WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Six: The Eternal Empire
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CONTENT WARNING: This series contains explicit sexual violence, human sacrifice, psychological torture, murder of innocent characters (including children and family members), ritualistic killing, and extreme horror. No character is safe. Read at your own risk.
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Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Five: The Mage's Last Spell
Year 164 – One Hundred Fifty-Three Years After the Curse
The mage in the south had studied for one hundred fifty-three years.
Not literally—she was only thirty-eight. But she had studied as if she had been preparing for a century and a half. Every day. Every night. Every page of every book.
She believed she had found a way to break the curse.
She believed she could free the souls.
She believed she could destroy the queen.
Her name was Elara—another echo, another coincidence. She was young, powerful, and brilliant. She had a staff. A grimoire. A purpose.
She had heard the stories.
The legends.
The fear.
She believed them.
She knew the queen was powerful. Immortal. Invincible.
But she also knew that no one was truly invincible.
Everyone had a weakness.
Everyone could be stopped.
Everyone could be killed.
She just had to find it.
And she had found something.
Something the others had missed.
A fragment of an ancient text, hidden in a language that had died a thousand years ago. It spoke of the queen's origin—not as a princess, not as a woman, but as a vessel. A hollow thing that had been filled with darkness.
The curse can be reversed, the fragment said. But not by destroying the vessel. By emptying it.
The souls she has consumed must be released.
All of them.
One hundred thousand souls, screaming into the light.
If even one remains, she will reform.
She will return.
She will hunt.
Elara's hands trembled.
One hundred thousand souls, she thought.
I have to free them all.
I have to empty her.
I have to end her.
She did not see the shadows gathering.
She did not hear the whispers growing louder.
She did not feel the darkness closing in.
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The Southern Tower – Morning
Elara studied in her tower, as she always did.
The books were old. The pages were yellow. The words were fading.
Life is short, she thought.
Life is fragile.
Life is precious.
She did not see the shadows.
She did not hear the whispers.
She did not feel the darkness watching.
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The Ruins – Morning
Liora sat on the throne, listening to the whispers.
One hundred thousand and nineteen souls now served her. They flitted through the shadows, invisible to all but her, reporting on everything they saw and heard.
They told her about the mage.
She is powerful, they said. She is determined. She is dangerous.
She has found something. A fragment. A truth.
She knows about the souls.
She knows about the emptying.
Liora's smile faded.
The emptying, she thought.
She knows.
She knows too much.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
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The Southern Tower – Night
Liora traveled south, invisible as always.
The whispers guided her. One hundred thousand and nineteen souls, bound to her, serving her, hungry for more.
She is close, they said. Her tower is ahead. She is inside. She is reading.
She is dangerous.
She found the tower.
It was tall, made of white stone, surrounded by wards and protective spells.
She walked through them like they were nothing.
She climbed the stairs.
The shadows followed.
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The Tower
Elara looked up.
Her eyes widened.
"You—"
"I am the queen."
"I know who you are."
"Then you know why I'm here."
"You're here to kill me."
"Yes."
Elara stood up.
She raised her staff.
"You won't succeed."
"I always succeed."
"This is my place of power. I have studied for years. I have prepared for this moment."
"You have studied. You have prepared. But you have not understood."
"Understood what?"
"That I am not your enemy."
Elara laughed.
"Not my enemy? You've killed thousands. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands."
"They were food."
"They were people."
"They were food."
Elara's face twisted with rage.
"You're a monster."
"I am what I am."
"And I am what will end you."
She spoke a word of power.
Light exploded from her staff.
Liora did not flinch.
The light struck her.
She did not move.
"Is that all?" Liora asked.
Elara's face went pale.
"How—"
"I am immortal."
"You can't be—"
"I am."
Liora moved.
Faster than Elara could follow. Faster than she could react.
Her hand closed around the mage's throat.
"Your soul is worth three."
"Please—"
"Shh."
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The Feeding – Elara
Liora reached into the mage's mind.
She tried to resist.
She was powerful. Determined. Brilliant.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past her defenses.
She found her memories.
...the studies...
...the rituals...
...the hope ...
...that she could be the one...
...that she could stop her...
...that she could free them...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The power.
The determination.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
Elara gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
Elara went limp.
She withdrew from her mind.
She looked down at her.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The mage was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Fragment
Liora picked up the fragment.
She read the words.
The curse can be reversed. But not by destroying the vessel. By emptying it.
The souls she has consumed must be released.
All of them.
One hundred thousand souls, screaming into the light.
If even one remains, she will reform.
She will return.
She will hunt.
She smiled.
Interesting, she thought.
She was close.
So close.
But not close enough.
She burned the fragment in the tower's brazier.
The parchment curled.
The words faded.
The knowledge was gone.
No one will ever find it now, she thought.
No one will ever know.
No one will ever understand.
I am safe.
I am eternal.
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The One Hundred Thousand Twentieth Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the tower, surrounded by books and silence.
The whispers watched.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness purred.
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The Power – One Hundred Thousand Twenty
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
One hundred thousand and twenty sacrifices. One hundred thousand and twenty souls. One hundred thousand and twenty streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
One hundred thousand twenty, she thought.
The hunger is quieter now.
But it will return.
It always returns.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the body.
A mage. Powerful. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the powerful.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Elara's body in the tower's brazier.
The fire was hot. The smoke was thick. She worked quickly, efficiently, scattering the ashes before dawn.
No one saw her.
No one ever saw her.
She walked back to the ruins as the sun rose, smelling of smoke and blood and darkness.
She washed her face in a broken fountain.
She braided her hair with her fingers.
She wore a white dress she had found in a forgotten wardrobe.
She practiced her smile.
Eyes wide. Innocence.
Mouth soft. Gentleness.
Head tilted. Curiosity.
Perfect, she thought.
She sat on the throne.
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The Empty Throne
The throne room was open to the sky.
No walls. No roof. No protection.
Just Liora.
And the whispers.
You are alone, they said.
Yes, she thought.
But I am not lonely.
I have you.
I have all of you.
Forever.
She closed her eyes.
She listened to the whispers.
They told her about the world.
The new kings. The new heroes. The new legends.
They told her about a young man in the west. A priest. Faithful. He had been praying for years, begging his god to save them, to stop the queen, to end the darkness.
His god had not answered.
Not yet.
But he still prayed.
He still believed.
Liora smiled.
Let him pray, she thought.
Let him believe.
Let him hope.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when his god does not answer—
I will.
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End of Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Five