Chapter 11
An Ancient Discovery
In the wake of the battle, the ground was littered with the remnants of the goblin horde—their grotesque forms strewn about like fallen leaves in autumn. Preacher stood amidst his wives, surveying the scene. His eyes, hardened by countless skirmishes, softened as they settled on Angela, the newest addition to their unusual family.
"Now Preacher, fulfill your agreement with me and make me your wife and give me a child like I asked," Angela said, her voice a harmonious mix of delight and desperation. Her vibrant red eyes glistened under the dim light of the setting sun, eyes flickering with anticipation, making her seem both enchanting and terrifying.
Preacher glanced at Iris, Seraphina, and Elowen—his first, second, and third wives—who stood shoulder to shoulder, their expressions a careful blend of curiosity and disapproval.
"An agreement is an agreement," Preacher said, his voice steady yet contemplative. "And we all agreed to help raise any child she had."
The three women exchanged glances, gauging the weight of Angela's request and the implications of Preacher's statement.
"Angela," Seraphina began, her tone measured but firm, "as a succubus, there is plenty of reason not to trust you. To begin with, you manipulated and coerced Preacher to accept you as his wife, not the least of which by threatening us." She thrust her chin forward defiantly. "In my mind, it would be difficult to trust you if you have differing objectives. We—Iris, Elowen, and myself—are one hundred percent committed to Preacher. We would even stand in objection to our own families for him. I question your motives."
"I personally do not care for the way you secured your way into Preacher's life," Iris added, her voice measured but sharp. Angela, whose eyes had danced with delight, now shimmered with unshed tears, her composure beginning to falter under the scrutiny.
"However," Iris continued, her tone softening, "you did help us with the goblin horde, and you came through for us in destroying the goblins single-handedly. While we prevented the horde from escaping, you made sure not one goblin survived. In my opinion, you kept your word despite your past actions. However, I must tell you—you are not the only one who wants a child with our husband. In fact, I am five weeks pregnant. I will be the first to bear Preacher's child."
The revelation hung in the air like a thunderclap, silencing the morose atmosphere.
"Really, Iris? You're really going to have Preacher's first child?" Elowen exclaimed, her expression shifting from concern to joy, her voice a jubilant melody in stark contrast to the tension.
Iris smiled, warmth flooding her features as she nodded. "It's going to be a girl."
Elowen turned back to Angela, her attitude shifting to one of cool calculation. "It is true you did manipulate Preacher into taking you as his wife. But being who you are, that may be understandable since you felt you had no other choice. However, from here on forth, no more games. You're either one hundred percent for our husband—nothing less than total commitment—or no."
Preacher's heart swelled with admiration for his wives; they were fierce and loyal, embodying the strength of their convictions. "That being said," Elowen continued, her voice firm, "Preacher did agree to this arrangement. He gave his word, and Preacher doesn't give his word easily. As Preacher's third and most recent wife, I say 'Aye.'"
"Aye," Iris agreed, her eyes flashing with determination.
Seraphina stepped forward, her presence commanding attention. "If you betray our husband, Angela, I will end you," she declared, her voice as cold and unyielding as the winter wind. "That being said, I say 'Aye.'"
The room was filled with the weight of their oaths as they turned toward Preacher, who nodded solemnly. "An agreement is an agreement," he repeated, looking into the eyes of each of his wives. "I did agree with her to make her my wife. Elowen is right, and I will stand by my agreement, but love is not there yet. My heart belongs to each of you in different ways. As your husband, Angela, I will treat you with the respect you deserve, but my affection cannot be easily granted. It must be earned."
Angela caught her breath, her earlier delight dimmed by the reality of their words. "I understand," she whispered, battling her tears. "I'll earn your love, I promise."
"Let the marriage rite begin." Preacher announced.
Iris, the first of Preacher's wives, positioned herself behind him, her long auburn hair flowing behind her. A gentle, warm glow surrounded her, a tangible expression of her unwavering support for their family. She caught the eye of her co-wives, Seraphina and Elowen, who stood resolutely at his right and left in front of him, their expressions fierce yet joyous. Together, they formed an unyielding protectorate circle surrounding Preacher and Angela in the center, who stood nervously in the center, eyes wide with awe and anticipation.
As Preacher clasped Angela's hands firmly, a surge of warmth radiated between them; the promise of new life—their union—pulsed in a rhythm that echoed the beating of their hearts. It was a light that signified hope, resilience, and rebirth.
Seraphina began the incantation. Her voice entwined with Elowen's. Together, they synchronized their energies, lending their powers to the rite.
"The ties that bind shall forge an unbreakable covenant," they sang, their words merging into an arcane melody that soared into the twilight.
As they spoke, the air shimmered, drawing everyone's gaze toward the ground beneath them. Within moments, a magical blue circle manifested, flickering like an ethereal flame. The brightness pulsed in tandem with their shared energy, expanding outward and encapsulating the five figures standing united.
The Essence of the Ethereal Blue Flame surged from the circle, wrapping around Angela in a warm embrace, seeking every facet of her being. Threads of light wove through her spirit and body, intertwining it with the essence of Preacher and his three other wives; each pulse of the blue flame ignited deep within her, awakening dormant powers and rewriting her DNA and forging a bond that transcended the boundaries of mere mortals.
The forest resonated with the energy of their commitment, the trees leaning forward as if to witness the magic unfolding. The vibrant colors of the glade intensified, as if in celebration of their new union. Elowen, the wild lark at heart, radiated with joy; her laughter harmonized with the murmurs of the flora around them, intertwining with the voices of her partners.
"Melded in purpose, we stand, we are one." Preacher, Iris, Seraphina, Elowen, and finally Angela intonated in unison, the final words ringing with such resonance that even the stars stilled above, listening intently to their vow.
A serenity enveloped the air as they spoke as one, their voices harmonizing with an ethereal resonance woven from the threads of their souls. The moment transcended the individual, encapsulating the essence of their family in that singular declaration: "We are one."
As the incantation came to an end, a profound hush fell over the battlefield. The flickering magical blue circle slowly diminished, reluctant to dissolve the shimmering energy, leaving behind an afterglow that enveloped the newly formed bond between them.
Preacher felt the pulse of their covenant deep within him, intertwining with the essence of his wives and Angela. With their commitment entwined like roots beneath the earth, fastened in intricate tracery of magic and harmony, they stood firm against the winds of fate, against any challenge that might try to break their united front.
As night crept into the sky, stars glittered high above them, twinkling in approval of their vows. Each pulse of blue flame lingered in the air, a residual echo of trust and love—a binding oath that proclaimed they would face every adventure together.
"It would seem that the Ethereal Blue Flame has accepted Angela and her intentions are honorable." Preacher said
"Let's celebrate," Iris whispered in Preacher's ear, her spirit ignited with the same flame that bound them, ushering them into a new chapter of their lives. The laughter of their joyous union rippled through the clearing, a crescendo of love beneath the starlit canopy of the universe. As they indulged in the delights of their newfound unity—each touch a spark, each kiss a promise—their hearts beat as a single entity in the rhythm of life, weaving together experiences and memories bathed in moonlight.
Afterward, with the delicate touch of moonlight illuminating their bodies, they lay together nestled in nature's embrace—Preacher at the center, surrounded by Iris, Elowen, Seraphina, and Angela. Their breaths became a tranquil melody, a harmonious reflection of their bonds settled comfortably in the afterglow of their union. Darkness enveloped them, and one by one, as fatigue took hold, they succumbed to the world of dreams.
Preacher lay still, bathed in the golden light that seeped through the leaves of the forest where they had slept. The feathery breaths of his four wives surrounded him, wrapping him in a warmth that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. Iris—a bold warrior with a fiery spirit—snuggled against his side, her auburn hair cascading like a waterfall over his chest. Seraphina, the warrior maiden with an ethereal beauty, draped her arm across his torso, her touch gentle yet grounding. Elowen, the regal Elven Princess with silver hair that whispered of ancient forests, nestled against his arm, while Angela, the spirited succubus, rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers brushing against his neck as if coaxing music from the air.
Every inch of him felt connected to them, and in that moment, Preacher understood the longing that had plagued him since his father's death—a gnawing ache for family, love, and belonging. He had discovered a life brimming with purpose among these incredible women, each a thread in the tapestry of his heart.
But the weight of the impending quests loomed over them, a pressure threatening to shatter the fragile serenity of the morning. Preacher sighed gently, careful not to disturb the peaceful slumber of his wives. The King's demand echoed in his mind: complete the three quests to cleanse the ancient cities of their monstrous inhabitants, or face the ignominy of dishonoring the beloved daughter he had stolen away. Elowen's choice to marry him was in direct violation of their traditions. "Elves should only marry Elves." What consequences would come with her decision, not the least of which was that she was the daughter and the Princess of the Elven king.
"Time waits for no one," Preacher muttered softly, recognizing the irony of the phrase. He had willingly left behind the steady, predictable days of his previous life, but every choice had a price.
As if sensing his inner turmoil, Iris's voice broke the tranquil silence, her golden eyes piercing through Preacher's thoughts. "Worry not, my love. We will find a way. Together." Her fierce determination ignited a flicker of hope within him, the weight of his inner turmoil momentarily lightened.
Slowly, the others began to wake, shaking off the remnants of their dreams. Angela stretched luxuriously, her smile brightening at the memory of their shared night. "Oh, that was a lovely night! We definitely need more nights like that."
"Indeed," Elowen agreed, her voice melodic and warm. "I've never experienced anything like that before. I could get addicted to more nights like that." Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she recalled the magic they had tapped into, the intimacy they had shared, the bond they had, strengthened under the light of the Ethereal Blue Flame.
Seraphina, her expression thoughtful, chimed in. "Yeah, that was amazing, but there's something to be said for some alone time with our husband too. There's nothing like the one-on-one intimacy of a man and a woman together." The three wives exchanged knowing glances and giggled, understanding the delicate balance they must maintain—both the strength of their unity and the necessity of their individual connections.
Preacher, sitting cross-legged and reflective, began to dress, inspecting his tattered clothing. The fabric had seen better days, much like himself since he had arrived in this fantastical world. "I should stop by that shop and have some new clothes made," he mused, thinking of the enchanting demi-human women he had met there, clandestine agents working for the Beast King.
"We need to get to the Beast King as soon as possible," he reminded them. A sense of urgency rippled through his voice. "I wish I could just teleport straight to the Beast King's domain, but I've never been there."
Elowen's sudden grin startled him. "There may be a way, husband." Her excitement was palpable, and as she continued, he could sense a plan forming. "We are all connected by the Ethereal Blue Flame. We all now have the ability of Telepathy—and we can all teleport too. It is how we harness our magic."
Preacher raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You can already teleport?"
"Yes!" Elowen exclaimed, nodding vigorously. "I saw you do it before, and since I knew you came from a world without magic, I figured the Ethereal Blue Flame was the source of your power. Besides, I'm an Elf—I could already do light magic, as well as earth and water magic."
Angela's amber eyes sparkled with mischief and urgency. "Oh, that reminds me, lover. I think I found something you might be interested in. I found it in the lowest part of the ruined city." Her voice was a melody, soothing yet insistent.
Preacher's gaze shifted, the veil of memory clouding his thoughts. "Well, it will have to wait until after our meeting with the Beast King. That has to take precedence."
"Okay dear," Angela replied, her tone turning serious, "but I think if you miss this opportunity, you'll regret it. It's tied to your ultimate goal here—to stop the war."
At her words, Preacher froze, a sudden chill running down his spine. He turned slowly to face her, the darkness of his past creeping into the light of the present. "How do you know about that?"
Angela smiled softly, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. "Remember, we're connected by the Ethereal Blue Flame. One of my abilities is that I can dream walk, with our connection, I accidentally slipped into your dreams and went exploring through your mind. You've been a very naughty boy in your past."
"Those days are over," Preacher growled, his voice low and pained. "I'm no longer that person anymore."
"Oh, I know you're not, love. That's why I fell in love with you." She touched his arm lightly, grounding him. "Yeah, I can't drain your life force or your mana anymore because the Flame changed me. I am human now. I still have my magic but I'm just as human as you, but it's your character, who you are, that I fell in love with… Michael."
The use of that name startled him. He took a step back, the name echoing in the back of his mind like a ghost. "That person is dead. He no longer exists."
"Say what you want, husband," Angela said, a gentle defiance in her voice. "But he's still with you. You haven't fully faced him or forgiven him. I also know about your mission. I know about everything."
Preacher's world spun as he processed her revelation. The turmoil within him swelled. The air crackled with the energy of repressed anger and regret, an aura of dark memories and emotions threatening to surface. His other wives, Seraphina, Elowen, and Iris felt the shift in his spirit, their eyes darting between him and Angela.
"I think you've said enough," Seraphina interjected, her tone firm yet caring as she looked at Angela. "He's already told us about his past. He's trying to bury it and move on with his life. He doesn't need constant reminding of the things he's done."
"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, my dear sister," Angela countered, her voice steady. "You see, he still carries that with him, and he can't let go of it until he comes to terms with who he was. You don't know, but it's eating him up inside like a wasting disease. It's creating a hole inside him, and he has to come to terms with it."
"A disease…" Preacher muttered, the words cutting deep. Memories flooded back—images of his past life, back in the world that he came from, the drug running, the weapons smuggling, the battles he fought and the people he killed as a result of his illegal activities.
"Michael," Angela pressed. "You have to confront the memories you've buried. This mission isn't just about stopping the war; it's about healing yourself, your very soul."
Preacher's heart raced as the walls he had built around his true self began to tremble. "But… if I unveil that man… what if he emerges? What if I fall back into darkness?"
Angela stepped closer, her spirit radiating warmth. "You're not that man anymore. You're stronger, not just because of your power but because of love. We are here, together, and we will face this past with you."
The tension eased slightly, with Iris, Seraphina and Elowen stepping forward. "We are your strength," Iris said softly, her eyes full of compassion. "Let us help you."
With a deep breath, Preacher looked into Angela's understanding eyes. He felt the spark of the Ethereal Blue Flame flicker between them, a connection forged in realms beyond mere physical bonds. "Then… if there's a chance to not only stop the war but to face my past, I will follow you into the ruins."
"Stopping the war is only part of what you need to do, lover." Angela said. Even though you come from another world, completing this mission you've been given, you need to understand the origins of the original conflict, you need to understand its root cause, and this will help you deal with your past life as well."
Angela smiled, relief washing over her features. The path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but he would conquer what lay beneath the rubble of his history. After all, every king must face his demons before he can reign in peace.
The ruins of Marrak stood like a skeletal hand reaching for the sky, remnants of a civilization long since lost to time and war. Vines snaked through the crumbling stone, and shadows whispered secrets of the past, but it was the echoes of Preacher's haunted memories that resonated deepest in his heart.
Angela walked beside him, her amber eyes alight with a fervor that matched the energy of the Ethereal Blue Flame crackling softly between them. She led the way into the depths of the city, where the light of the sun could barely penetrate the thick canopy of overgrowth.
"You know, this place was once vibrant," she mused, her voice carrying a bittersweet lilt. "Artists painted murals that captured the essence of life; scholars debated the mysteries of the universe under spreading oak trees. Now…" She gestured at the decay surrounding them. "Now it's merely a ghost of what it once was."
"It's haunting," Preacher replied, his voice low as they entered a cavernous structure resembling a temple, an altar to forgotten gods. "Reminds me too much of my own past."
"Exactly," Angela said, her insistent gaze locking onto his. "This is what's waiting for you, Michael. The reflections—you need to understand the war, the pain caused. It's all connected."
They moved deeper into the temple, dust swirling in motes of light that filtered through cracks in the stone. The air was thick with magic and regret, a palpable reminder of the beings who once roamed within those walls. Angela closed her eyes and concentrated.
"The Ethereal Blue Flame is more than just our bond," she continued. "It's a bridge. It holds the memories of the dreams I've walked through. I saw it—the moment you turned away from your dark past. The moment you decided to change."
"Those choices are shadows, Angela," Preacher said, the uncertainty in his voice layering upon the pain he had long since buried. "Bad choices. I hurt people. I was a monster."
"And you've repented," she replied firmly. "But to heal, you must confront the monster you were—the root of this conflict. Only then can the light of your spirit burn brighter."
The ground shuddered beneath their feet, sending a cloud of dust billowing skyward. Preacher steadied himself, his heart racing at the feeling of the temple echoing his turmoil. He clasped Angela's hand tightly, drinking in the warmth of her connection, grounding him as the room faded away for a moment.
From the shadows emerged wisps of memory, swirling figures clad in garments from a time that Preacher had feared to revisit. They seemed to flicker, like flames on the verge of extinguishing—faces of those he had hurt, eyes pleading for justice.
"Michael…" a voice whispered, a spectral figure, a woman from his past, her presence both familiar and frightening. "You cannot run from what you've done. You must face it."
He wanted to look away, to dismiss the hallucination, but Angela's grip was unyielding, urging him to remain. "Speak their names," she encouraged softly. "Bring forth your truth."
Preacher swallowed hard, trembling with the weight of his regrets surfacing like an ancient tide. "Katherine…" he began, his voice strained. "Mother"
The images blurred and sharpened, memories surfacing like fish to the surface of a pond long disturbed. A heart-wrenching vision—Katherine's laughter, followed by the searing pain of betrayal when her fate had become bound to the loss of her husband, his father. His mother's tailspin into a life of bad relationships and illegal activity that ended up leading him down the same path.
Preacher's voice wavered as he called forth the name, "Katherine." A rush of memories flooded back, brimming with both light and darkness. They spiraled around him like a tempest—her laughter, vibrant and joyous, the warm glow of family dinners, the smell of fresh bread from the oven, the joy of simple moments. But then, like a cruel twist of fate, those happy images collapsed into chaos. He remembered their small home being overtaken by shadows, the whispers that seeped through their walls—secrets that his young heart had not yet understood.
As he spoke her name, the spectral figure of Katherine shimmered then solidified, revealing a heart-wrenching gaze that held a blend of sorrow and unyielding love. The grief etched on her features felt like a dagger to his soul.
"Michael…" she whispered, the pain in her voice reverberating through the chamber, "you chose the darkness, and I knew that when you fell, we all fell with you. You have carried my sorrow as your burden for so long." The shade of her presence ached with an otherworldly weight, each word dragging him deeper into the depths of his remorse.
But Angela, unwavering at his side, leaned closer, her aura suffusing the air between them with encouragement, plunging through Preacher's haze of despair. "You are not that boy anymore," she urged. "The choices you made shaped you, yes, but they do not define you now. You have the power to rewrite this narrative."
With a quivering breath, Preacher began to untangle the strands of his mother's memories. "Mother," he choked, the tide of emotions threatening to take him under. "I was lost. I could feel your light fading... I made deals I shouldn't have. I wanted to protect you, but instead, I hurt you."
Katherine's spectral form rippled as if struck by an unseen force. "Michael, it's time to acknowledge not just their pain but your own. Those moments—the violence, the turmoil, the choices that led us to ruin—face them."
Just as Katherine's features began to glow with the intensity of his memories, the figures of the others joined her: lovers torn apart by betrayal, friends ravaged by selfishness, souls whose ashes lay strewn among the ruins of warped choices and lost lives. Each spectral face reflected the loss that Preacher had inflicted on those around him, the echoes of laughter replaced with cries for justice that plagued the silence.
Angela's voice came through the turmoil like a beacon in the dark. "Speak their names, Michael. Reclaim your narrative. Only by confronting the past can you shed its shadows."
"Jeremy…" Preacher stammered, the name breaking from his lips. As he spoke, another memory surged—his friend caught in the crossfire of a conflict ignited by Preacher's miscalculations, the final moments of Jeremy's life winding back like a cruel loop—the look of pain and betrayal in his eyes, pleading for the trust Preacher had shattered.
"I… I didn't mean for any of this to happen." He whispered desperately.
The specters grew solid, encircling him, each name he spoke forging connections between the past and present. "Sophia… I failed you." "Lucas… your laughter was drowned in my darkness." With each name, a healing flame sparked within, igniting the Ethereal Blue Flame between Preacher and Angela, consuming the room in hues of indigo and power.
Katherine stepped closer, her eyes shimmering with understanding. "You've changed, my son. Embrace that change. Heal, not just for those you've hurt, but for the boy you once were and the man you wish to be."
As he stood there, the enormity of his choices crashing down upon him like crashing waves, Preacher felt the warmth of Angela's palm against his. In her embrace, he felt the strength to confront the darkness that had once claimed him.
"I am ready," he said, courage flooding his veins. "Ready to face my past and to make it right. I will not run anymore."
With those words, a seismic crack split the temple, echoing against the decay surrounding them. Light poured in from above, illuminating the ruins and casting aside the shadows that had lingered for far too long. The specters, once expressions of grief and anger, transformed within the light, morphing into figures of ethereal beauty and peace.
"Now, rise from your past," Angela urged, that radiant energy of love pulsing like a heartbeat between them. "Together, we will forge a new path out of the ashes of Marrak, uncover the roots of this war, and heal what was once lost."
With a final glance at Katherine, whose face now radiated forgiveness and release, Preacher found peace in the fractured memories. Turning forward, he took Angela's hand firmly. They pressed deeper into the heart of Marrak,