WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Eleven: The Final Darkness
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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 Seventy-Two: The Valkyrie's Blessing
Year 281 – Two Hundred Seventy Years After the Curse
The valkyrie in the north had been chosen by the gods themselves.
Not literally—she was only fifty-seven. But she had been chosen as if she had been blessed for centuries. Every day. Every night. Every battle of every season.
She believed she was blessed.
She believed she was unstoppable.
She believed she was ready.
Her name was Brynhild—another echo, another coincidence. She was young, fierce, and deadly. She had a spear. A shield. 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 blessing.
An ancient blessing, bestowed upon her by the gods themselves, a promise that her spear would never miss, her shield would never break, her courage would never fail.
She had believed it.
She had trusted it.
She had relied on it.
This is it, she thought.
This is the answer.
This is how I pierce her darkness.
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 Northern Mountains – Morning
Brynhild trained in the mountains, as she always did.
The snow was cold. The wind was sharp. The air was thin.
Life is hard, she thought.
Life is cruel.
Life is short.
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 thirty-five 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 valkyrie.
She is fierce, they said. She is deadly. She is dangerous.
She has a blessing. An ancient blessing. Bestowed upon her by the gods themselves.
It promises her spear will never miss.
Her shield will never break.
Her courage will never fail.
She believes she can pierce your darkness.
She believes she can win.
She believes she can kill you.
Liora's smile widened.
A blessing, she thought.
Bestowed by the gods themselves.
It promises her spear will never miss.
Her shield will never break.
Her courage will never fail.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
But I am not a god.
I am not mortal.
I am eternal.
And no blessing—
No valkyrie—
No god—
Can pierce eternity.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
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The Northern Mountains – Night
Brynhild camped in the mountains, alone.
The fire was warm. The stars were bright. The night was quiet.
Tomorrow, she thought.
Tomorrow I go to the ruins.
Tomorrow I face the queen.
Tomorrow I pierce her darkness.
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 Camp
Liora appeared in the firelight.
White dress. Black eyes. Pale skin.
"You're here," she said.
Brynhild woke with a start.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Brynhild raised her spear.
Liora moved.
Faster than Brynhild could follow. Faster than she could react.
Her hand closed around the valkyrie's wrist.
"You won't need that."
"Let go of me."
"No."
Brynhild 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 – Brynhild
Liora reached into the valkyrie's mind.
She tried to resist.
She was fierce. Deadly. Dangerous.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past her defenses.
She found her memories.
...the battles...
...the blessings...
...the hope ...
...that she could be the one...
...that she could stop her...
...that she could pierce her darkness...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The fierceness.
The deadliness.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
Brynhild gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
Brynhild went limp.
She withdrew from her mind.
She looked down at her.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The valkyrie was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Blessing
Liora picked up her spear.
It hummed in her hand.
It was warm.
It was alive.
It was blessed.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
She raised the spear.
She looked at its reflection in her eyes.
Her eyes were black.
Her skin was pale.
Her smile was wide.
This blessing could make anyone unstoppable, she thought.
Their spear would never miss.
Their shield would never break.
Their courage would never fail.
But I have no need for blessings.
I have no need for spears.
I have no need for courage.
I am the blessing.
I am the spear.
I am the courage.
She snapped the spear in half.
The wood broke.
The hum stopped.
The warmth died.
The blessing 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 Thirty-Sixth 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 Thirty-Six
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Three million and thirty-six sacrifices. Three million and thirty-six souls. Three million and thirty-six streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Three million thirty-six, 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 valkyrie. Fierce. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the fierce.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Brynhild's body in her 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 man in the east. A samurai. Honorable. He had been training for years, perfecting his technique, his honor, his blade.
He believed he could cut through any darkness.
He believed his blade was sharp enough.
He believed he was ready.
Liora smiled.
Let him train, she thought.
Let him perfect.
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 Seventy-Two