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 Five: The Dark Ascension
Year 530 Before the Curse – Twenty Years After the First Kill
Mordred had been killing for two decades.
He had lost count of his victims long ago. Dozens. Hundreds. It didn't matter. They were all the same in the end. Fuel for his power. Food for his hunger. Souls for his ascension.
He had grown stronger.
Much stronger.
His spells could level buildings. His curses could kill from a distance. His mind could reach into the thoughts of anyone within a mile.
He was feared.
Not openly—no one knew his name. Not directly—no one had seen his face and lived. But felt. The villagers whispered about a darkness in the mountains. A shadow that stole children. A monster.
They did not know it was him.
They did not know he was human.
They did not know he was empty.
And he intended to keep it that way.
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The Tower – The Laboratory
Mordred had expanded his tower.
Not physically—the black stone walls were the same. But inside, he had created a laboratory. A place where he could experiment with the darkest magic, the most forbidden rituals, the secrets of the universe.
He had books from a dozen dead civilizations.
He had artifacts from a hundred forgotten gods.
He had souls from a thousand murdered innocents.
He was close.
So close.
The ritual for immortality required one hundred sacrifices.
He had performed ninety-nine.
But something was missing.
The ritual was incomplete.
He could feel it.
A gap in his knowledge.
A flaw in his understanding.
He needed more information.
More power.
More time.
He had plenty of time.
He was not aging.
The souls he consumed kept him young.
Not immortal—not yet. But ageless.
He could wait.
He would wait.
And when the time was right, he would strike.
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The Visitor – The Demon
A demon came to his tower.
Not summoned—Mordred had not called it. Not invited—Mordred had not opened a door. It simply appeared, as if it had always been there, waiting in the shadows.
It had no form, but it took one.
A shape of fire and shadow, with eyes that burned like molten gold and a voice that crackled like thunder.
"Mordred," it said.
"Demon."
"You have been busy."
"I have."
"You have killed many."
"I have."
"You have taken many souls."
"I have."
"You seek immortality."
"Yes."
"I can give it to you."
"What is the price?"
"Your soul."
"I have no soul."
The demon laughed.
"Everyone has a soul.
Even you.
Especially you.
Yours is dark.
Twisted.
Empty.
But it is there.
And I want it."
"What will you give me in return?"
"Immortality.
Power.
Godhood.
Everything you have ever wanted.
Everything you have ever dreamed."
Mordred was silent for a long moment.
Then he said, "No."
"No?"
"I will not trade my soul."
"Then you will never be immortal."
"Perhaps."
"You will die."
"Perhaps."
"You will be forgotten."
"Perhaps."
The demon stared at him.
"You are a fool," it said.
"Perhaps."
"You will regret this."
"Perhaps."
"I will be watching."
"I know."
"I will be waiting."
"I know."
"I will be there when you fall."
"You will wait forever."
The demon faded.
Its fire died.
Its shadow vanished.
Mordred was alone.
Again.
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The Years – The Searching
Mordred searched for answers.
He traveled to forgotten libraries, to hidden temples, to the ruins of dead civilizations.
He spoke to ghosts, to spirits, to the dead.
He learned many things.
The ritual was incomplete.
The hundredth sacrifice had to be willing.
Not forced.
Not tricked.
Not taken.
Willing.
The victim had to choose to die.
Had to choose to give their soul.
Had to choose to make him immortal.
But who would choose that?
Who would willingly give their life to a monster?
Who would trust him?
He did not know.
He could not imagine.
But he would find someone.
He would make someone.
He would break someone.
He had time.
He had patience.
He had hunger.
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The Village – The Girl
He found her in a village at the edge of the kingdom.
A young girl, no more than ten years old, with tea-colored eyes and a white dress.
She was sitting on a bench, reading a book.
She was alone.
She was different.
He could feel it.
The emptiness.
The hunger.
The darkness.
She was like him.
Not exactly—she had not killed. Not yet. But the potential was there. The seed of something terrible.
She looked up.
Her eyes met his.
"Hello, stranger," she said.
"Hello."
"What is your name?"
"Mordred."
"Beautiful name."
"Thank you."
"What is yours?"
"Liora."
"Beautiful name."
"I know."
She smiled.
It was a strange smile.
Wrong.
Empty.
"Would you like to sit with me?" she asked.
"Yes."
He sat beside her.
"What are you reading?"
"A book about monsters."
"Do you like monsters?"
"I am one."
He stared at her.
"No," he said.
"You are not."
"Not yet."
"But soon."
"Very soon."
He did not know what to say.
So he said nothing.
They sat in silence.
The shadows watched.
The whispers waited.
The darkness listened.
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The Conversation – The Connection
"Do you feel it?" she asked.
"Feel what?"
"The emptiness."
"Yes."
"The hunger."
"Yes."
"The darkness."
"Yes."
"Do you know what it means?"
"No."
"Neither do I."
"But I want to find out."
"So do I."
"Then let us find out together."
He stared at her.
"You want to travel with me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you are like me."
"Because you understand."
"Because you are alone."
"Just like me."
He was silent for a long moment.
Then he said, "Yes."
"Yes?"
"I will travel with you."
"I will teach you."
"I will guide you."
"Thank you," she said.
"You are welcome."
They stood up.
They walked away from the village.
The shadows followed.
The whispers watched.
The darkness waited.
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The Journey – The Lessons
They traveled together for a year.
Mordred taught her about magic.
About sacrifice.
About power.
She learned quickly.
Faster than anyone he had ever taught.
She was hungry.
For knowledge.
For power.
For souls.
He taught her how to reach into a mind.
How to pull out memories.
How to consume them.
She practiced on animals.
On travelers.
On anyone they found.
She was good.
She was ruthless.
She was empty.
Just like him.
But different.
Colder.
More.
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The First Kill – Together
They found a traveler on the road.
A merchant, old and tired, with a donkey and a cart full of goods.
He was alone.
He was vulnerable.
He was perfect.
"Shall we?" Mordred asked.
"Yes," Liora said.
They approached the merchant.
"Hello," Mordred said.
"Hello," the merchant replied.
"Beautiful day."
"Yes."
"Where are you headed?"
"To the city."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"That is dangerous."
"I can protect myself."
"Can you?"
The merchant frowned.
"What do you want?"
"Your soul."
The merchant reached for his knife.
Liora moved.
Faster than the merchant could follow.
Faster than Mordred could react.
Her hand closed around the merchant's throat.
"Close your eyes," she said.
"No—"
"Close your eyes."
The merchant closed his eyes.
She reached into his mind.
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.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
"Your turn," she said.
Mordred 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 Bond – The Understanding
They sat by the fire that night.
The merchant's body was ash.
His soul was theirs.
"You are good at this," Mordred said.
"I know."
"Have you killed before?"
"No."
"Then how?"
"I have been watching you."
"Learning from you."
"Waiting for this moment."
He stared at her.
"You are dangerous."
"I know."
"You are empty."
"I know."
"You are hungry."
"I know."
"You are like me."
"No," she said.
"I am more."
He did not argue.
She was right.
She was more.
Colder.
Empty-er.
Hungrier.
She would surpass him.
One day.
Soon.
And he did not know how to feel about that.
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The Separation – The Betrayal
They traveled together for another year.
Liora grew stronger.
Mordred grew weaker.
Not physically—his power was still immense. But spiritually. She was consuming his purpose, his drive, his reason.
He did not need her.
He did not want her.
But he could not leave her.
She was his creation.
His student.
His daughter.
And she would be his end.
He knew it.
He had always known it.
But he could not stop it.
One night, he left.
He did not say goodbye.
He did not leave a note.
He simply vanished.
Liora woke alone.
She was not surprised.
She was not sad.
She was empty.
Just like always.
She stood up.
She walked away.
The shadows followed.
The whispers watched.
The darkness waited.
And somewhere, in the depths of the universe, the watcher stirred.
"They have separated," it whispered.
"The teacher and the student.
The creator and the creation.
The father and the daughter.
Now, she will grow on her own.
Now, she will become.
I will watch.
I will wait.
I will hope.
Because she is worth it.
She is worth everything."
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End of Chapter Five