WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Nine: The Age of Desolation
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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 Fifty-Four: The Warrior's Resolve
Year 263 – Two Hundred Fifty-Two Years After the Curse
The warrior in the east had trained for two hundred fifty-two years.
Not literally—he was only thirty-nine. But he had trained as if he had been preparing for 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 blade.
An ancient blade, forged from the tooth of a dead dragon, imbued with the power to cut through any darkness, any magic, any curse.
It had been hidden for centuries, guarded by a secret order of warriors who had dedicated their lives to protecting it.
He had found them.
He had convinced them.
He had taken it.
The blade hummed in his hand.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was cutting.
This is it, he thought.
This is the answer.
This is how I cut through 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.
Three million and eighteen 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 warrior.
He is brave, they said. He is strong. He is arrogant.
He has found a blade. An ancient blade. Forged from the tooth of a dead dragon.
It can cut through any darkness.
Any magic.
Any curse.
He believes he can cut through your darkness.
He believes he can win.
He believes he can kill you.
Liora's smile widened.
A blade, she thought.
Forged from the tooth of a dead dragon.
It can cut through any darkness.
Any magic.
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 blade was in his hand.
It hummed.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was cutting.
Tomorrow, he thought.
Tomorrow I go to the ruins.
Tomorrow I face the queen.
Tomorrow I cut through 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 blade.
Liora moved.
Faster than he could follow. Faster than he could react.
Her hand closed around his wrist.
"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 warrior'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 warrior was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Blade
Liora picked up the blade.
It hummed in her hand.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was cutting.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
She raised the blade.
She looked at its reflection in her eyes.
Her eyes were black.
Her skin was pale.
Her smile was wide.
This blade could cut through anything, she thought.
Any darkness.
Any magic.
Any curse.
But I have no need for cutting.
I have no need for blades.
I have no need for weapons.
I am the darkness.
I am the magic.
I am the curse.
She snapped the blade in half.
The metal broke.
The hum stopped.
The cold died.
The cutting 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 Three Million Nineteenth 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 – Three Million Nineteen
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Three million and nineteen sacrifices. Three million and nineteen souls. Three million and nineteen streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Three million nineteen, 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 warrior. 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 west. A priestess. Faithful. She had been praying for years, begging her god to save them, to stop the queen, to end the darkness.
Her god had not answered.
Not yet.
But she still prayed.
She still believed.
Liora smiled.
Let her pray, she thought.
Let her believe.
Let her hope.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when her god does not answer—
I will.
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End of Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-Four