WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Nine: The Age of Desolation
---
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.
---
Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-Three: The Sorceress's Quest
Year 262 – Two Hundred Fifty-One Years After the Curse
The sorceress in the far south had studied for two hundred fifty-one years.
Not literally—she was only thirty-eight. But she had studied as if she had been preparing for centuries. 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 Morgana. 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.
A prophecy.
An ancient prophecy, carved into the walls of a forgotten temple, spoken by a dying oracle. It described the queen's end.
"When the stars align and the moon bleeds red,
The dark queen's power shall be undone.
A soul of light must enter the darkness,
And the first shall be last."
Morgana had deciphered it.
She understood it.
The stars align, she thought.
The moon bleeds red.
These are signs.
Signs of change.
A soul of light must enter the darkness.
Someone pure.
Someone innocent.
Someone the queen cannot resist.
And the first shall be last.
The first soul she consumed.
The one who cursed her.
If that soul is freed—
She will be vulnerable.
For a moment.
One moment.
That is when I strike.
She did not see the shadows gathering.
She did not hear the whispers growing louder.
She did not feel the darkness closing in.
---
The Southern Tower – Morning
Morgana 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.
---
The Ruins – Morning
Liora sat on the throne, listening to the whispers.
Three million and seventeen 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 sorceress.
She is powerful, they said. She is determined. She is dangerous.
She has found a prophecy. An ancient prophecy. Carved into the walls of a forgotten temple.
It describes your end.
She believes she can destroy you.
She believes she can win.
She believes she can succeed.
Liora's smile faded.
A prophecy, she thought.
My end.
She believes she can destroy me.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
But prophecies are not certain.
They are warnings.
And warnings can be ignored.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
---
The Southern Tower – Night
Morgana worked late into the night.
She held the prophecy.
It was written on a scroll, old and fragile, the ink faded but still legible.
When the stars align and the moon bleeds red, she read.
The dark queen's power shall be undone.
A soul of light must enter the darkness,
And the first shall be last.
I need a soul of light, she thought.
Someone pure.
Someone innocent.
Someone the queen cannot resist.
But who?
Where?
How?
She did not see the shadows gathering.
She did not hear the whispers growing louder.
She did not feel the darkness closing in.
---
The Tower
Liora appeared in the doorway.
White dress. Black eyes. Pale skin.
"You're here," she said.
Morgana looked up.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Morgana reached for her staff.
Liora moved.
Faster than Morgana could follow. Faster than she could react.
Her hand closed around the sorceress's wrist.
"You won't need that."
"Let go of me."
"No."
Morgana tried to pull away.
She could not.
Liora's grip was like iron.
"What are you?"
"I am what comes next."
---
The Feeding – Morgana
Liora reached into the sorceress'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 prophecies...
...the hope ...
...that she could be the one...
...that she could stop her...
...that she could destroy her...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The power.
The determination.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
Morgana gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
Morgana went limp.
She withdrew from her mind.
She looked down at her.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The sorceress was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
---
The Prophecy
Liora picked up the prophecy.
She read the words.
When the stars align and the moon bleeds red,
The dark queen's power shall be undone.
A soul of light must enter the darkness,
And the first shall be last.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
This prophecy speaks of my end.
But I will not end.
I am eternal.
And no prophecy—
No oracle—
No soul of light—
Can change that.
She burned the prophecy in the tower's brazier.
The scroll curled.
The words faded.
The prophecy died.
No one will ever read it now, she thought.
No one will ever try again.
I am safe.
I am eternal.
---
The Three Million Eighteenth 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.
---
The Power – Three Million Eighteen
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Three million and eighteen sacrifices. Three million and eighteen souls. Three million and eighteen streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Three million eighteen, 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 sorceress. Powerful. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the powerful.
She smiled in the darkness.
---
The Disposal
She burned Morgana'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.
---
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 east. A warrior. Determined. He had been training for years, preparing for the day when he would face the queen.
He believed he was ready.
He believed he could win.
He believed he could kill her.
Liora smiled.
Let him train, she thought.
Let him prepare.
Let him believe.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when he comes—
I will feed.
---
End of Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-Three