WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Twelve: The Eternal Cycle
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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 Eighty-Six: The Fallen Demon
Year 295 – Two Hundred Eighty-Four Years After the Curse
The demon in the south had wandered for two hundred eighty-four years.
Not literally—he was only seventy-one. But he had wandered as if he had been cast out of hell for centuries. Every day. Every night. Every soul of every kind.
He believed he could challenge the queen.
He believed he could win.
He believed he could kill her.
His name was Azazel—another echo, another coincidence. He was old now, his body scarred, his wings broken, his eyes still burning.
He had seen many things in his long exile.
He had fed on many souls.
He had failed many times.
But he had never faced anything like the queen.
The queen was different.
The queen was darkness.
The queen was eternity.
But Azazel had found something.
A flame.
An ancient flame, stolen from the heart of hell itself, imbued with the power to burn any darkness, any evil, any queen.
He had hidden it for centuries.
He had protected it for centuries.
He was ready.
This is it, he thought.
This is the answer.
This is how I burn her.
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 Southern Wastes – Morning
Azazel walked through the wastes, as he always did.
The ground was cracked. The air was hot. The silence was heavy.
Life is hard, he thought.
Life is cruel.
Life is short.
But I am not short.
I am fallen.
I am eternal.
Or I was.
Until I was cast out.
Until I failed.
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 fifty 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 demon.
He is fallen, they said. He is broken. He is dangerous.
He has a flame. An ancient flame. Stolen from the heart of hell itself.
It can burn any darkness.
Any evil.
Any queen.
He believes he can burn you.
He believes he can win.
He believes he can kill you.
Liora's smile widened.
A demon, she thought.
Fallen. Broken. Dangerous.
A flame stolen from hell.
It can burn any darkness.
Any evil.
Any queen.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
But I am not darkness.
I am not evil.
I am eternal.
And no flame—
No demon—
No hell—
Can burn eternity.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
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The Southern Wastes – Night
Azazel prepared for his journey.
He held the flame.
It burned in his hand.
It was hot.
It was alive.
It was hungry.
Tomorrow, he thought.
Tomorrow I go to the ruins.
Tomorrow I face the queen.
Tomorrow I burn her.
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 Wastes
Liora appeared in the firelight.
White dress. Black eyes. Pale skin.
"You're here," she said.
Azazel looked up.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Azazel raised the flame.
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."
Azazel 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 – Azazel
Liora reached into the demon's mind.
He tried to resist.
He was fallen. Broken. Dangerous.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past his defenses.
She found his memories.
...the fall...
...the exile...
...the hope ...
...that he could be the one...
...that he could stop her...
...that he could burn her...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The fall.
The exile.
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 demon was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Flame
Liora picked up the flame.
It burned in her hand.
It was hot.
It was alive.
It was hungry.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
She raised the flame.
She looked at its reflection in her eyes.
Her eyes were black.
Her skin was pale.
Her smile was wide.
This flame could burn anything, she thought.
Any darkness.
Any evil.
Any queen.
But I am not darkness.
I am not evil.
I am eternal.
And no flame—
No demon—
No hell—
Can burn eternity.
She crushed the flame in her hand.
The fire died.
The heat faded.
The hunger 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 Fifty-First Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the wastes, 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 Fifty-One
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Three million and fifty-one sacrifices. Three million and fifty-one souls. Three million and fifty-one streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Three million fifty-one, 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 demon. Fallen. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the fallen.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Azazel's body in his own flame.
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 woman in the west. An angel. Fallen. She had been cast out of heaven for her rebellion, forced to wander the earth, to watch the suffering of humanity, to regret.
She believed she could challenge the queen.
She believed she could win.
She believed she could kill her.
Liora smiled.
Let her wander, she thought.
Let her watch.
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 Eighty-Six