WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Two: The Eternal Hunger
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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 Seventy: The Year of Blood
Year 14 – One Year After the Curse
A year had passed since the curse took hold.
A year of blood. A year of hunger. A year of endless, aching need that could never be fully satisfied.
Liora had killed thirty-three more people in that year.
Thirty-three souls.
Thirty-three streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming part of her.
One hundred and three in total.
She had passed the hundred mark.
She was no longer human.
She was something else.
Something more.
The old texts called this stage The Ascension.
At one hundred sacrifices, the dark becomes you. You are no longer a vessel. You are the source.
You are immortal.
You are invincible.
You are a god.
Liora felt it.
The power thrumming through her veins like a second heartbeat. The hunger that never faded, never quieted, never ended. The knowledge that she could do anything, take anything, be anything.
She was immortal.
She was invincible.
She was a god.
And the world would soon know her name.
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The Castle – Morning
Liora went down to breakfast.
The servants bowed lower than before. The guards stood straighter than before. The nobles who had dared to return to the castle sent gifts, letters, desperate pleas for favor.
Everyone knew.
Not what she was—not exactly. But they knew she was dangerous. They knew to stay away. They knew to keep their mouths shut and their eyes down and their children close.
The queen sat at the head of the table, eating her fruit, drinking her tea.
She did not remember her husband.
She did not remember her son.
She did not remember anything.
"Good morning, Mother," Liora said.
"Good morning, Liora."
"Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you. And you?"
"Very well."
They ate in silence.
The servants moved through the room, refilling cups, clearing plates.
No one mentioned the disappearances.
No one mentioned the bodies.
No one mentioned anything.
Liora smiled.
The castle is mine, she thought.
The kingdom is mine.
The world will be mine.
And no one—
No one—
Will ever stop me.
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The Lower Town – Night
Liora walked through the streets, invisible as always.
The whispers guided her. One hundred and three souls, bound to her, serving her, hungry for more.
There is a man, they said. In the house on the river. He is a mage. A powerful one. His soul is worth five.
He is alone.
He is vulnerable.
She found the house.
It was large, made of stone, surrounded by the smell of water and the sound of silence.
She knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" a voice called.
"Someone who wants to make you an offer."
The door opened.
A man stood in the doorway. Old. White-bearded. His eyes were sharp, assessing.
"You're the princess," he said.
"Yes."
"I've heard about you."
"Good things, I hope."
He laughed.
"No. Not good things."
Liora smiled.
"May I come in?"
He hesitated.
Then he stepped aside.
"Come in."
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The Mage's House
Liora stepped inside.
The house was warm, lit by candles, smelling of old books and older magic.
"Sit," the mage said.
Liora sat.
"You're not here to make an offer," he said.
"No?"
"No. You're here to kill me."
Liora tilted her head.
"What makes you say that?"
"I can feel it. The darkness in you. It's stronger than anything I've ever felt."
"You should be afraid."
"I am."
"Good."
She stood up.
He stood up.
"You won't succeed," he said.
"I always succeed."
"This is my home. My place of power. You can't—"
Liora moved.
Faster than he could follow. Faster than he could react.
Her hand closed around his throat.
"I can," she said. "And I will."
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The Feeding
The curse demanded intimacy.
Liora had learned to use the shadows as extensions of herself. They touched the mage where she could not. They caressed him. They took him.
He gasped.
His body arched.
"Please," he whispered.
"Please what?"
"Please..."
She reached into the place where pleasure lived.
She pulled.
He screamed.
Not in pain. In ecstasy.
His body convulsed. His hands clenched. His eyes rolled back.
The shadows drank.
Not just his essence. His magic. His power. His soul.
She consumed everything.
And when it was over—
The hunger quieted.
Longer this time.
The mage's soul was worth five.
Five times the satisfaction.
Five times the power.
She looked down at him.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
Another victim.
Another name for Finn's list.
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The One Hundred Fourth Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the mage's house, surrounded by old books and older magic.
The whispers watched.
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 Power – One Hundred Four
The fire in her veins burned brighter than ever before.
One hundred and four sacrifices. One hundred and four souls. One hundred and four streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
But this soul was different.
Stronger.
Worth five.
She could feel it. The mage's essence was thicker, richer, more potent than almost anything she had ever consumed.
Five, she thought.
Five in one.
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 mage. Powerful. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned the mage's body in the house's fireplace.
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 castle as the sun rose, smelling of smoke and blood and darkness.
She washed her face.
She braided her hair.
She chose a white dress.
She practiced her smile.
Eyes wide. Innocence.
Mouth soft. Gentleness.
Head tilted. Curiosity.
Perfect, she thought.
She went down to breakfast.
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Finn – The List
Finn added another name to the list in his head.
The mage. Lower town. One hundred four.
He recited the list every night before bed.
One hundred and four names.
One hundred and four faces.
One hundred and four souls.
One hundred four, he thought.
She's killed one hundred four people.
She is immortal now.
She is invincible.
She is a god.
No one is safe.
No one.
He lay in his corner, staring at the darkness.
He did not sleep.
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Liora – The Evening
She sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight.
One hundred and four sacrifices.
She was immortal.
She was invincible.
She was a god.
She closed the book.
She looked at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror was gone.
Something else was looking back.
Something ancient.
Something hungry.
I am immortal, she thought.
I am invincible.
I am a god.
And the world—
The world will soon know my name.
She smiled.
The darkness smiled with her.
And somewhere in the depths of the castle, in a cellar that no one visited and no one remembered, one hundred and four souls whispered her name.
Liora.
Liora.
Liora.
She heard them.
She always heard them.
They were hers now.
Forever.
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End of Chapter Seventy