Teen Wolf: Dragon Among Wolves

Chapter 201: Chapter 201: The Battle Begins

Jon, Tormund, Davos, Edd, and Samwell followed Jacob and Chris on horses and stopped next to them, looking at the two armies facing each other.

The sky was grey, heavy with clouds that threatened more snow. The wind howled across the open ground, carrying the distant sounds of men shouting, horses stamping, and steel being drawn.

Jacob sat on Shadow, his red cape billowing behind him. His expression was calm, almost bored. Chris sat beside him on a large brown stallion, his arms crossed, watching the battlefield with cold, calculating eyes.

Allison, Lydia, Malia, Sansa, Victoria, Arya, Cogman, Stiles, Brienne, and Kitty were at the head of the army. The samurai formed ranks behind them—three hundred horsemen in red armor, their swords gleaming. Behind them stood six hundred foot soldiers with spears and bows.

Two hundred meters away, Stannis’s army formed its own lines. Eight thousand men—knights in plate armor, men-at-arms in chainmail, archers with longbows, and levies with spears. Banners snapped in the wind: the crowned stag of House Baratheon.

Allison studied the enemy lines.

”Cogman,” she called. ”How many people are in that army?”

Cogman’s eyes glowed blue for a second, scanning the enemy ranks with mechanical precision. ”Approximately eight thousand, my lady.”

Stiles let out a low whistle. ”That’s a lot of people to kill.”

Cogman smiled—a cold, hungry smile. ”Yes. A lot of prey.”

Allison’s voice was sharp. ”We’re only going to kill until they surrender.”

Cogman’s smile faltered. ”But sir said to wipe them out.”

”It’s better to leave some of them alive,” Allison said. ”Use them as cannon fodder for our other wars. That way, we’ll reduce the casualties of the people who chose to follow us willingly.” She fixed Cogman with a stare. ”So once they surrender, we will not kill them. I’m talking to you, Cogman.”

Cogman sighed dramatically. ”Yes, my lady.” Then his smirk returned. ”But I will make sure to kill as many as I can before they surrender.” He paused. ”I will not even torture them.”

Allison shook her head and called out, ”Kai. Go challenge them.”

Kai nodded. ”Yes, Your Grace.”

He dismounted from his horse and walked alone toward Stannis’s army—a single figure in red armor, his Tengu Sword at his waist, his black hair pulled back. He moved with the calm, unhurried grace of a man who had faced death many times.

Stiles frowned. ”Shouldn’t one of us go? What if he dies?”

Allison didn’t look away from Kai. ”He won’t. Jay said he’s a very skilled swordsman. And he has supernatural powers.”

---

Kai stopped halfway between the two armies. He drew his sword and held it point-down in the snow, then raised his voice.

Kai called out. ”I challenge any warrior in Stannis Baratheon’s army to single combat! Send your best! Send your bravest!”

The enemy lines shifted. Men muttered to each other. Horses stamped nervously.

Stannis sat on his horse at the rear of his army, his jaw tight. He could see his men’s faces. He could see the doubt in their eyes.

He needed a victory. Any victory. Something to raise their morale before the battle began.

”Ser Corliss,” Stannis called out.

A knight in plate armor rode forward—tall, broad-shouldered, with a grim face and a longsword at his hip. Ser Corliss Penny was one of Stannis’s most trusted commanders, a veteran of countless battles.

”Kill that man,” Stannis commanded. ”Quickly.”

Ser Corliss dismounted and drew his sword. He walked toward Kai with heavy, deliberate steps, his armor clanking with each stride.

”You think you’re brave,” Ser Corliss said, ”asking for a challenge to single combat. But you are just a fool rushing to his own death.”

Kai smiled. ”We shall see who the fool is.”

They circled each other. Ser Corliss attacked first—a powerful overhead strike meant to split Kai’s skull.

Kai sidestepped. His blade flashed.

Ser Corliss’s sword clattered to the ground, his hand still gripping the hilt.

Then his head followed.

It hit the snow with a soft thud, rolled once, and stopped. Blood spread across the white ground like spilled wine.

The enemy lines went silent.

Kai flicked the blood from his blade. He looked at Stannis’s army and called out, ”Send another.”

Stannis’s face was grim. He nodded to two knights this time—Ser Horpe and Ser Suggs.

They dismounted and drew their swords.

The two knights attacked together, one from the left, one from the right. They were coordinated, professional, relentless.

Kai moved between their blades like water between stones.

He ducked under a swing. Stepped around a thrust. His sword sang.

Two more heads hit the snow.

The enemy lines rippled with fear. Men shifted backward. Spears wobbled. Bows dipped.

Arya watched from the front of Jacob’s army, her eyes gleaming. ”He’s good. I need to ask him to teach me.”

Stiles smiled. ”Yes, he’s very good. As one would expect from a doppelganger of Keanu Reeves.”

Stannis saw the doubt in his men’s eyes. He saw the fear spreading through their ranks like a disease.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

”Archers!” Stannis roared. ”Nock!”

Allison shouted, ”Kai, come back!”

Kai turned and ran toward his lines, moving faster than any normal man.

Allison turned to Ōishi. ”Go. Show us what you samurai are capable of.” Her voice was steady. ”And don’t worry about the arrows. Sansa will take care of them.”

Ōishi bowed. ”Yes, Your Grace.”

He turned to his men and began giving orders, his voice calm and commanding.

”Samurai! Form battle lines! Ashigaru (foot soldiers), take position at the flanks! We advance in waves—first line at the trot, second line at the walk, third line in reserve! Archers, loose on my command!”

The samurai moved with precision, their training evident in every step. They formed three lines of a hundred men each, spears leveled, bows ready. The Ashigaru (foot soldiers) moved to the flanks, their long spears forming a wall of points.

Ōishi drew his sword and raised it high. ”Charge!”

The first line of samurai advanced at a trot, their horses’ hooves pounding the frozen ground. The second line followed at a walk. The third line held back, waiting.

Stannis roared, ”Draw! Loose!”

Thousands of arrows rose into the grey sky like a black cloud of death.

Allison turned to the others. ”Mom, Malia, Kitty, Cogman, Stiles, and Brienne—go. Control Stannis’s army. Don’t let too many of them pass you and overwhelm ours.” She paused. ”Let about a thousand pass. Keep the others busy.”

Victoria nodded. Malia and Cogman grinned.

Allison looked at Sansa. ”Protect the samurai from the arrows. Lydia and I will keep an eye on our army and save anyone in danger.”

Sansa nodded. She raised both hands, her eyes glowing gold.

The arrows were falling now—thousands of them, a deadly rain.

Sansa’s telekinesis caught them all.

The arrows stopped dead in the sky, frozen in mid-air. For a heartbeat, nothing moved.

Then Sansa opened her hands.

The arrows teleported away from above Ōishi and the samurai and fell to the ground, harmless.

Stannis’s archers stared in disbelief.

Malia and Cogman urged their Nightmare Horses forward. The massive black stallions’ manes and hooves ignited with roaring flames. They galloped into the air, climbing higher and higher, then dove toward the center of Stannis’s army.

Stiles watched them go, his eyes greedy. ”I really want one of those.”

Arya nodded. ”Me too.”

Victoria dismounted and drew two vibranium daggers—gifts from Cogman. ”Let’s go.”

She ran toward Stannis’s army, her supernatural speed carrying her across the snow in a blur. Arya and Stiles dismounted and followed, their own speeds matching hers. Brienne drew her sword and ran after them, her Mirakuru-enhanced body propelling her faster than any normal human.

---

Stannis saw the two flaming horses flying through the air. His eyes widened.

”Archers!” he shouted. ”Shoot them down! Shoot them down!”

Hundreds of arrows flew toward Malia and Cogman.

The Nightmare Horses opened their mouths and breathed fire—a cone of flame that turned the arrows to ash before they could strike. Then they landed in the middle of Stannis’s army.

Chaos erupted.

The horses breathed fire, burning men alive. Their flaming hooves crushed skulls, shattered shields, and melted armor. Men screamed and fled, only to be burned by the horses’ fiery breath.

Malia dismounted and fought alongside her horse. She didn’t draw her sword, Tessaiga. She didn’t need to. Her claws tore through armor like paper, through flesh like butter, through bone like twigs. She moved through the enemy like a wolf through a flock of sheep—silent, deadly, unstoppable.

Kitty, who had come with Malia on her shoulder, jumped into the fight too. She wielded two vibranium daggers, moving like a shadow, killing men before they even saw her. One moment a soldier would be standing. The next, he would fall, his throat cut, Kitty already gone.

Cogman’s hands transformed into swords—gleaming blades that extended from his wrists. He charged into the enemy ranks, his mechanical precision terrifying. Arms flew. Heads rolled. Men were cut in half at the waist. Cogman moved through the carnage with the grace of a dancer and the cruelty of a butcher.

Stannis shouted orders, his voice hoarse. ”Shields! Form a shield wall! Cavalry, charge their lines! Infantry, hold! HOLD!”

His men tried to obey, but they were being torn apart from within. Malia, Kitty, and Cogman had become the center of a storm of death.

---

Victoria, Arya, Stiles, and Brienne passed Ōishi’s advancing lines and clashed with Stannis’s cavalry.

The first wave of enemy horsemen crashed into them—heavy knights in plate armor, lances lowered, horses screaming.

Victoria ducked under a lance and drove her dagger through the knight’s visor. She ripped it out and threw the body from the saddle, then spun and cut the legs from another horse. The knight fell, and she finished him with a stab to the throat. Then she used the Firaga spell and sent a flaming ball that exploded, killing dozens of men and sending more flying backward, creating chaos in the advancing army.

Arya moved like a wolf—fast, low, savage. She didn’t fight like a knight. She fought like a predator. She dodged under a sword swing, drove her claws into a knight’s armpit and ripped. The knight fell, screaming. Arya was already moving to the next. Then she used her supernatural strength and started punching knights and horses alike, sending them flying backward and crashing into their comrades.

Stiles fought with a sword he had just taken from a knight. He had no real skill with the blade—but he didn’t need any. His Hulk-enhanced strength turned clumsy swings into bone-shattering blows. After cutting down several knights, he hurled the blade like a spear, impaling a charging rider.

He caught a lance with his bare hand, snapped it in half, and drove the broken end through the knight’s chest. He caught two heavily armored knights by the legs and started spinning, using them as weapons to batter the advancing army before hurling them away. Then he raised both hands and sent two Lightning Weasels that jumped from knight to knight, electrocuting both men and horses.

Brienne fought like a warrior—disciplined, precise, unstoppable. Her sword cut through armor and flesh with equal ease. She parried, thrust, and slashed, her movements economical and deadly.

They held the line. Only about a thousand cavalry and foot soldiers broke through them to face Ōishi’s army. The rest were kept busy, pinned in place by Victoria, Arya, Stiles, and Brienne.

---

Ōishi’s first line of samurai crashed into the thousand enemy soldiers who had broken through.

The samurai were outnumbered—a hundred against a thousand.

It didn’t matter.

Ōishi rode at the head of his men, his Tengu Sword flashing. He cut down two knights with a single stroke, then wheeled his horse and cut down two more. His men fought beside him, their swords singing, their battle cries echoing across the field.

The samurai’s horses were larger than the enemy’s—Jacob had given them horses from Serendell. They were bigger, stronger, faster. They crashed through the enemy cavalry like a hammer through glass.

Kai fought on foot, his blade a blur. He moved so fast that the enemy couldn’t see him—only the aftermath of his passing. Knights fell with their throats cut, their faces frozen in confusion. Men-at-arms collapsed with their armor and bodies sliced open. Kai was everywhere and nowhere, a ghost made of steel.

Ōishi shouted orders, his voice cutting through the chaos. The samurai moved in perfect coordination—one line would advance while the other held, then they would switch, giving each other time to breathe. Their swordsmanship was flawless, their discipline absolute.

The foot soldiers held the flanks, their long spears forming a wall that the enemy cavalry couldn’t breach. They worked in pairs—one spearman would pin an enemy knight while another stabbed through the gaps in his armor.

But the enemy was still too many. The samurai were being pushed back.

Allison and Lydia swooped in from above.

Allison raised her hand, and a wind arrow materialized—a spear of compressed air that shot through the battlefield with the speed of a bullet. It punched through three enemy knights, then exploded into a cyclone that scattered a dozen more.

Lydia raised her hand, and a fire arrow appeared—a spear of flame that lanced through the enemy ranks, leaving burning corpses in its wake. She sent another, and another, each one finding its mark.

Whenever a samurai was surrounded, Allison or Lydia would kill his attackers with a single elemental arrow.

Whenever a foot soldier was wounded, Sansa would teleport and appear next to him, point a hand at him, and golden fire spread across his body, healing his wounds. Then he would go back to fight again.

Sansa kept teleporting to the next wounded soldier and healing him. And the next. And the next.

When enemy soldiers got too close while she was healing someone, she burned them to ash with her fire. She didn’t enjoy it. She didn’t hate it. She simply did what needed to be done.

---

Jon watched.

His eyes went from Sansa—teleporting, healing, burning—to Arya—fighting like a beast, roaring with yellow eyes, tearing men apart with her claws—to Malia, Kitty, and Cogman—massacring hundreds on their own—to Victoria, Stiles, and Brienne—holding back thousands with their blades and magical powers—to the samurai—fighting with a discipline and skill he had never seen before.

He watched Sansa make the arrows freeze in mid-air.

He watched the horses fly.

He watched the wounded rise, healed, and return to battle.

His mouth was open. His eyes were wide. His hands gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles were white.

He turned to Jacob.

”Seriously,” Jon said, his voice hoarse. ”What are you people?”

Jacob didn’t take his eyes off the battle. ”We are supernatural creatures. And we are not from this world.”

Samwell’s voice was a squeak. ”Not from this world?”

Jacob nodded. ”Yes. We came from another world. A world where creatures from fairy tales and bedtime stories are real.” He gestured toward the battlefield. ”Take Arya, for example. She’s a werewolf. That means she can turn into a wolf—or a mix between a wolf and a human. Her species are called shapeshifters. Creatures who can take the form of animals—wolves, lions, bears—you name it. Shapeshifters have supernatural powers. They heal fast—a severe wound or a broken arm will heal in under a minute. They have enhanced strength and enhanced senses—they can hear for miles, and they can smell not just scents but even feelings and emotions like fear and anger.” He paused. ”And some of them have other special abilities, like controlling fire.”

Jon asked, ”And you? What kind of shapeshifter are you?”

Jacob chuckled. ”Me? I’m not a shapeshifter.” He paused. ”Well, I can be considered a shapeshifter since I can shift, too.”

Jon pressed. ”And what do you shift into?”

Jacob met his eyes. ”I’m a dragon.”

Jon blinked. ”A dragon?”

Jacob nodded. ”Yes. And not like the Targaryen ones. Something far stronger.”

He looked at Tormund, who had been staring at the battlefield with his mouth slightly open. ”Tormund. What do you think of the strength of my people? Do you think we can conquer Westeros on our own?” He smiled. ”And keep in mind that none of my wives or my family have used their real strength.”

Tormund tore his eyes away from Brienne—who had just thrown a horse at a group of enemy soldiers—and turned to Jacob.

”Aye,” Tormund said slowly. ”I think you can.” He paused. ”But I haven’t seen your powers yet.” His eyes gleamed. ”Can you show us?”

Jacob smiled. ”Alright. But let’s wait a little bit. Let Malia and Cogman have their fun first.”

On the battlefield, the carnage continued.

The snow was no longer white.

To be continued... 😊

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