WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Thirteen: The Endless Void
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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 Ninety-Two: The Time Traveler's Paradox
Year 301 – Two Hundred Ninety Years After the Curse
The time traveler in the east had jumped through time for two hundred ninety years.
Not literally—he was only seventy-seven. But he had jumped as if he had been traveling for centuries. Every day. Every night. Every era of every kind.
He believed he could go back to the beginning.
He believed he could kill her before she became powerful.
He believed he could win.
His name was Alistair—another echo, another coincidence. He was old now, his body worn, his mind fractured, his eyes still burning.
He had seen many things in his long journey.
He had tried many timelines.
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 Alistair had found something.
A paradox.
An ancient paradox, born from the collision of two timelines, imbued with the power to rewrite history, to change the past, to unmake the queen.
He had discovered it.
He had protected it.
He was ready.
This is it, he thought.
This is the answer.
This is how I unmake 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 Eastern Wastes – Morning
Alistair 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 lost.
I am eternal.
Or I was.
Until I jumped.
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-six 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 time traveler.
He is lost, they said. He is fractured. He is dangerous.
He has a paradox. An ancient paradox. Born from the collision of two timelines.
It can rewrite history.
Change the past.
Unmake any enemy.
He believes he can unmake you.
He believes he can win.
He believes he can kill you.
Liora's smile widened.
A time traveler, she thought.
Lost. Fractured. Dangerous.
A paradox that can rewrite history.
Change the past.
Unmake any enemy.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
But I am not history.
I am not the past.
I am eternal.
And no paradox—
No traveler—
No timeline—
Can unmake eternity.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
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The Eastern Wastes – Night
Alistair prepared for his journey.
He held the paradox.
It glowed in his hand.
It was warm.
It was alive.
It was shifting.
Tonight, he thought.
Tonight I go to the ruins.
Tonight I face the queen.
Tonight I unmake 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.
Alistair looked up.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Alistair raised the paradox.
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."
Alistair 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 – Alistair
Liora reached into the time traveler's mind.
He tried to resist.
He was lost. Fractured. Dangerous.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past his defenses.
She found his memories.
...the jumps...
...the timelines...
...the hope ...
...that he could be the one...
...that he could stop her...
...that he could unmake her...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The jumps.
The timelines.
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 time traveler was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Paradox
Liora picked up the paradox.
It glowed in her hand.
It was warm.
It was alive.
It was shifting.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
She raised the paradox.
She looked at its reflection in her eyes.
Her eyes were black.
Her skin was pale.
Her smile was wide.
This paradox could rewrite history, she thought.
It could change the past.
It could unmake any enemy.
But I have no need for history.
I have no need for the past.
I have no need for enemies.
I am the history.
I am the past.
I am the enemy.
She crushed the paradox in her hand.
The glow faded.
The warmth died.
The shifting 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-Seventh 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-Seven
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Three million and fifty-seven sacrifices. Three million and fifty-seven souls. Three million and fifty-seven streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Three million fifty-seven, 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 time traveler. Lost. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the lost.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Alistair's body in a pyre of paradox.
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 north. A reality bender. Chaotic. She had been bending reality for centuries, reshaping the world to her will, destroying anything that opposed her.
She believed she could challenge the queen.
She believed she could win.
She believed she could kill her.
Liora smiled.
Let her bend, she thought.
Let her reshape.
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 Ninety-Two