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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Chapter Four: The Hundred Victims
Year 500 Before the Curse – The Age of Magic
Mordred had waited long enough.
Decades of study. Decades of preparation. Decades of hunger.
Now, it was time.
The ritual required one hundred sacrifices.
One hundred souls.
One hundred deaths.
But not just any deaths.
The deaths of the innocent.
Children.
He had killed children before.
He had killed many children before.
But never like this.
Never with purpose.
Never with intention.
This was different.
This was the culmination.
This was the end.
He left his tower.
He walked into the world.
He hunted.
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The First Victim – Lily
He found her in a village at the base of the mountains.
A young girl, no more than seven years old, with tea-colored eyes and a white dress.
She was picking flowers in the forest.
She was alone.
She was vulnerable.
She was perfect.
"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 Cellar
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 Second Victim – Thomas
He found his second victim in the next village.
A young boy, no more than eight years old, with brown hair and blue eyes.
He was playing by the river.
He was alone.
He was vulnerable.
He was perfect.
"Hello, little one," Mordred said.
The boy looked up.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Mordred."
"Are you a wizard?"
"Yes."
"Can you do magic?"
"Yes."
"Can you show me?"
"Of course."
"Come with me."
The boy followed.
They always followed.
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The Cellar
The same cellar.
The same darkness.
The same cold.
The boy was afraid now.
"Why is it so dark?" he whispered.
"The dark is nothing to be afraid of."
"I'm scared."
"Don't be."
Mordred knelt beside him.
He touched the boy's face.
"Close your eyes."
"No."
"Close your eyes."
The boy closed his eyes.
Mordred reached into his mind.
He found his memories.
His mother's smile.
His father's strength.
His dreams.
He pulled.
The boy gasped.
His body convulsed.
His eyes rolled back.
He pulled again.
The boy went limp.
Mordred withdrew from his mind.
He looked down at the body.
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 Pattern
Mordred developed a pattern.
He would visit a village.
He would find a child.
He would lure them to his tower.
He would perform the ritual.
He would burn the body.
He would scatter the ashes.
No one saw him.
No one ever saw him.
The children were forgotten.
The villages moved on.
The world continued.
But Mordred grew stronger.
The hunger grew deeper.
The emptiness grew wider.
He wanted more.
He needed more.
He would have more.
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The Tenth Victim – Sarah
By the time he reached his tenth victim, Mordred had stopped feeling anything.
Not excitement.
Not satisfaction.
Not hunger.
Just emptiness.
The same emptiness he had always felt.
But now, he knew how to fill it.
Temporarily.
Partially.
Enough.
Sarah was nine years old.
She had red hair and green eyes.
She was kind.
She was trusting.
She was innocent.
She followed him to the tower.
She trusted him.
They always trusted him.
He led her to the cellar.
He performed the ritual.
He consumed her soul.
He burned her body.
He scattered the ashes.
And he felt nothing.
This is who I am, he thought.
This is what I am.
This is what I was born to be.
A predator.
A consumer.
A god.
He smiled.
The darkness smiled with him.
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The Fiftieth Victim – Markus
By the time he reached his fiftieth victim, Mordred had lost count of the years.
Decades had passed.
He had not aged.
The power kept him young.
The hunger kept him alive.
The emptiness kept him moving.
Markus was twelve years old.
He was older than the others.
Braver.
Smarter.
He tried to run.
He tried to fight.
He tried to scream.
But Mordred was faster.
Mordred was stronger.
Mordred was hungrier.
He caught the boy.
He dragged him to the cellar.
He performed the ritual.
He consumed his soul.
He burned his body.
He scattered the ashes.
And he felt nothing.
Fifty, he thought.
Fifty more.
Fifty more until immortality.
Fifty more until godhood.
Fifty more until everything.
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The Ninety-Ninth Victim – Elara
By the time he reached his ninety-ninth victim, Mordred was tired.
Not physically.
The power kept him strong.
Emotionally.
The emptiness was crushing.
The hunger was endless.
The solitude was unbearable.
He wanted it to end.
He wanted to be finished.
He wanted to be whole.
Elara was seven years old.
She had tea-colored eyes and a white dress.
She reminded him of Lily.
His first victim.
His beginning.
She followed him to the tower.
She trusted him.
They always trusted him.
He led her to the cellar.
He performed the ritual.
He consumed her soul.
He burned her body.
He scattered the ashes.
And he felt nothing.
One more, he thought.
One more.
One more until immortality.
One more until godhood.
One more until everything.
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The Search – The Hundredth Victim
He searched for his hundredth victim.
He needed someone special.
Someone who would not be missed.
Someone who had no family.
No friends.
No future.
He found her in an orphanage.
A young girl, sitting in the corner, reading a book.
She had tea-colored eyes and a white dress.
She was young.
She was innocent.
She was perfect.
"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 – The Confrontation
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 Transfer
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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The Aftermath – The Beginning
Liora left the tower.
She walked into the world.
She was young.
She was hungry.
She was empty.
She was eternal.
She did not know what she was.
She did not know what she had become.
She only knew that she was different.
She only knew that she was hungry.
She only knew that she was empty.
And she would feed.
The watcher watched.
It saw her walk away.
It saw her change.
It saw her grow.
"She is the one," it thought.
"The chosen one.
The dark one.
The eternal one.
I will watch her.
I will wait for her.
I will hope for her.
Because she is worth it.
She is worth everything."
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End of Chapter Four