WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Five: The Infinite Cycle
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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 Thirty-One: The New Age
Year 100 – Eighty-Nine Years After the Curse
A century had passed.
One hundred years since the curse had taken hold. One hundred years of blood. One hundred years of hunger. One hundred years of endless, aching need that could never be fully satisfied.
Liora had stopped counting the souls.
Not because she didn't know—the whispers kept count. Because the numbers had lost meaning. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. It didn't matter. They were all the same in the end. Fuel for the dark. Food for the hunger. Souls for the eternity.
She was one hundred years old now.
Not physically—her body had stopped aging decades ago. She looked twenty-five, timeless, beautiful beyond measure. Her skin was pale as moonlight. Her hair was black as the void between stars. Her eyes were dark as shadow.
She was a goddess.
Not a metaphor.
A fact.
The world had learned to live with her.
Not in peace—there was no peace. In fear. In silence. In the desperate hope that if they did not draw her attention, she would leave them alone.
She did not.
She never did.
The hunger was eternal.
And she fed.
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The Ruins – Morning
Liora sat on the throne, listening to the whispers.
Fifty thousand souls now served her. The ruins had crumbled further, swallowed by forest and time. The walls were gone. The roof had collapsed. The throne room was open to the sky.
She did not care.
The ruins were not her home.
They were her tomb.
And she was its ghost.
You are alone, the whispers said.
Yes, she thought.
But I am not lonely.
I have you.
I have all of you.
Forever.
She stood up.
She walked through the ruins, her bare feet silent on the moss-covered stone.
The shadows followed.
They always followed.
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The Village – Morning
A village had grown near the ruins.
The people did not know what the ruins were. They did not know who had lived there. They did not know the darkness that still lingered in the stones.
They were happy.
They were peaceful.
They were safe.
They did not see the shadows.
They did not hear the whispers.
They did not feel the darkness watching.
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The Ruins – Morning
Liora stood in the ruins, looking down at the village.
They are happy, she thought.
They are peaceful.
They are safe.
They do not believe in me.
They do not fear me.
They do not respect me.
I will teach them.
She walked down the hill.
The shadows followed.
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The Village – Night
Liora walked through the village, invisible as always.
The whispers guided her. Fifty thousand souls, bound to her, serving her, hungry for more.
There is a family, they said. In the house on the corner. A father. A mother. Three children.
They are happy.
They are peaceful.
They are safe.
They are perfect.
She found the house.
It was small, made of wood and stone, surrounded by flowers and the sound of laughter.
She walked inside.
The family was eating dinner.
They looked happy.
They looked peaceful.
They looked safe.
Liora stepped into the light.
The father looked up.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
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The Feeding – The Family
Liora reached into the father's mind.
She pulled.
He fell.
She reached into the mother's mind.
She pulled.
She fell.
She reached into the children's minds.
She pulled.
They fell.
Five souls.
Five streams of darkness flowing into her.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
Always more.
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The Fifty Thousand First Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the house, surrounded by the bodies of the family.
The whispers watched.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness purred.
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The Power – Fifty Thousand One
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Fifty thousand and one sacrifices. Fifty thousand and one souls. Fifty thousand and one streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Fifty thousand one, 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 family. Happy. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the happy.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned the bodies 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 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 east. A knight. Brave. He had been training for years, preparing for the day when he would face the queen.
He believed she was a myth.
He believed the stories were lies.
He believed she was nothing.
Liora smiled.
Let him believe, she thought.
Let him train.
Let him prepare.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when he comes—
I will feed.
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End of Chapter One Hundred Thirty-One