Chapter 585: The Meeting (2)

Prince Alaric sneakily stole a glance at the Solar Pontiff.

When the kingdom sent a messenger to inform the church about the 'heretic' and their unfortunate defeat, the prince and the king chose to 'hide' certain details about the 'angels'; they simply said that the enemy had an elite winged warrior force.

It was the prince's idea.

Since he was raised outside the church's influence, he had developed a more... pragmatic view of the world. He saw things more clearly, without the fog of religious dogma clouding his judgment.

He knew that what drives the people at the top of the church, especially the 'Pontiff', is not the 'will of the goddess' or 'faith' but 'power' and 'interest'.

The 'angels' were a symbol of divine power. A symbol that the church held an absolute monopoly on.

But now there are new 'angels'.

Angels that do not bow to Uriel.

And if the church's higher-ups smelled an opportunity, a chance to expand their power, to gain new allies, to... absorb this new power, they would jump on it without a second thought.

They would betray their own mother for a taste of that power.

Alaric didn't want that.

He had faith that the church and the kingdom's interests were aligned for now. But for how long?

The moment the church declared that these 'heretics' were not 'heretics' anymore but 'misguided' and that their 'goddess' was an 'aspect' of Uriel...

The whole political landscape of the continent would shift.

The kingdom would lose its leverage over the church. The church would gain a new, powerful ally. And the prince...

The prince would lose.

So he chose to withhold the information.

However, they never expected them to look like THIS. To look so... divine.

A perfect, spitting image of the seraphim described in their holy texts, right down to the burning swords and the ethereal glow. There was no mistaking it. These were not mere imitations. This was a deliberate, calculated insult.

And yet...

They were beautiful. Terrifyingly so.

They landed with impossible grace, their armored boots making no sound on the crumbling stone. There were twenty of them, their golden form-fitting armor revealing every curve of their powerful, yet distinctly feminine, bodies. They formed a perfect semicircle, their massive white or golden wings folding neatly behind their backs, their burning swords held at a relaxed, yet ready, position.

"P-Prince Alaric," the Solar Pontiff Solarius spoke, his voice a hushed, reverent whisper filled with a feverish tone, which he quickly tried to cover with a cough, "Do you mind explaining... what... What are these magnificent beings?"

"As I told Your Holiness, the enemy has winged warriors." The prince kept his face neutral, betraying none of the turmoil that raged within him. "I was not aware of their... divine appearance."

"Divine indeed." Solarius's eyes were wide, a calculating glint in their depths. He took a step forward, raising his staff, a warm, golden light radiating from the sun crystal. "Sisters in light! We are servants of the same goddess, Uriel the Eternal Light! We have come to parley, not to fight! Show us your faces, let us bask in your radiance!"

The 'angels' didn't respond. Their helmets, which covered their entire faces, remained impassive, their glowing eye-slits fixed on the humans. They stood like statues, radiating an aura of cold, holy power that was both awe-inspiring and deeply unsettling.

"I..." Solarius was about to speak again, but a flap of wings came from the sky.

Everyone raised their heads only to see thirty or so winged horses, each as white as freshly fallen snow, their coats gleaming with an otherworldly sheen. Their manes and tails were made of pure, golden light, and their eyes burned with a gentle, ethereal flame. They were Pegasi, creatures of myth, symbols of purity and grace.

On top of every Pegasus was a being that the humans despised.

Elves.

"What are they doing here?!" a knight from the prince's guard growled, his hand instinctively going to his sword.

"I don't know," Alaric said, his brow furrowed in confusion. This was not part of the plan.

This meeting was supposed to be between the Kingdom of Vandor and the messenger of the new goddess.

The elves had no place here.

Or do they?

A cold sweat broke out on the back of the prince's neck. He looked at the 'angels' and then at the 'elves'. A terrible suspicion began to form in his mind.

Could it be?

Are they...

Allies?

The elves landed gracefully on the right side of the 'angels', dismounting from their Pegasi with a fluid, feline grace that was the complete opposite of the rigid, disciplined stance of the 'angels'.

Two elves walked forward, and their appearance shocked both the prince and the pontiff.

It was the Elven Queen Sylvana and General Fenris, her most trusted and powerful warrior.

The elven queen was a vision of ethereal beauty, her long blonde hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of liquid gold, her piercing green eyes filled with ancient wisdom and a deep, simmering anger. She was wearing a simple white dress, yet it exuded an aura of power and authority that was more intimidating than any armor.

General Fenris was a towering female elf. Her skin was the color of polished mahogany, and her muscles were so defined they looked like they were carved from granite.

She had wild, untamed black hair that fell in a thick curtain down her back, and her eyes were a striking, piercing gold. She was wearing a suit of dark green leather armor, and a massive, two-handed sword was strapped to her back.

"Queen Sylvana," Alaric said, his tone was surprisingly calm, but there was a hint of disbelief in his words. "This is an... unexpected surprise."

"Prince Alaric," the elven queen replied, her voice a cold, clear melody that cut through the tense air. "The pleasure is all yours."

There was no hint of friendliness in her tone. Only a deep, burning contempt.

General Fenris, behind her, was even more hostile. She and the prince had crossed blades more than once, and she had never forgiven him for the 'devastating' victory he achieved over her forces a year ago.

The Solar Pontiff Solarius stepped forward, a condescending smile on his face.

"Your Majesty, Queen Sylvana. We did not expect to see you here. I was unaware that the elves have taken an interest in the... affairs of our kingdom."

"The affairs of your kingdom ended the moment you stepped foot on this land, Pontiff," the queen said, her voice dripping with scorn. "Besides, your kingdom tried to invade the land of my goddess, so it's natural for us to be here."

"!!!" The prince and the pontiff both froze, their eyes widening in shock.

Goddess?

This word hung in the air, a declaration that recontextualized everything.

The 'angels', the 'elves', the 'heretics'... they were all connected. They were all serving the same entity.

A new goddess.

And she had the elves, one of the most powerful races on the continent, as her allies.

This was a disaster.

"Blasphemy!" Solarius roared, his face turning red with anger. "There is only one goddess! Uriel the Eternal Light! All others are false idols, demons in disguise! You have been deceived, Your Majesty!"

"Deceived?" Queen Sylvana laughed, a cold, mocking sound. "Oh, you poor, deluded fool. We are not the ones who have been deceived. We are the ones who have been enlightened. We have seen the truth. We have felt her power."

She paused, her eyes burning with a fanatical fervor that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

"We have seen the future, Pontiff. A future without the tyranny of your false goddess. A future of freedom, of power, of life. And my goddess... has shown us the way."

"!!!" The pontiff was speechless. He was staring at the queen as if he had seen a ghost.

Prince Alaric was also shocked, but he managed to keep his composure. His mind was racing, trying to process this new, devastating information.

The elves were not just allies.

They were fanatics.

Willing followers of this new goddess.

This was far worse than he had ever imagined.

"I think we've wasted enough time with this pointless chatter," a new voice echoed.

Everyone snapped their heads toward the source of the voice, yet before they could locate it, a column of shimmering, golden light descended from the heavens, as if a piece of the sun had fallen to the earth. It struck the center of the ruined elven palace with a soundless impact, bathing the entire area in a warm, divine radiance that made the humans flinch.

From the light, two figures emerged.

The first was a towering woman with long black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of pure night. She wore a black gothic-style dress that complemented her curvy, athletic figure. Her skin was pale as moonlight, and her eyes were a deep, captivating crimson.

Victoria Nosferat.

The second figure... was Morgana.

But she was different.

She was no longer in her black bikini.

She was... glorious.

She was now the Valkyrie Goddess, a being of pure, divine power.

She was taller, her form more imposing, her curves even more pronounced, barely contained by the simple yet elegant white dress she wore. The fabric seemed to be woven from pure moonlight.

Her long silver hair flowed down her back, shimmering with an otherworldly luminescence. Her eyes were a piercing, captivating crimson, glowing with a soft, ethereal light. On her back, 18 massive wings were spread wide; 6 were made of pure white feathers, like those of a seraphim, while the rest were made from ethereal golden energy.

Thud!

The moment she appeared, the 'angels' and the elves, including the queen, immediately dropped to one knee, their heads bowed in reverence, a gesture of absolute submission and worship.

The humans stared in stunned silence, their minds struggling to comprehend what they were seeing. They had expected to meet a powerful warlord, a cunning demoness, or a heretical priestess.

They had not expected that the 'heretic' they had come to negotiate with... was this holy.

Some humans even felt the urge to kneel themselves, to bow before this undeniable display of divine majesty.

"Prince Alaric, Pontiff Solarius," Morgana spoke, her voice a divine melody that resonated with power, carried on the wind to every ear present. "Welcome. I trust you had a pleasant journey."

Greeting @everyone with another Kindle release!

Book N 14 and 15 of "Morgana: The Mother Of All"

[The End of Volum Five]

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