Page 183 of Crowned In Venom

She knows.

She is weakened, but not broken.

I feel the poison eating at her insides, slowing her down, corrupting her power bit by bit. But it is not enough.

Because she is feeding.

I stumble, my breath choking in my throat as I feel it—the sudden, violent pull of magic, of life.

She is draining them.

Her own followers.

The moment I sense it, the air around me thickens with the scendt of death.

Screams rip through the palace halls.

I dart through the shadows, my heart pounding as I emerge into one of the upper corridors—and I see it.

Bodies—writhing, twisting, spasming—as the Matriarch’s elite warriors collapse where they stand.

Their blood is not spilling onto the floor.

It is rising.

A crimson mist, a twisted, sickening pull of life-force draining from their flesh, curling through the air toward the throne room.

"No—"

I clutch the wall for balance, the bond between me and the Matriarch burning as her power devours her own people.

She is desperate. She is out of time.

The Matriarch’s warriors scream as they turn to dust, their skin cracking apart before their bones snap like dry twigs. Their souls—**their very essence—**are funneled into her.

And suddenly, I feel her pulse of renewed strength.

Varkos.

She is waiting for him.

I shove off the wall, sprinting, dodging bodies, slipping through blood-slicked floors and half-collapsed archways as the battle rages.

Kareth and his forces clash with the Matriarch’s remaining warriors—a storm of blades and magic.

A rebel lets out a wet gurgle as a spear punches through his stomach.

A dark elf soldier screams as Kareth’s blade cleaves through his shoulder.

Magic shatters stone, sending debris raining from the ceiling.

The palace is crumbling.

But I don’t stop.

Because I can feel Varkos.

I can feel him walking into the lion’s den.

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