Family system

With the Eastern Plains and the Northern Tribes now firmly under his control, Jack stood at the pinnacle of his growing empire. The lands bent to his will, the people followed his laws, and the faith of the Eternal Flame burned brighter than ever. His warriors had proven their strength, his priestesses had converted the masses, and his merchants had secured an unbreakable trade network.

But power was not just measured in armies and wealth. It was in loyalty, in submission, in devotion. And now, the greatest rewards came to him in the form of those who had once been the daughters of resistance—the women raised by the elders, warriors, and rulers of the lands he had conquered.

Jack sat upon his grand throne in the heart of Aetheria's temple, draped in regal robes of deep crimson and black. The grand hall was bathed in the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, the air thick with the scent of exotic incense. Before him, kneeling in reverence were the most beautiful daughters of the conquered lands—women who had once lived under the rule of men who opposed him, now willingly offering themselves to his cult.

Among them was Valeria, Orlen's eldest daughter and the former leader of the Eastern Plains. She had been raised to manage the affairs of her people, to be the future matriarch of her father's lands. Now, she knelt with her head bowed, dressed in the flowing silks of the Eternal Flame, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders.

Beside her was Ysolde, the fierce daughter of the Skarn tribe's chieftain. Unlike the others, she had once wielded a sword against Jack's forces, determined to fight rather than submit. But now, her blade was gone, her warrior's garb replaced by the ceremonial robes of his priestesses, her amber eyes filled not with defiance but with unwavering devotion.

And then there was Lirien, a woman of mixed lineage—half noble, half wild, her roots tied to the Eastern Plains and the Northern Tribes. She had been a diplomat, once tasked with maintaining balance between the warring clans. Now, she stood ready to serve a greater cause, her every breath dedicated to pleasing the one who had reshaped the world around her.

Jack surveyed them with a slow, knowing smile. "You were once daughters of rulers," he mused, his voice rich with satisfaction. "Now, you belong to something greater."

Valeria's breath hitched, her delicate fingers clasped together. "We have given up everything for you, my Lord. There is no greater honor."

Ysolde lifted her chin slightly, still holding onto remnants of her pride, but her eyes betrayed her longing. "I fought against you once. I was a fool. You are not just a ruler—you are a god among men. I see that now."

Lirien tilted her head, her lips curving into a soft smile. "You have taken everything we knew… and given us something far greater in return."

Jack stood from his throne, descending toward them, each step deliberate, filled with authority. He reached out, lifting Valeria's chin with a single finger. "You were once destined for a future dictated by men who feared change. Do you regret leaving it behind?"

She shuddered under his touch. "Never," she whispered. "My only regret is that I did not see your light sooner."

Jack chuckled, his golden eyes gleaming with approval. "Then let us see how deep your devotion truly runs."

What followed was a night unlike any other, a celebration of power, submission, and absolute worship. The grand chamber of the temple became a sacred space where the daughters of former rulers proved their loyalty in ways no battle or treaty ever could.

They adorned themselves in the ceremonial garments of his faith—thin veils of fabric that barely concealed the beauty of their forms, gold, and crimson jewelry marking them as his chosen. The air was thick with incense, the sound of soft prayers and whispered pleas filling the space as the women surrounded Jack, each eager to be closer to the one they now called their master.

Valeria, ever the noble, moved with grace, her touch light as silk as she laid her hands upon him, murmuring praises of devotion. Ysolde, the warrior, was more primal, her strength tempered by submission as she let herself be guided. Lirien, the diplomat, balanced between them, her every movement a practiced art of seduction and reverence.

Jack took his time, ensuring that each of them felt the weight of his power, the warmth of his presence, and the undeniable truth of their new reality. They were no longer just women from conquered lands—they were his.

It was a quiet evening when the first reports came in. Having ventured further west beyond the great mountain range, his scouts returned with urgent news. They had found something—something that could alter the course of Jack's dominion if left unchecked.

The scouts gathered before Jack in the war chamber, their expressions tense. Selene, Kali, and Amaterasu stood beside him, each radiating their unique presence. The room was dimly lit, only the glow of enchanted braziers casting flickering shadows against the polished walls.

A scout, his face weathered from weeks of travel, stepped forward. "My Lord," he began, his voice carrying the weight of urgency. "We have discovered ancient ruins buried deep in the forgotten lands west of the mountains. But it is not the ruins themselves that trouble us. It is the whispers."

Jack leaned back in his seat, fingers steepled. "Whispers?"

The scout swallowed. "There are rumors that the god who placed the Arbiters in power is stirring once more."

A silence fell over the chamber.

Amaterasu's golden eyes narrowed. "Impossible," she said, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. "That entity faded long ago."

Kali scoffed, arms crossed. "Or so we believed."

Jack, however, remained calm. "Tell me everything."

The scout nodded, continuing. "The people in the western lands speak of a figure that moves in the darkness, gathering forces. A necromancer—not just any necromancer, but the one who ascended to divinity by sheer luck. His name is never spoken outright, but there are signs—villages abandoned overnight, corpses missing from ancient burial sites, shadows moving where none should."

Another scout stepped forward. "My Lord, we investigated further. His followers wear the sigil of the Black Hand—a symbol of undeath and servitude. We believe he is amassing an army, though we do not yet know his purpose."

Jack's smirk didn't waver, but his gaze darkened. "If he is coming back, he means to take what he believes is his."

The necromancer's story was one of irony and fortune. Once a mere mortal, he had stumbled upon a divine artifact that allowed him to cheat death and claim power beyond his means. He had not been chosen by fate or earned his divinity through trials and worship. He had stolen it, a thief who had reached into the heavens and grasped what should have been beyond his reach.

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Yet, despite his unnatural rise, he had been powerful. He had placed the Arbiters in power, using them as his enforcers to spread his influence. But time had eroded his control. The Arbiters had fallen, and his presence had been reduced to myth.

Until now.

Jack exhaled, resting his chin on his hand. "If he is truly returning, we must be ready."

Amaterasu's golden aura flared slightly, her divine presence filling the room. "He is a being of decay and undeath. Where he treads, life is twisted. If we do not stop him, he will not just challenge your rule but defile the world itself."

Kali grinned, her fingers tapping against the hilt of her blade. "I was getting bored anyway. Tell me, do we kill him quickly or let him suffer first?"

Jack chuckled. "That depends on how much of a threat he proves to be."

Selene spoke up next, her voice measured. "His power is unnatural. If he has had years to recover, we must assume he has raised an army of the dead. That changes the way we fight."

Jack nodded. "Then we adapt. Ela, double the production of enchanted weapons. I want every warrior carrying steel infused with the power to cut through undeath."

Ela, who had been quietly listening, smirked. "Already ahead of you, my Lord. I have shipments of blessed silver and consecrated weapons prepared as we speak."

Amaterasu placed a hand on Jack's shoulder. "This will be a battle of more than just blades. His power spreads like a plague. If he has returned, he will try to claim dominion over the souls of the living."

Jack's golden eyes gleamed. "Then we ensure that those souls already belong to me."

Jack wasted no time in implementing his plans. The city of Aetheria was fortified, its temples strengthened with divine wards that no undead creature could breach. Priests and priestesses of the Eternal Flame spread across the land, ensuring that the people's faith was unwavering.

Warriors were trained in specialized combat techniques—how to fight creatures that did not feel pain and sever necrotic magic at its source. The Iron Wardens, already the elite of Jack's forces, were further blessed by Amaterasu's divine energy, making them resistant to the corrupting influence of the undead.

At the same time, scouts were dispatched in greater numbers, tracking the movements of the necromancer's forces. Every rumor was investigated, and every whisper followed. Jack would not wait for his enemy to strike first—he would know when the necromancer made his move.

As preparations continued, Jack stood upon the balcony of his temple, gazing out over the lands he had claimed. A storm was brewing in the west, threatening everything he had built. But he did not fear it.

He had Amaterasu, the goddess of the sun and war, by his side.

He had Kali, the goddess of destruction and death, ready to unleash her fury.

And he had himself—a god unlike any before him, worshipped not just for his power but for the devotion he inspired.

The necromancer god may have returned, but he would find no place for himself in this new world.

Jack would see to that personally.@@novelbin@@

As he turned away, his smirk returned. "Let him come," he murmured. "I'll show him what true divinity looks like."