. They were the two vagabonds. They battled, and they'd spent their entire lives as unsuitable bundles shuffled between packed overcrowded shelter homes. Despite this, the two of them rose in a conflict for their freedom. She was recruited into the military at nineteen years old, and she has been serving her country from that point onward while Shawn was working at the university library. Jessica went through fundamental preparation before being shipped off war. He hadn't seen her from that point forward, and he wasn't normal either. Only a couple of months after the fact, she returned, having changed into a new individual—amazingly unique odd, and weird. He thought to himself.

She wasn't acting naturally; she was unable to significantly muster a smile and hardly said anything. He ought to have seen that she wasn't something very similar, and he ought to have acted sooner. The day after she returned, she reached him and went to his condo to see him. In any case, he was not at home, and he informed her regarding the area of the keys. At the point when he got back, he found her on the floor of his guest room, almost dead. She had taken an over-the-top number of tablets for her headache. She has been in and out of the medical clinic from that point forward.

Jessica wasn't healed, she had been emotionally diagnosed with mental illness and bleeding disorders, hemophilia in the wake of serving six years in the military. Her condition was unusual and she was set free from the headquarters. And it was observed that she was probably not going to at any point be called upon to serve in the military once more.

Although she was in the severe phase of the disorder, it burst, bringing about difficult internal death, which happened to her while she was in the coffeehouse earlier.

An hour had passed when one more doctor walked around with a block-like demeanor all over. His exercises were planned and coordinated toward a specific point. He looked at the diagram for a couple of moments before raising his head and blazing a cursory grin that kept going for a couple of moments. His eyes were just about as cloudy as his lips, taking cover behind a couple of metal eyeglasses.

Despite the way that he sprinkled satire all through his comments while never being unseemly, Jessica never had any questions that he was seriously treating her. He listened cautiously, posed inquiries that were explicitly focused on acquiring the data he wanted and gave smart, even analysis.

In his reactions, there was the truth of what he accepted was going on, however, he avoided making a finding until the test outcomes were returned. Each time she strolled into the room, she "knew" it was something significant this time, and she left with her mental stability reestablished, or in any event, the information that the suitable tests had been approved by her friend Shawn.

"There are sure issues, and she will most likely be unable to make it." The doctor said. Shawn's face was flushed with dread, and tears shimmered in his eyes. He swung to confront the one individual who could understand him, trust him. He believes Jessica to be his dearest companion, and he will surely miss her.

Following a few hours of pausing, Jessica's misery, which had beforehand consumed like a fire, had disappeared to a cold deadness. She knew she was dying. Her eyes were clouded by a cloak of obscurity, and the only sound she could hear was her pulse. Her breath surged out as she lay there, the minutes passed. She knew about the voices. Individuals poured all around her, looking to save her life.

Not really set in stone to save her. She would have smiled if she had the option to do as such. They knew that it was extremely late for her to be saved, yet they were as yet like youngsters, oblivious to the real facets of this present reality. This was the end, and she knew this.

Jessica had quite recently a short measure of time left. The oxygen in her lungs was being pulled and taken away each breath in turn. Each waking moment was a wellspring of desolation. From that point onward, her delicate, human heartbeat was heard for the last time.

Then what followed was just mere void and emptiness.

A couple of seconds after the fact, she was astonished by the impression of agony devouring her from the back to front and flowing through her veins. She had never experienced such misery; this was inconceivable. It was madness. It seemed like a stake had been passed through her rib confine and into her heart, the assaults causing blasting pain that was unleashing ruin on her head. Dying is a bitch, she thought one last time.