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-Five: The Fate Spinner's Web
Year 304 – Two Hundred Ninety-Three Years After the Curse
The fate spinner in the west had spun fates for two hundred ninety-three years.
Not literally—she was only eighty. But she had spun as if she had been weaving destinies for centuries. Every day. Every night. Every thread of every kind.
She believed she could challenge the queen.
She believed she could win.
She believed she could kill her.
Her name was Atropos—another echo, another coincidence. She was old now, her fingers nimble, her eyes sharp, her power inevitable.
She had seen many things in her long existence.
She had woven many destinies.
She had failed many times.
But she had never faced anything like the queen.
The queen was different.
The queen was darkness.
The queen was eternity.
But Atropos had found something.
A loom.
An ancient loom, woven from the threads of the first fate, imbued with the power to cut any destiny, to sever any life, to end any existence.
She had hidden it for eons.
She had protected it for eons.
She was ready.
This is it, she thought.
This is the answer.
This is how I cut her thread.
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 Loom – Morning
Atropos sat at her loom, as she always did.
The threads shifted. The fates twisted. The destiny was inescapable.
Life is hard, she thought.
Life is cruel.
Life is short.
But I am not short.
I am inevitable.
I am eternal.
Or I was.
Until I spun.
Until I failed.
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 fifty-nine 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 fate spinner.
She is inevitable, they said. She is powerful. She is dangerous.
She has a loom. An ancient loom. Woven from the threads of the first fate.
It can cut any destiny.
Sever any life.
End any existence.
She believes she can cut your thread.
She believes she can win.
She believes she can kill you.
Liora's smile widened.
A fate spinner, she thought.
Inevitable. Powerful. Dangerous.
A loom that can cut any destiny.
Sever any life.
End any existence.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
But I am not a destiny.
I am not a life.
I am eternal.
And no loom—
No spinner—
No fate—
Can cut eternity.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
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The Western Loom – Night
Atropos prepared for her journey.
She held a single thread.
It glowed in her hand.
It was warm.
It was alive.
It was fated.
Tonight, she thought.
Tonight I go to the ruins.
Tonight I face the queen.
Tonight I cut her thread.
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 Loom
Liora appeared in the shadows.
White dress. Black eyes. Pale skin.
"You're here," she said.
Atropos looked up.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Atropos raised the thread.
Liora moved.
Faster than Atropos could follow. Faster than she could react.
Her hand closed around the spinner's wrist.
"You won't need that."
"Let go of me."
"No."
Atropos 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 – Atropos
Liora reached into the fate spinner's mind.
She tried to resist.
She was inevitable. Powerful. Dangerous.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past her defenses.
She found her memories.
...the fates...
...the threads...
...the hope ...
...that she could be the one...
...that she could stop her...
...that she could cut her thread...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The fates.
The threads.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
Atropos gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
Atropos went limp.
She withdrew from her mind.
She looked down at her.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The fate spinner was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Loom
Liora looked at the loom.
It glowed in the shadows.
It was warm.
It was alive.
It was fated.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
She raised her hand.
She touched the loom.
It hummed.
It glowed brighter.
It grew more alive.
This loom could cut any destiny, she thought.
It could sever any life.
It could end any existence.
But I have no need for looms.
I have no need for threads.
I have no need for fates.
I am the loom.
I am the thread.
I am the fate.
She tore the loom apart.
The threads snapped.
The glow faded.
The fates 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 Sixtieth Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the loom, surrounded by threads and shadows.
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 Sixty
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Three million and sixty sacrifices. Three million and sixty souls. Three million and sixty streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Three million sixty, 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 fate spinner. Inevitable. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the inevitable.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Atropos's body in a pyre of fates.
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 east. A void walker. Empty. He had been walking the void for centuries, searching for meaning, for purpose, for something to fill the emptiness inside him.
He believed he could challenge the queen.
He believed he could win.
He believed he could kill her.
Liora smiled.
Let him walk, she thought.
Let him search.
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 Ninety-Five