WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Four: The Eternal Empire
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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 One Hundred Seven: The Healer's Last Hope
Year 56 – Forty-Five Years After the Curse
The healer in the south had healed for forty-five years.
Not literally—she was only thirty-three. But she had healed as if she had been saving lives for decades. Every day. Every night. Every patient of every season.
She believed she could heal the queen.
She believed she could save her soul.
She believed she could redeem her.
Her name was Sera—another echo, another coincidence. She was young, compassionate, and skilled. She had a clinic. A reputation. A purpose.
She had heard the stories.
The legends.
The fear.
She believed them.
She knew the queen was powerful. Immortal. Invincible.
But she also knew that no one was truly beyond healing.
Everyone had a wound.
Everyone had a scar.
Everyone had a weakness.
She just had to find it.
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The Southern Clinic – Morning
Sera treated her patients, as she always did.
The sick were healed. The injured were mended. The dying were comforted.
Life is fragile, she thought.
Life is precious.
Life is worth saving.
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.
Ten thousand and ten 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 healer.
She is compassionate, they said. She is skilled. She is dangerous.
She believes she can heal you.
She believes she can save you.
She believes she can redeem you.
Liora smiled.
Let her heal, she thought.
Let her save.
Let her believe.
I have time.
I have forever.
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The Southern Clinic – Night
Sera worked late into the night.
She had a patient—a young woman with a wasting disease. She had been treating her for weeks, but she was not improving.
There must be something I'm missing, she thought.
There must be something I can do.
There must be a way to save her.
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 Clinic
Liora appeared in the doorway.
White dress. Black eyes. Pale skin.
"You're here," she said.
Sera looked up.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
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The Feeding – Sera
Liora reached into the healer's mind.
She tried to resist.
She was compassionate. Skilled. Dangerous.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past her defenses.
She found her memories.
...the healings...
...the saves...
...the hope ...
...that she could be the one...
...that she could heal her...
...that she could save her...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The compassion.
The skill.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
Sera gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
Sera went limp.
She withdrew from her mind.
She looked down at her.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The healer was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Patient
The young woman with the wasting disease watched in horror.
"She killed her."
"She drained her."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Liora reached out.
She touched the patient's face.
"Close your eyes."
"No—"
"Close your eyes."
She closed her eyes.
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The Feeding – The Patient
Liora reached into the patient's mind.
She was weak. Sick. Dying.
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The disease.
The pain.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
She gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
She went limp.
Another shell.
Another victim.
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The Ten Thousand Twelfth Sacrifice
She performed the rituals in the clinic, surrounded by the bodies of the healer and her patient.
The whispers watched.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness wept.
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The Power – Ten Thousand Twelve
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Ten thousand and twelve sacrifices. Ten thousand and twelve souls. Ten thousand and twelve streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Ten thousand twelve, 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 bodies.
A healer. A patient. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the compassionate.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned the bodies in the clinic'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 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 west. A farmer. Hopeful. He had been tending his fields for years, growing food for his family, avoiding the queen's notice.
He believed she would leave him alone.
He believed she didn't care about him.
He believed he was safe.
Liora smiled.
Let him farm, she thought.
Let him grow.
Let him believe.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when I'm hungry—
I will feed.
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End of Chapter One Hundred Seven