WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Zero: The First 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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Prologue: The Beginning of the End
Year 500 Before the Curse – The Age of Magic
Before Liora. Before the curse. Before the hunger that would consume the world for centuries, there was a man.
His name was Mordred.
He was a mage. A powerful one. One of the most powerful of his age.
He had studied the dark arts for decades, learning secrets that would drive lesser men mad. He had made deals with demons, traded souls for power, killed for knowledge.
But it was not enough.
He wanted more.
He wanted immortality.
He wanted to be a god.
And he had found a way.
An ancient ritual, hidden in the depths of a forgotten temple, written in the blood of a dead god. It required one hundred sacrifices. One hundred souls. One hundred deaths.
But not just any deaths.
The deaths of the innocent.
Children.
He did not hesitate.
He had killed before.
He would kill again.
And when it was over, he would be eternal.
He did not see the shadows gathering.
He did not hear the whispers growing louder.
He did not feel the darkness closing in.
He was the darkness.
He was the first.
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Chapter One: The Mage
Year 495 Before the Curse – The Tower of Shadows
Mordred lived in a tower of black stone, hidden in the mountains, far from the kingdoms of men.
He had no friends. No family. No lovers.
He had only his books, his spells, and his hunger.
He had been alone for as long as he could remember.
Not because he was shy. Not because he was afraid.
Because he was different.
He had never felt love.
Never felt empathy.
Never felt connection.
He was empty.
Always empty.
Forever empty.
He had tried to fill the emptiness with knowledge, with power, with death.
But it never worked.
The emptiness always returned.
It always ached.
He had accepted it long ago.
He was empty.
He would always be empty.
And that was fine.
Because emptiness meant freedom.
Freedom from pain.
Freedom from guilt.
Freedom from morality.
He could do anything.
He could be anything.
He could take anything.
And he did.
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The First Sacrifice
His first victim was a child.
A young girl, no more than seven years old, with tea-colored eyes and a white dress.
She was the daughter of a farmer, living in a village at the base of the mountains.
She was innocent.
She was pure.
She was perfect.
Mordred approached her in the forest, where she was picking flowers.
"Hello, little one," he said.
She looked up.
Her eyes were wide. Her smile was sweet.
"Hello, mister."
"What is your name?"
"Lily."
"Beautiful name."
"Thank you."
"Would you like to see something beautiful?"
"Yes!"
"Then come with me."
He led her to his tower.
She followed.
They always followed.
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The Ritual
He took her to the cellar.
Dark. Damp. Cold.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"My special place."
"Why is it so dark?"
"The dark is nothing to be afraid of."
"I'm not afraid."
"Good."
He knelt beside her.
He touched her face.
"Close your eyes."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to."
She closed her eyes.
He reached into her mind.
He found her memories.
Her mother's face.
Her father's laugh.
Her life.
He pulled.
She gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
He pulled again.
She went limp.
He withdrew from her mind.
He looked down at her.
She was still breathing.
Still alive.
But empty.
He performed the ritual.
He spoke the words.
He made the cuts.
He collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness purred.
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The Power
He felt it immediately.
The power.
The hunger.
The emptiness.
It was not like before.
It was more.
Deeper.
Stronger.
He wanted more.
He needed more.
He would have more.
He burned the child's body.
He scattered the ashes.
No one saw him.
No one ever saw him.
He returned to his tower.
He studied his books.
He waited.
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The Next Victim
He chose another child.
A boy this time.
Young. Innocent. Pure.
He led him to the cellar.
He fed.
He performed the ritual.
He grew stronger.
The hunger grew deeper.
He killed again.
And again.
And again.
Ninety-nine children.
Ninety-nine souls.
Ninety-nine sacrifices.
One more.
One more and he would be immortal.
One more and he would be a god.
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The Hundredth Victim
He chose carefully.
A child who would not be missed.
A child who had no family.
No friends.
No future.
A child named Liora.
She was young. Innocent. Pure.
She was perfect.
He approached her in the orphanage.
She was sitting in the corner, reading a book.
"Hello, little one," he said.
She looked up.
Her eyes were sharp. Her smile was wrong.
"Hello, mister."
"What is your name?"
"Liora."
"Beautiful name."
"I know."
He frowned.
"Would you like to see something beautiful?"
"I've seen everything beautiful."
"Then you haven't seen my tower."
"I've seen towers before."
"Not like mine."
She stared at him.
Then she smiled.
"Show me."
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The Cellar
He led her to the cellar.
Dark. Damp. Cold.
"This is your tower?" she asked.
"No."
"This is my special place."
"It's dark."
"The dark is nothing to be afraid of."
"I'm not afraid."
"Good."
He knelt beside her.
He touched her face.
"Close your eyes."
"Make me."
He reached into her mind.
She resisted.
He pushed.
She pushed back.
He was stronger.
But she was faster.
He grabbed her throat.
She bit him.
He screamed.
She laughed.
"What are you?" he whispered.
"I am what comes next."
She reached into his mind.
He tried to resist.
He was powerful. Ancient. Dangerous.
But she was something else.
Something new.
Something hungry.
She pulled.
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.
He was still breathing.
Still alive.
But empty.
She performed the ritual.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness screamed.
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The Curse
The power flooded into her.
Not just his power.
His hunger.
His emptiness.
His curse.
She had not meant to take it.
She had meant to kill him.
To consume him.
But the ritual was incomplete.
He had only performed ninety-nine sacrifices.
She was the hundredth.
But she was not a sacrifice.
She was a vessel.
The curse transferred to her.
Not the immortality.
Not the godhood.
The hunger.
The emptiness.
The darkness.
She would never be full.
Never be satisfied.
Never be whole.
She would hunger forever.
She would consume forever.
She would be eternal.
Liora stared at the body of the mage.
She had killed him.
She had consumed him.
She had become him.
She was the new darkness.
The new hunger.
The new curse.
She smiled.
The darkness smiled with her.
And somewhere, in the depths of the universe, the watcher stirred.
"A new darkness has been born," it whispered.
"More powerful than the first.
More hungry.
More empty.
This one will change everything.
This one will consume everything.
This one will be eternal.
I will watch.
I will wait.
I will hope.
Because she is worth it.
She is worth everything."
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To Be Continued in What Lives Beneath the Veil: Book One – The Unblooded Lamb
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END OF PREQUEL PROLOGUE AND CHAPTER ONE