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-Five: The Priestess's Faith
Year 264 – Two Hundred Fifty-Three Years After the Curse
The priestess in the west had prayed for two hundred fifty-three years.
Not literally—she was only forty. But she had prayed as if she had been begging for centuries. Every day. Every night. Every moment of every hour.
She believed her god would answer.
She believed her god would save them.
She believed her god would end the darkness.
Her name was Seraphina. She was young, faithful, and devoted. She had a temple. A congregation. 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 beyond the reach of her god.
Everyone could be saved.
Everyone could be redeemed.
Everyone could be forgiven.
She just had to pray hard enough.
And she had found something.
A relic.
An ancient relic, a shard of the true cross, imbued with the power to call down divine wrath, to smite any darkness, to end any evil.
It had been hidden for centuries, guarded by a secret order of priests who had dedicated their lives to protecting it.
She had found them.
She had convinced them.
She had taken it.
The relic hummed in her hand.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was divine.
This is it, she thought.
This is the answer.
This is how I smite 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 Western Temple – Morning
Seraphina prayed at her altar, as she always did.
The candles were lit. The incense was burning. The silence was sacred.
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.
Three million 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 priestess.
She is faithful, they said. She is devoted. She is dangerous.
She has found a relic. A shard of the true cross.
It can call down divine wrath.
Smite any darkness.
End any evil.
She believes her god will save them.
She believes her god will stop you.
She believes her god will end you.
Liora's smile widened.
A relic, she thought.
A shard of the true cross.
It can call down divine wrath.
Smite any darkness.
End any evil.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
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The Western Temple – Night
Seraphina prayed late into the night.
She held the relic.
It hummed in her hand.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was divine.
Tomorrow, she thought.
Tomorrow I go to the ruins.
Tomorrow I face the queen.
Tomorrow I smite 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 Temple
Liora appeared in the doorway.
White dress. Black eyes. Pale skin.
"You're here," she said.
Seraphina looked up.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Seraphina raised the relic.
Liora moved.
Faster than Seraphina could follow. Faster than she could react.
Her hand closed around the priestess's wrist.
"You won't need that."
"Let go of me."
"No."
Seraphina tried to pull away.
She could not.
Liora's grip was like iron.
"What are you?"
"I am what comes next."
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The Feeding – Seraphina
Liora reached into the priestess's mind.
She tried to resist.
She was faithful. Devoted. Hopeful.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past her defenses.
She found her memories.
...the prayers...
...the hopes...
...the faith ...
...that her god would save them...
...that her god would stop her...
...that her god would answer ...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The faith.
The devotion.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
Seraphina gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
Seraphina went limp.
She withdrew from her mind.
She looked down at her.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The priestess was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Relic
Liora picked up the relic.
It hummed in her hand.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was divine.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
She raised the relic.
She looked at its reflection in her eyes.
Her eyes were black.
Her skin was pale.
Her smile was wide.
This relic could call down divine wrath, she thought.
It could smite any darkness.
It could end any evil.
But I am not evil.
I am not darkness.
I am eternal.
And no god—
No savior—
No divine wrath—
Can smite me.
She crushed the relic in her hand.
The wood splintered.
The hum stopped.
The cold died.
The divine 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 Congregation
The congregation watched in horror.
"She killed her."
"She drained her."
"We have to run."
"We have to fight."
Liora turned to face them.
"Who's next?"
They screamed.
They ran.
They fled.
She let them go.
They were not worth her time.
Not worth her hunger.
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The Three Million Twentieth Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the temple, surrounded by candles and silence.
The whispers watched.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness wept.
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The Power – Three Million Twenty
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Three million and twenty sacrifices. Three million and twenty souls. Three million and twenty streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Three million 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 priestess. Faithful. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the faithful.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Seraphina's body in the temple'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 north. A ranger. Skilled. He had been tracking the queen for years, learning her patterns, her habits, her weaknesses.
He believed he could find the queen's lair.
He believed he could strike when she was vulnerable.
He believed he could kill her.
Liora smiled.
Let him track, she thought.
Let him learn.
Let him believe.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when he comes—
I will feed.
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End of Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-Five