WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Seven: The Age of Shadows
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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 Two Hundred Twenty-Six: The Knight's Last Quest
Year 225 – Two Hundred Fourteen Years After the Curse
The knight in the east had trained for two hundred fourteen years.
Not literally—he was only forty-nine. But he had trained as if he had been preparing for two centuries. Every day. Every night. Every swing of every sword.
He believed he was ready.
He believed he could win.
He believed he could kill the queen.
His name was Aldric—another echo, another coincidence. He was young, strong, and arrogant. He had a sword. A shield. A purpose.
He had heard the stories.
The legends.
The fear.
He believed them.
He knew the queen was powerful. Immortal. Invincible.
But he also knew that no one was truly invincible.
Everyone had a weakness.
Everyone could be stopped.
Everyone could be killed.
He just had to find it.
And he had found something.
A lance.
An ancient lance, forged from the bone of a dead dragon, imbued with the power to pierce any armor, any spell, any curse.
It had been hidden for centuries, guarded by a secret order of knights who had dedicated their lives to protecting it.
He had found them.
He had convinced them.
He had taken it.
The lance hummed in his hand.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was piercing.
This is it, he thought.
This is the answer.
This is how I pierce her darkness.
He did not see the shadows gathering.
He did not hear the whispers growing louder.
He did not feel the darkness closing in.
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The Eastern Kingdom – Morning
Aldric rode through the countryside, as he always did.
The sun was warm. The wind was soft. The road was long.
Life is good, he thought.
Life is simple.
Life is mine.
He did not see the shadows.
He did not hear the whispers.
He did not feel the darkness watching.
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The Ruins – Morning
Liora sat on the throne, listening to the whispers.
Two hundred thousand and thirty-one 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 knight.
He is brave, they said. He is strong. He is arrogant.
He has found a lance. An ancient lance. Forged from the bone of a dead dragon.
It can pierce any armor.
Any spell.
Any curse.
He believes he can pierce your darkness.
He believes he can win.
He believes he can kill you.
Liora's smile widened.
A lance, she thought.
Forged from the bone of a dead dragon.
It can pierce any armor.
Any spell.
Any curse.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
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The Eastern Kingdom – Night
Aldric camped by the side of the road.
The lance was in his hand.
It hummed.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was piercing.
Tomorrow, he thought.
Tomorrow I go to the ruins.
Tomorrow I face the queen.
Tomorrow I pierce her darkness.
He did not see the shadows gathering.
He did not hear the whispers growing louder.
He did not feel the darkness closing in.
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The Camp
Liora appeared in the firelight.
White dress. Black eyes. Pale skin.
"You're here," she said.
Aldric woke with a start.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Aldric raised the lance.
Liora moved.
Faster than he could follow. Faster than he could react.
Her hand closed around the shaft of the lance.
"You won't need that."
"Let go of me."
"No."
Aldric tried to pull away.
He could not.
Liora's grip was like iron.
"What are you?"
"I am what comes next."
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The Feeding – Aldric
Liora reached into the knight's mind.
He tried to resist.
He was brave. Strong. Arrogant.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past his defenses.
She found his memories.
...the training...
...the dreams...
...the hope ...
...that he could be the one...
...that he could stop her...
...that he could kill her...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The bravery.
The strength.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
He gasped.
His body convulsed.
His eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
He went limp.
She withdrew from his mind.
She looked down at him.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The knight was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Lance
Liora picked up the lance.
It hummed in her hand.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was piercing.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
She raised the lance.
She looked at its reflection in her eyes.
Her eyes were black.
Her skin was pale.
Her smile was wide.
This lance could pierce anything, she thought.
Any armor.
Any spell.
Any curse.
But I have no need for piercing.
I have no need for lances.
I have no need for weapons.
I am the armor.
I am the spell.
I am the curse.
She snapped the lance in half.
The wood cracked.
The hum stopped.
The cold died.
The piercing ended.
No one will ever use it now, she thought.
No one will ever try again.
I am safe.
I am eternal.
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The Two Hundred Thousand Thirty-Second Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the camp, surrounded by fire and darkness.
The whispers watched.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness roared.
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The Power – Two Hundred Thousand Thirty-Two
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Two hundred thousand and thirty-two sacrifices. Two hundred thousand and thirty-two souls. Two hundred thousand and thirty-two streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Two hundred thousand thirty-two, 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 knight. Brave. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the brave.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Aldric's body in his own fire.
The flames were 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 woman in the south. A mage. Powerful. She had been studying the old texts for years, searching for a way to break the curse, to free the souls, to end the queen.
She believed she had found something.
A ritual.
A way to reverse the darkness.
A way to destroy her.
Liora smiled.
Let her study, she thought.
Let her search.
Let her believe.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when she comes—
I will feed.
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End of Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Six