Chapter 253: The Mother of Monsters
New
4 days ago
The moment Daenerys appeared in the clearing, her eyes locked onto the demoness. Something primal and ancient stirred within her—an instinctual, burning hatred for the demoness and her cultists. Her eyes glowed golden, and her draconic aura erupted out of control.
She took a step forward, a growl building in her throat, ready to unleash her fury upon the demoness and her cultists.
But before she could lunge forward, Jacob wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close. "Calm down, love," he murmured into her ear. "I feel the exact same urge to tear her apart, trust me. But we need to know what we're dealing with first."
Daenerys struggled against his grip for a moment, her body trembling with barely contained rage. Then, slowly, she forced herself to relax, though her eyes remained fixed on the demoness with murderous intent.
Jacob kept a firm grip on her, looking over his shoulder. "Cogman, what are we dealing with?"
The demoness had sensed the terrifying energy inside Jacob's body earlier, and even though she didn't know his true nature, she knew he was dangerous. But now she felt Daenerys's aura—and true fear gripped her heart. She recognized that aura. She had seen dragons before, in her own world.
"Impossible..." the demoness hissed, her melodious voice cracking with panic. "Why does your kind still exist in this world?"
Talia and Derek, who had also felt Daenerys's aura, realized that the white-haired girl was a dragon too. But unlike Jacob's terrifying presence, Daenerys's aura was gentle—it made them feel inspired and emboldened rather than afraid. That was the nature of a gold dragon's aura: it terrified enemies and uplifted allies.
Cogman stepped forward, about to tell them what the demoness was, but before he could speak, one of the kneeling necromancers panicked. Chanting an incantation at blinding speed, he thrust his staff forward, firing a bolt of black magic directly at Jacob and Daenerys.
Daenerys, already fighting the urge to attack, saw the dark projectile rushing toward them. She opened her mouth and released her dragon breath, channeling her light element. A thick beam of pure, radiant light shot from her mouth and met the dark spell, destroying it instantly. The beam continued, hitting the necromancer who had cast the spell—vaporizing his chest and head—then continued further, hitting several trees in the distance before finally dissipating.
The demoness's eyes went wide with terror. A dragon alone would have been enough to terrify her—but a dragon wielding the light element? That shattered what little composure she had left. She knew she was in mortal danger.
Without hesitation, she opened her claws and let the little black wolf and the small boar tumble to the ground. The double-headed snake uncoiled from her neck and dropped into the dirt beside them.
The moment they touched the ground, all three demonic familiars began to mutate and expand. The black wolf and the boar swelled rapidly, muscles cracking and bursting until they stood the size of large African bull elephants, their eyes burning with red malice. The double-headed snake stretched, its scales thickening as it grew to twenty meters in length. The demoness herself underwent a growth spurt, her frame expanding until she stood four meters tall.
As she unleashed her full aura, the radius of corruption expanded from one hundred meters to five hundred. The trees inside the boundary instantly rotted and died, the grass turning to black ash, and the earth beneath them cracking and losing its vitality. Only one patch of green remained within that expanding circle of death—the ground directly around the Nemeton.
Despite her terrifying growth, the demoness backed up half a step, looking at Daenerys and Jacob. "We do not have to fight," she bargained. "I will willingly withdraw from your territory. I will leave this region and never return."
Cogman's voice cut through the air. "You are a Lamashtu, also known as The Plague-Bringer and the Mother of Monsters. We cannot allow you to leave. You are far too dangerous to be left alive."
Allison asked, "What exactly is a Lamashtu, Cogman?"
"A Lamashtu is a high-tier demon that feeds exclusively on humans—particularly infants and pregnant women," Cogman explained. "She is a creature of decay and pestilence. What makes her truly dangerous is her corruption nature. If left unchecked, she will hide in the shadows of a civilization, silently spreading lethal diseases, polluting water sources, and wiping out entire populations without ever engaging in open combat. And since she is a demon, she naturally possesses an immense magical reserve. She is a master of dark sorcery, and she has the ability to turn ordinary animals into mutated abominations. Her primary weaknesses are the light, fire, and lightning elements."
Daenerys's golden eyes blazed with cold, murderous fury. "She eats babies?"
"Yes, my lady," Cogman confirmed.
A fierce, guttural growl vibrated out of Daenerys's chest. She turned her head slightly toward her husband. "Jay. Let me go. I want to kill this baby-eating bitch myself."
Jacob released her. "Alright. Be careful."
The moment she was free, Daenerys launched herself forward.
The demoness screamed in rage, thrusting her clawed hands forward to cast a barrage of dark magic curses. Black, skull-shaped projectiles of pure rot shot through the air. Daenerys didn't even slow down. Utilizing her Light Magic, she spun her hands, creating shimmering barriers of solid light that shattered the incoming curses into harmless sparks. Closing the distance, she cloaked her fists in purifying light, executing a devastating series of strikes that actively burned the demon's flesh.
Seeing their mother in danger, the giant wolf, the giant boar, and the twenty-meter double-headed snake violently lunged forward to flank Daenerys.
"Oh no you don't!" Malia smiled, her eyes glowing red.
She launched herself at the massive demonic wolf. Lightning crackled across her skin as she intercepted the beast mid-charge, seizing it by its enormous fangs and driving it into the earth with raw, unstoppable force. Then she turned, opened her jaws, and spat a ball of crackling lightning at the double-headed snake. It struck dead-on, sending the creature into violent convulsions—writhing, hissing, and thrashing in pain.
Arya intercepted the giant charging boar, ducking beneath its tusks and delivering a devastating uppercut to its jaw that shattered the demon's bone structure, sending the elephant-sized monster skidding across the dirt floor.
The eight remaining necromancers scrambled backward, frantically chanting to aid the demoness they believed to be their god. They began summoning waves of foul ghouls from the earth, and their leader, wielding the strongest dark magic, tore open lesser portals to summon heavily armored orcs, goblins, and massive hobgoblins capable of wielding magic.
"Look at all these disgusting meat targets," Allison said, a cold smile curling her lips. She lifted her hand, and three arrows of solid ice materialized above her palm, hovering in the air. A flick of her fingers sent them flying—each one piercing a hobgoblin and freezing it instantly into a solid block of ice.
"Girls!" Allison called out. "Although Jay, Sansa, and Dany can easily heal us from dark magic, let's not get hit by these nasty curses in the first place! Wipe out the dark wizards and the magic-wielding goblins first, then we can play with the other summoned creatures!"
The necromancers desperately tried to defend themselves, throwing up heavy energy barriers and shields constructed from thick, interlocking bones. But their defenses were an absolute joke against Allison, Sansa, and Lydia.
Sansa teleported and appeared directly behind two dark wizards and three hobgoblins. With a wave of her hand, she unleashed a massive torrent of Phoenix fire, blasting their bone shields to splinters and burning them alive.
Lydia used her short-range teleportation to weave through the incoming curses. She opened her mouth, releasing a targeted, high-decibel sonic scream that violently shattered the energy shields of three necromancers, rupturing their eardrums instantly before exploding their heads.
Then she turned to a group of five hobgoblins who were now attacking her with fire spells. She smirked. "Let me show you how to play with fire." She used her fire element and raised her hand, creating a giant, life-like fire eagle that swallowed the upcoming fire spells from the five hobgoblins, then flew toward them and swallowed them—along with more than twenty ghouls, goblins, and orcs that were near them—burning them all to ash.
Allison took out her katana, Shusui, and used her wind element, sending sharp green slashes at two of the necromancers, cutting them and their energy shields into pieces, before she faced the leader of the necromancers.
The leader of the necromancers chanted and sent a powerful dark spell at Allison before she turned to flee. But before she could take a single step, Allison appeared in front of her with lightning coating her entire body, her back to the necromancer as she sheathed her katana.
The necromancer's eyes went wide before her view became upside down as her head fell from her shoulders.
With the necromancers dead, Allison, Lydia, and Sansa joined the others—Cogman, Scott, Cora, Kitty, Stiles, and Erica—in finishing off the remaining horde of three hundred dark creatures. The rotting ghouls, armored orcs, screeching goblins, and the few remaining hobgoblins didn't stand a chance. They scattered in blind panic, scrambling over one another to escape. To them, Allison, Lydia, and the others weren't human—they were nightmares given flesh.
Nearby, Malia swung Tessaiga and unleashed a storm of wind slashes, tearing the giant demonic wolf and the towering double-headed snake into pieces. At the same time, Arya drove her fist clean through the skull of the elephant-sized boar, dropping it dead. With their heavy targets down, Malia and Arya turned and charged into the chaos, joining Allison and the others to finish off the scattered remnants of the dark horde.
Jacob watched the chaotic skirmish and did not participate. To protect his heightened senses from the nauseating stench of the dark creatures, he was once again wearing Melissa's bra stretched over his nose and mouth like a face mask. Standing beside him were Missandei, Talia, and Derek.
Jacob's eyes were fixed on Daenerys's fight, ready to intervene at any second.
Talia and Derek watched everything in shock. It was the first time Talia had seen Jacob's family and their powers. Although Derek had seen Allison and Lydia fight before, he was still amazed by what he saw today.
Talia calmed down from her shock and looked at Jacob. "Aren't you going to help them?"
Jacob didn't take his eyes off Daenerys. "They don't need my help. They're not even using twenty percent of their strength."
Talia's voice was incredulous. "Really? All of this, and you're telling me they're not even using twenty percent of their powers?"
Jacob glanced toward Allison and the others. "Yes. Except for Cora, who doesn't have a special bloodline yet, each one of my wives could kill that horde of dark creatures with a wave of her hand."
He turned back to Daenerys, who was now in her hybrid dragon form. Golden horns emerged from her head, and golden scales spread across her entire body. Her face, however, remained largely unchanged—human in shape, with scales appearing only along her cheeks. Her ears had elongated, and golden wings spread wide behind her. A long, muscular golden tail extended from the base of her spine, swishing behind her, and her frame had expanded to four meters tall to match the demoness's height.
"But Daenerys, on the other hand, is using more than fifty percent of her strength. That demoness is strong, but she won't last long." Jacob said.
Just as Jacob predicted, the demoness began losing—and she was losing fast. Daenerys's Gold Dragon Light Magic was proving entirely catastrophic to her demonic physiology.
The demoness could barely manage to heal herself. Her vast magical reserves were being consumed just trying to force the light energy out of her wounds. And it only got worse—every strike from Daenerys carried her Weakening Touch, draining the demoness's vitality and magic with each blow.
The Lamashtu knew she was seconds from annihilation. Desperate, she retreated, putting precious distance between herself and Daenerys. She raised both hands up, and the air around her darkened as she created a massive sphere of dark energy—so dense it seemed to swallow the light. With a scream of fury and fear, she hurled it directly at Daenerys.
Daenerys didn't even bother to raise a light barrier. With a bored expression, she casually swiped her clawed hand in a perfect circle through the air. A shimmering spatial portal instantly tore open directly in front of her. The massive ball of dark magic plunged into the portal and vanished entirely—only to instantly emerge from a secondary circular portal that snapped open directly behind the Lamashtu.
The demoness was caught completely off guard. Her own catastrophic blast collided with her back. But because it was constructed from her own magic, the impact didn't harm her—instead, her body absorbed the corrupted energy back in, sending her staggering forward. She steadied herself and looked toward Daenerys—only to feel her blood run cold. The spot where Daenerys had stood a second ago was empty.
Daenerys had already dove into her own portal.
Before the demoness could even react, Daenerys materialized behind her. Her dragon claws were sheathed in blazing light energy. In one brutal motion, she drove her hand straight through the demoness's back—her arm bursting out the other side of her torso.
The Lamashtu let out an agonizing, blood-curdling shriek that echoed across the forest. She leaped forward to break the contact, but the damage was done. A gaping hole appeared in her chest. Coughing up dark blood, she stared down at the fatal wound that was barely healing. She looked back at Daenerys, who was slowly stepping forward, eyeing her like a predator.
The demoness turned and ran—not toward the woods, but toward Jacob. She fell in front of him, and her appearance began to change. The lioness's head, the donkey's ears, the claws—all of it melted away, replaced by the form of a gorgeous, brown-haired, naked woman.
"Spare me..." the demoness pleaded, looking up at Jacob with wide, pleading eyes, her melodious voice dripping with desperate submission. "Spare my life, and I will willingly submit to you completely. I will become your woman. I am willing to do absolutely anything you desire... I can even become your slave... I will sign a binding slave contract with you right now."
Chapter 254: The Aftermath
New
4 days ago
"Spare me..." the demoness pleaded, looking up at Jacob with wide, pleading eyes, her melodious voice dripping with desperate submission. "Spare my life, and I will willingly submit to you completely. I will become your woman. I am willing to do absolutely anything you desire... I can even become your slave... I will sign a binding slave contract with you right now."
Jacob raised a brow, his eyes locked onto the suddenly beautiful, defenseless silhouette of the demoness. For a few seconds, he just stared, actually processing the offer.
But before a word could leave his mouth, six powerful elemental attacks came flying toward the demoness.
Jacob instantly wrapped Talia, Derek, and Missandei—who were next to him—in his telekinesis and teleported them twenty meters away.
BOOM.
The six elemental attacks hit the demoness directly. When the smoke cleared, the beautiful demoness had been blown into a dozen severed fragments—and before the pieces could even twitch, Daenerys unleashed a torrent of golden flame that instantly reduced the remains to ash.
Jacob glanced over at his six wives and saw that all of them were looking straight at him, their eyes narrowed into synchronized glares.
Jacob wisely chose to shut his mouth. Deciding he needed an immediate distraction to survive the domestic disaster, he reached into his pocket dimension, drew his sword Griffin, and began sprinting toward the remaining horde of dark creatures, intending to aggressively look busy until the girls stopped glaring at him.
He didn't even get three steps.
Sansa waved her hand as if shooing away a fly. A wave of telekinetic force swept across the battlefield—and with a sickening chorus of pops, the remaining seventy orcs, ghouls, and goblins were crushed into a fine, drifting mist of blood.
Jacob skidded to a halt and turned to her. "Hey! Sansa! Come on, I wanted to have some fun too!"
Sansa snorted, crossing her arms. "Were you seriously considering taking that disgusting demoness into our household as your woman?"
"No! No... of course not!" Jacob said quickly, holding his sword defensively.
Lydia stepped forward. "You were staring at her naked body more than you should have. And I think you were actually thinking of accepting her offer and taking her as your slave."
Jacob let out a dry cough behind his bra mask. "No, I was... I was just going to ask her if she could open a portal back to her original world. I was curious about it and wanted to visit it."
Allison's voice was flat. "To search for beautiful demonesses."
"Yes... I mean, no! Absolutely not!" Jacob stammered. Seeing the wall of glares hardening, he let out a heavy, defeated sigh and lowered his sword. "Fine. Look, I was going to see if she could open a portal so we could explore her world... and yeah, I was secretly hoping to find out if there's a species of actually good, kind, and beautiful demonesses out there to bring home as a wife."
Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Is there even such a thing as a good demon?"
Jacob snorted. "Well, we'll never know now, will we? You girls vaporized the only source of information we had."
Lydia scoffed. "Why are you acting angry? It seems we've been too easy on you lately. Let's set a new rule right now: from this moment forward, no more wives unless we approve of them—and ask us first before you start dating them."
Allison smiled in total agreement. "Yeah. I think seven wives is more than enough for you."
"What? Seven is enough?!" Jacob protested loudly. "That's not even close! I still want to marry an Asian beauty, a stunning Black beauty, an elf, and of course, a gorgeous demoness! And let's not forget a few beauties from the Marvel universe when we finally go there..." He trailed off, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Let's see, who else was on my list..."
Before he could finish the thought, frost began to spread beneath his feet.
Jacob vanished in an instant. A heartbeat later, the ground where he had stood was completely encased in ice, jagged spears erupting upward from the frozen earth.
He appeared directly behind Stiles, who had been leaning against a tree, thoroughly enjoying the domestic drama with a massive grin.
"Whoa! Let me go!" Stiles screamed in a sudden panic as Jacob grabbed his shoulders to use him as a meat shield. "You're going to get me killed, man!"
Jacob peeked over Stiles's shoulder, only to watch a ball of bright blue lightning zip across the clearing. Malia—who wasn't actually angry at the marriage discussion but simply saw a perfect opportunity to cause chaos—had fired a lightning attack.
Jacob vanished again.
Stiles instantly went rigid and fell to the ground, his limbs convulsing wildly as he was hit by Malia's attack.
"Shit!" Scott panicked, watching Stiles hit the dirt and realizing he was next. He tried to run behind Erica to escape, but Jacob materialized behind his back, locking his arms around Scott's shoulders to use him as the next meat shield.
"Save your old man, son," Jacob said with a smile on his face.
Scott opened his mouth to speak—but the words died in his throat. Every hair on his body stood on end as he felt danger. He thrashed against Jacob's grip, desperate to break free—and then, just as suddenly, Jacob was gone. Scott stumbled forward, free. But the freedom brought him no relief. If anything, it made his blood run colder.
A secondary, perfectly aimed lightning arc from Malia struck Scott, sending him crashing down onto the ground as well, his muscles violently twitching as the electricity ran through his system.
Jacob appeared behind Malia, delivering a playful spank to her butt. "Alright, stop messing around. Lightning doesn't even affect me."
Malia turned around, a bright, unbothered smile on her face as she shrugged. "I know it doesn't affect you. I just saw a perfect opportunity to zap Stiles and Scott, so I took it."
Jacob let out a soft laugh, turning back toward Allison and his other wives. He raised his hands in a gesture of truce. "Okay, okay, stop looking at me like that. I promise I will not date another girl behind your backs again. If I meet someone I like, I will tell you girls first. Deal?"
Allison and the rest of the wives looked at each other, let out a synchronized sigh, and didn't care about him anymore.
Allison looked over the clearing. "Stiles, stop pretending to be dead and get up. Malia didn't use much strength in her attack. Call Noah to come and take care of those captives and the ten dead bodies as well."
Stiles, who had just been electrocuted for nothing and wanted to complain, took one look at Malia—who was looking at him with a dangerous smirk—and decided that a verbal complaint wasn't worth a secondary round of electrocution. He swallowed his remarks, pushed himself up from the dirt, pulled out his phone, and immediately dialed his dad.
While Stiles was handling the call, Sansa stepped forward. Channeling a controlled wave of her Phoenix fire, she swept a purifying crimson flame across the clearing, instantly incinerating the remaining biological traces of the necromancers and their dark horde, leaving only ash behind.
Daenerys then used her light element to purify the area of the forest that was affected by the Lamashtu's corrupted aura.
While Daenerys was busy purifying the forest, a system window materialized in front of Jacob's eyes:
[Location Sign-In Available: Host can sign in on top of the Nemeton stump.]
'Nice,' Jacob thought. He teleported himself directly onto the center of the ancient, massive tree stump. 'System, sign in.'
[Location Sign-In Successful. Rewards Obtained:
1️⃣ Chlorokinesis: The ability to create, control, and manipulate plants, including wood, roots, flowers, and vines.
2️⃣ Elder Root Essence (x20 Vials): Each vial is filled with thick, golden liquid harvested from an ancient supernatural tree. When consumed, it permanently expands the drinker's supernatural energy reserves by roughly one-third of their current maximum.
⚠️ Limitation: Can only be consumed once per individual. A secondary dose yields zero energetic benefit.
3️⃣ Acid Gat (Call of Duty: Black Ops II – Mob of the Dead) x20: A specialized, heavy firearm that shoots high-density canisters of volatile acid. Upon impact, the canister detonates, spraying highly corrosive acid over a wide radius to liquefy flesh, dense armor, and reinforced supernatural hides. The acid also leaves behind a lingering pool that continues to burn anything that steps in it. The weapon has infinite ammunition—it never needs to reload and never runs dry.]
Jacob read the first reward and thought, 'Great, another element added to the list.' He moved to the second reward, nodding in thorough satisfaction. 'Nice. But Nex, should I drink one of these right now, or wait until my energy reserves stop expanding naturally?'
[The Elder Root Essence permanently expands your supernatural energy reserves by one-third of your current maximum at the moment of consumption, Host. If you drink it now, while your natural reserves are still growing, you will only gain one-third of your current maximum—a fraction of what you could gain later.
If you wait until your body's natural development reaches its peak and your energy reserves cease expanding on their own, the essence will multiply your maximum potential by one-third. That's a far greater permanent gain. My advice? Wait.]
'Okay, makes sense. Thanks, Nex. I'll wait, and I won't give it to the girls just yet either,' Jacob decided.
He read the last reward and thought, 'The guns look like a fun toy to play with later.'
Remaining on the stump, Jacob closed his eyes and tried absorbing the energy of the Nemeton, but although he could, it was too weak for him. Even if he completely siphoned the Nemeton dry, it wouldn't add a single drop to his personal strength.
Allison looked up, noticing her husband standing perfectly still on the ancient structure with his eyes closed. "Jay? What are you doing up there?"
Jacob opened his eyes and jumped down. "Nothing much. I was just feeling the energy of the Nemeton and seeing if I could absorb it."
Allison tilted her head. "And?"
Jacob shrugged. "Although I technically can, the output is far too weak to benefit me. It might be enough to permanently strengthen a standard Alpha werewolf or something near that level, but it has no effect on me."
Talia walked toward the stump, extending her hand to rest her palm against the ancient bark. Her brow furrowed as she closed her eyes. "It's far more powerful than it ever was before," she murmured, removing her hand and looking at Jacob with a heavy, troubled sigh. "And it's growing even stronger as we speak. You kids just killed a demon, a coven of dark wizards, and a massive dark horde directly within its radius. The magical feedback is overflowing. This town is going to start attracting a massive number of troublesome, dangerous creatures now."
Stiles, pocketing his phone, chimed in. "Well, if that's the case, why don't you just drain the thing completely, Jacob? If you absorb all the energy out of it, it won't act like a supernatural beacon attracting trouble."
Jacob shook his head, rejecting the idea immediately. "I can't do that, Stiles. To completely drain the Nemeton, I would need to sit right here for a long period of time. More importantly, absorbing all its energy might cause more harm than good. We should never mess with the balance of nature like that."
Reaching into his pocket dimension, Jacob pulled out the Neuralyzer and tossed it across the clearing. Stiles caught the device.
Jacob instructed, "Wipe the memories of those twelve captives. Make them believe they were simply kidnapped by a normal human cult. They don't need the psychological trauma of remembering demons and the supernatural world. And don't do anything stupid with it. Give the Neuralyzer back to me the second you return to Serendell."
Stiles looked down at the silver device, his expression turning surprisingly serious. "Don't worry. I know exactly how dangerous this thing is, and I definitely don't want to accidentally wipe my own memories. I won't mess around. But uh... do you happen to have any sunglasses on you? Standard protocol and all."
Jacob pulled a pair of black sunglasses from his pocket dimension and tossed them over. "Alright. The rest of us are heading back home. You wait here until Noah arrives."
With that, Jacob opened a portal to Serendell, and everyone went in—including Derek and Talia—leaving only Stiles, Erica, Scott, and Missandei.
---
Serendell
After Talia and Derek got back to their senses from seeing how beautiful Serendell was, Jacob gave them permission to enter and leave Serendell at will. Then he teleported with Talia, Derek, and Cora to a beautiful place with flowers and trees not far from the palace. He used his connection with Serendell to make a grave, then he gently moved Laura's securely wrapped remains from his pocket dimension and buried her there.
Jacob stepped back, offering the Hales a quiet, respectful nod. "Cora... once you guys are finished here, take your mother and brother on a tour of Serendell. Show them their new home and teach them how to teleport. I'll call you when Cogman finishes cooking the welcome feast."
Cora smiled softly, her eyes full of warmth. "Okay. Thanks, Jay."
Jacob leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. "See you later."
He teleported to the training grounds, merged the Chlorokinesis ability into his body, and played with it for a few minutes. Then he teleported back to the palace.
He appeared in the private living room where his wives were gathered and sat on his recliner.
Allison looked at him. "Where are Cora and her mother?"
"We brought Laura's remains here to give her a proper burial," Jacob explained, leaning his head back. "I left the three of them alone at the grave site so they could have some privacy to say their final goodbyes properly."
Allison let out a long, heavy sigh, her expression turning deeply solemn. "I should take Dad and Mom to apologize to Talia and her family for everything Kate did to them."
Jacob looked at her, his expression softening. "Although that won't bring the dead back, it's a good gesture."
Allison gave a firm nod, immediately standing up from the sofa. "I should go handle this sooner rather than later."
She teleported away to find her parents.
Chapter 255: The Desert Wolf
New
2 days ago
Allison took her parents to formally offer their deepest apologies to Talia and her family. Chris and Victoria stood before Talia.
"We know words can never undo what Kate did," Chris said, his voice steady but laced with emotion. "But we wanted you to know—we are deeply, truly sorry for the pain our family caused yours."
Talia studied them for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed.
"I appreciate your words," she said quietly. "But you don't owe me an apology. What Kate did was her choice, not yours. And since Cora and Derek have already chosen to let go of revenge, I will too—as long as Kate never comes near my family again."
"She won't," Chris said. "She will never set foot in Beacon Hills again. You have my word."
Talia nodded slowly. Then, to everyone's surprise, she smiled. "Then let's not dwell on the past. We're both in-laws of Jacob now. So for both our daughters' sake, let's try to get along."
Chris and Victoria exchanged a glance, then nodded. The tension eased. After a few more minutes of polite conversation, Allison and her parents returned to the palace.
---
Soon after, the welcoming feast commenced within the palace dining hall. Everyone gathered around the large table, indulging in the masterfully prepared delicacies. It was the perfect opportunity for Talia and Derek to truly get to know all of Jacob's family.
Throughout the entire dinner, however, Jacob noticed that Talia's eyes kept drifting across the table, locking onto Malia from time to time with a heavy, unreadable expression. Jacob realized that Talia had recognized Malia. But he chose to remain silent, keeping his eyes on his plate and letting the interaction unfold naturally.
Malia had noticed the staring the moment they had materialized in the woods to fight the lamashtu earlier, and she also noticed her staring at her during the feast. Finally having had enough of the silent scrutiny, she set her glass down with a firm thud, looking directly at Talia.
"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" Malia asked bluntly, her voice cutting through the ambient chatter of the room. "I've noticed it since earlier in the woods."
Talia spoke softly. "Tell me your last name first."
Malia tilted her head, her expression guarded. "Tate. My last name is Tate."
Talia let out a long, heavy sigh. "So it really is you."
Malia's brow furrowed. "Do you know me?"
"Yes," Talia admitted. "But tell me first—how much do you actually know about your origins? And where are your parents?"
"My parents are dead," Malia stated coldly, her jaw tightening. "I was adopted. And it was my biological mother who killed them."
Talia closed her eyes for a brief moment, a wave of guilt washing over her features. "I'm so sorry, Malia. I truly tried my best to protect you. Back then, I realized your biological mother was highly dangerous and posed a direct threat to your very existence. Immediately after you were born, I took you away to keep you safe and arranged for the Tate family to adopt you. To ensure you remained hidden and to prevent your biological father from interfering, I used an advanced memory-sharing ritual to completely wipe his mind of the entire affair and your birth. I threatened your mother, telling her that if she ever dared return to Beacon Hills, I would execute her on the spot. I suppose... I should have taken her memories as well."
Malia instantly stood up from her chair, her eyes glowing red. "Do you know who that bitch is? Tell me. I'm going to hunt her down and kill her."
Talia said, "Her name is Corinne. She is known in the criminal underworld as the Desert Wolf. She is a highly lethal werecoyote assassin."
Talia leaned forward. "In 1994, Peter, my psychopathic brother and your biological father, had a brief romantic entanglement with Corinne. The relationship didn't last, but it resulted in an unplanned pregnancy. Corinne absolutely detested the pregnancy because carrying a child actively drained her supernatural energy. You see, werecoyote mothers pass down a massive portion of their raw power to their offspring during childbirth. When you were born, Malia, Corinne was stripped of almost all her strength, leaving her significantly weakened. The only way for a werecoyote mother to reclaim that stolen power... is to kill her own child."
She paused, her voice heavy with regret. "I convinced her to give birth to you. I tried to tell her how beautiful and wonderful motherhood was. But the moment you were born, she felt her power leave her. And something in her mind just... snapped. She never viewed you as a daughter; she only saw you as a thief who stole her birthright."
As Talia finished the explanation, the room fell into silence. Cora blinked, looking from her mother to the furious girl across the table. "Wait... Malia is Peter's daughter?"
Talia gave a firm nod. "Yes."
Malia didn't care about the Hale connection. Her breathing was heavy, her red eyes burning with a singular, icy focus. "My father is the man who raised me, and he's dead," she said sharply. She extended her hand across the table toward Jacob. "Jay. Give me your compass. It's time to find that bitch."
Jacob didn't hesitate. Reaching into his pocket dimension, he pulled out Jack Sparrow's compass and placed it into her palm. Standing up from his chair, he said, "Here. And I'm coming with you."
Malia locked her gaze onto his, the anger softening just a fraction. "Alright."
Jacob looked around the dining hall, giving his family a reassuring nod. "See you guys later."
Then Jacob and Malia vanished from the palace, teleporting back to Beacon Hills.
---
Appearing in their mansion, Malia opened the compass, focusing her mind entirely on finding Corinne. The needle spun wildly before snapping to a halt, pointing firmly east-southeast.
Jacob hugged Malia and followed the compass direction by initiating a series of rapid spatial teleports, until they finally materialized in the quiet suburbs of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Following the needle, they located a rented single-family home. Jacob teleported them directly inside the living room.
Corinne was sitting alone at a wooden dining table. Spread out across the surface were several detailed dossiers, surveillance photographs of Peter Hale, and multiple pictures of Malia walking outside Beacon Hills High School.
Startled by the sudden distortion of air, the Desert Wolf instantly scrambled backward, pulling a heavy-caliber handgun from her waistband and aiming it directly at the two intruders.
Jacob casually waved his right hand through the air. A wave of telekinetic force slammed into the weapon, wrenching it out of Corinne's grip and sending it to the corner of the room.
Corinne's eyes widened in profound shock. But as her gaze shifted from Jacob to the girl standing beside him, she recognized her immediately and took a wary step back.
Malia's eyes glowed red. "There's no need to introduce myself, right?"
Seeing Malia's red glowing eyes, Corinne panicked. She took several steps backward until her back hit the wall, her breath caught in her throat as she remained completely silent.
"I'm not good with emotions, and I can be ruthless sometimes. I understand why you want me dead—but what I could never understand is how a mother could have the heart to kill her own child," Malia said, her voice terrifyingly calm as she stepped slowly forward. "If you didn't want me, why not just get an abortion in the first place? I spent months thinking about you. I tried to imagine myself in your place. But no matter how coldhearted I am, I could never kill my own child just because they inherited some of my strength. A good mother would be ecstatic to make her child more powerful."
Corinne continued to press herself against the wall, her eyes studying Malia.
As Malia passed the dining table, she casually reached down, picking up a photograph. It was a surveillance picture of her laughing and talking with Lydia and Allison as they left Beacon Hills High.
Malia stared at the photo for a brief second before placing it back down. She closed the remaining distance until she stood less than a foot away from Corinne. "It seems that even if I hadn't come looking for you today, you were already planning on coming to look for me."
Driven by desperation, Corinne's lips peeled back into a snarl. Her werecoyote claws extended from her fingertips, and she lunged forward, driving her hand straight into Malia's abdomen. "I never wanted to give birth to you in the first place!" Corinne screamed, her voice laced with years of bitter resentment. "If that bitch Talia hadn't whispered in my ear, you would have never drawn breath! You took my powers! All of them! You left me like a normal human with nothing but glowing eyes and claws, completely stripped of my strength! I want my birthright back!"
Corinne expected to hear a gasp of pain, expected to feel flesh tearing beneath her fingertips, expected to feel warm blood on her hand.
But Malia was just looking at her with a cold and calm expression. There was no blood, no pain, and no damage. Corinne looked down in absolute horror, realizing her claws had merely torn through the fabric of Malia's shirt. The skin beneath was entirely unblemished; her claws couldn't even leave a scratch on Malia's skin.
Corinne tried to stab Malia with her claws a few more times, but all she could manage to do was tear Malia's shirt. She looked at Malia in terror. "What kind of monster are you? Give me my powers back!" She slashed at Malia with her claws again, shouting, "I want my powers back!"
Suddenly, Malia's arm shot out like a steel piston. Her fingers wrapped around Corinne's throat, lifting her completely off the floor and pinning her violently against the wall.
A low growl vibrated out of Malia's chest. "And I want my family back. But unfortunately for both of us... neither of us can get what we want." She tightened her grip, cutting off Corinne's airway entirely, causing the mercenary to choke and claw uselessly at her wrist. "Let's go back to Beacon Hills."
With a casual circular move of her free hand, Malia used her Sling Ring, tearing open a portal directly in front of them. She stepped through it, dragging Corinne along by the throat.
Jacob quickly gathered the files and photographs scattered across the dining table, along with the weapons, storing them inside his pocket dimension before stepping through the portal right behind them.
---
When Jacob stepped through the portal, he found himself standing in the Beacon Hills Cemetery. It was completely deserted—no mourners, no caretakers. The only sounds were the roar of thunder and the relentless pounding of rain. Above, the sky churned with black clouds, flickering with veins of lightning.
Malia stood in the center of the downpour, violently tossing Corinne to the wet grass. The assassin fell heavily onto her hands and knees, directly in front of three meticulously kept headstones—the graves of the Tate family.
"I wanted to torture you," Malia said, her voice cutting through the heavy sound of the falling rain. "I considered handing you over to Cogman so he could torture you and keep you broken in a cell for days. But if you look at those headstones and apologize to my family right now... I will give you a merciful, quick death. Even though you don't deserve it."
Corinne, fueled by stubborn pride and absolute hatred, refused to grant the satisfaction. She simply glared up at Malia with venomous eyes.
Malia didn't waste another breath. She raised her foot and slammed it down onto Corinne's left leg. A sickening CRACK echoed through the cemetery as the bone shattered instantly. Corinne let out a piercing, agonizing scream of pain, collapsing into the mud.
Malia said, her expression cold, "Either you apologize to them, or I will break every single bone in your body one by one until there is nothing left to break. And then, I'll heal you just so I can break them all over again."
Jacob stood a few paces back, silently watching.
Corinne remained stubbornly silent for another few seconds, prompting Malia to crush her remaining leg and shatter both her arms. The pain was too much for Corinne to endure. Her pride shattered completely, and she wept violently into the dirt, sobbing out a desperate apology to the Tate family headstones.
Once the words left her lips, she whirled her head around, glaring up at Malia with hatred.
Malia looked down at her. "Don't look at me like that. You brought every single bit of this upon yourself."
Malia's hand closed around Corinne's head, and then the lightning came. It poured from her palm in a continuous torrent, wrapping around the Desert Wolf's shattered body, consuming her from the outside in. Corinne didn't even have time to scream. Within moments, her body collapsed into a pile of ash that the torrential rain swept instantly into the soil.
The moment the vengeance was exacted, the rigid, lethal mask Malia wore completely dissolved. The weight of years of hidden trauma and grief finally crashed down on her all at once. She sank to her knees in the mud, bursting into heavy, ragged sobs.
Jacob stepped forward through the downpour, dropping to his knees beside her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against his chest, allowing her to completely vent her emotions as the storm raged above them.
After several long minutes, Malia's sobs slowly subsided. She wiped her eyes, looking up at the graves of her family. She whispered a quiet goodbye, promising to visit them again soon. She then turned her gaze to her husband. "Jay... let's go back home."
Jacob gave a warm, comforting nod and teleported the two of them directly into Malia's bedroom inside the Serendell palace.
Once inside, Malia pulled him into the bathroom. They slipped into the warm water together, and she lay back against his chest, silent, still. He held her without speaking, letting her process the weight of what she'd done.
The shared comfort eventually shifted into intense passion; Malia initiated their lovemaking with a raw, aggressive hunger, more intense than he had ever known from her.
Afterward, they dried themselves off, slipped into fresh, comfortable clothes, and lay down on the massive bed, resting peacefully in each other's arms.
A few quiet moments passed before a soft, hesitant knock echoed through the door.
Malia leaned her head back against Jacob's chest. "Come in."
The door swung open smoothly, and Allison, Lydia, Sansa, Daenerys, Melissa, Cora, and even Kitty filed into the room, their expressions laden with concern for Malia.
Malia offered them a genuine, relaxed smile. "Come in, girls. And stop looking at me like that—I'm completely fine."
Melissa stepped closer to the edge of the bed, her brow furrowing slightly. "Are you really fine, Malia?"
"Yeah," Malia said, relief softening her face. "I finally got my revenge. I gave my family closure. So yeah—I'm fine." She paused, then smiled. "Actually... why don't we all go out? A girls' night."
Lydia's face instantly lit up, her hands clapping together. "Yes! I'm in!"
Jacob quickly sat up, trying to escape. "Well, in that case, you girls go ahead and have fun. I still have to—"
Malia instantly reached out, dragging him back to lay beside her with a mischievous grin. "Oh no, you don't, Mr. Dragon. You are not escaping this time. You're coming with us."
Jacob let out a long, dramatically defeated sigh as he looked at the room full of grinning women. "Fine, fine." He left the bed and said, "I'm going to change and wait for you at the mansion in Beacon Hills."
Chapter 256: The Indirect War
New
7 hours ago
Game of Thrones World — Two Weeks Ago
Deep beneath the surface of the world—in a place no human had ever set foot—stretched a vast cavern of black obsidian and molten rock. Rivers of lava snaked through cracks in the floor, glowing like veins of liquid fire. At its heart, hidden behind a barrier of flame that cloaked it from the outside world, stood an underground palace bathed in an unnatural, crimson light.
At the center of this infernal palace sat a throne made of volcanic glass, and on that throne sat R'hllor.
He was four meters tall, with a body made of magma and multiple horns on his head. His eyes glowed like twin suns, and his large bat-like wings folded behind him.
Before him stood his five demon commanders.
R'hllor had summoned them from his original world. They were his servants, his soldiers, his instruments of vengeance.
"The mortal who calls himself Jacob Alexander," R'hllor began, his voice dripping with contempt. "He destroyed my temple in Volantis. He slaughtered my priests and priestesses. He dared to stand before me—through one of my servants—and call me a coward, a rat, a parasite."
His aura flared dangerously.
"I am R'hllor. I am the Lord of Light. I have been worshipped for thousands of years. Kings have burned their own children at my command. Armies have marched to their deaths in my name. And now... a mortal child with a handful of powers thinks he can defy me?"
His burning eyes swept across the five demons.
"I will make him understand—painfully—the cost of offending someone he should never crossed."
R'hllor leaned back on his throne.
"Listen carefully. The mortal is powerful—I do not know how powerful, but I have felt his energy. He is not to be underestimated. That is why we will not fight him directly. Not yet."
He raised a hand, and a map of Westeros appeared in the air before them, drawn in lines of fire.
"First, we will hit the North where he established his kingdom. Burn his towns and kill the people who chose to follow him. Draw his attention there. Let him rush north to save his people while we prepare our other strikes."
"Second, King's Landing. We will arm the Lannisters with the power they need to resist him. They'll become a thorn in his side—a distraction he cannot afford to ignore, no matter how badly he might want to."
"Third, I want you to kill the people around him, one by one. Start with the Starks. I want to break his spirit."
"And finally—" R'hllor's eyes blazed like twin suns. "—Meereen. Kill everyone. Burn everything. Make them suffer for siding with him. And make the so-called Mother of Dragons regret the day she ignored my invitation and chose to stand at his side. I want her to weep when she sees what remains of her city."
R'hllor gestured to the first demon. His name was Korvath. Tall and hunched, his body was little more than a skeleton wrapped in ash-gray skin that clung to the bone. His eyes smoldered like dying coals. In one clawed hand, he gripped a whip made of vertebrae, strung with sinew and stained with old blood.
Korvath was a demon of decay and agony. His touch withered flesh. His whip left wounds that never healed, festering with supernatural rot. He could sense pain from miles away and grew stronger with every scream he harvested.
"Korvath," R'hllor said. "Take your legions and a company of red priests. Strike the North of Westeros first. Don't just burn their towns—let your presence rot them from within. Poison their rivers. Spread plague through their streets. Let the smallfolk watch their families wither and die, screaming my name as they realize their new king cannot protect them from decay and disease. Do not hold territory. Strike hard, spread suffering, and vanish into the shadows before he can find you."
Korvath bowed his head. "As you command, my lord."
R'hllor turned to the second demon—a female of breathtaking beauty. Her skin shimmered with the dark blue of deep ocean water, and her dark blue hair flowed like liquid silk. Her eyes were cyan—the color of shallow tropical waters, bright and unnervingly clear. She was dressed in a dark blue Chinese cheongsam, the silk so smooth it caught the firelight like the surface of a still lagoon, embroidered with subtle silver patterns of waves and sea foam. She was Nerissa—a water demon who had drowned fleets and sunk cities with a whisper.
"Nerissa," R'hllor said, his voice crackling like embers. "Go to King's Landing. Find Cersei Lannister—a queen who has lost everything. She's desperate, furious, and she knows she cannot defeat that arrogant brat. She is simply waiting for death to claim her. She will be our instrument."
Nerissa's smile was slow and deep, like the tide pulling back from a shore. "And what shall I offer her, my lord?"
"Power," R'hllor said. "The power to destroy her enemies. The power to reclaim what was taken from her. Tell her that in exchange, she must attack the Reach. But more than that—you will use your element. Flood their fields. Drown their roads. Send storms to batter their coasts and saltwater to poison their wells. Let the Reach drown while the mortal scrambles to save his people. And when he is distracted, we will strike where he cannot defend."
Nerissa bowed, her form shimmering like deep water under moonlight. "As you command, my lord."
R'hllor turned to the third demon—a tall, slender figure with skin the color of charcoal and eyes as black as polished obsidian. His body was lean and wiry, every muscle honed for speed and precision. He wore fitted black leather, unadorned except for the dozen throwing knives and daggers strapped across his chest and thighs. There was no sound when he moved—no footsteps, no breath, no whisper of cloth. His name was Kaelen.
"Kaelen," R'hllor said. "You will go to Winterfell. Kill one of the Starks every few days. And make their deaths painful."
Kaelen made no sound, but R'hllor felt his acknowledgment.
R'hllor shifted his fiery gaze to the fourth and fifth demons. They were twins—both standing three meters tall, their bodies nearly identical. Their skin was like cooling lava, black and cracked, with veins of bright orange fire pulsing beneath the surface. Every step they took left scorch marks on the ground. Their eyes glowed like forge-fires. They were Ignar and Ignis—demons of fire and destruction.
"Ignar. Ignis," R'hllor commanded. "Take your legions, a company of red priests, and the mutated beasts to Essos. Wait a few days after Korvath attacks the North—let the mortal's attention turn northward. Then, when he is looking the other way, strike Meereen. Burn it. Break it. Slaughter until the streets are rivers of ash and blood. I want him torn between two continents, unable to save either."
The twins bowed their heads in perfect unison, their molten eyes glowing. "As you command, my lord."
R'hllor looked at his commanders one by one, and in each pair of glowing eyes he saw the same thing: anticipation. Hunger. The promise of destruction.
"Go," he commanded. "Do not fail me."
The demons bowed and filed out of the underground palace.
Alone, R'hllor's dark laughter echoed off the volcanic glass walls. His voice dropped to a murmur, thick with malice.
"Let us see how brightly your kingdom burns, boy. I will make you watch everything you built turn to ash. I will make you regret ever crossing me. I will make you suffer." His expression shifted—hungry, predatory. "And when I am done... I will take your powers. And the powers of everyone beside you."
---
The North — A Few Days Later
A cold, heavy blizzard swept over a newly built settlement on the grey cliffs along the shores of the Shivering Sea. Four hundred Free Folk had been granted this land by Jacob's decree—they had asked to live by the sea, and he had given them what they wanted. Their homes were simple—wood and stone structures that reminded them of the villages they'd left beyond the Wall. The kingdom supplied them with grain, canned food, and cattle. They fished the cold waters, told stories by their fires, and lived much as they always had: free, proud, and content.
They thought they were safe.
They were sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the disaster that was about to fall upon their small town.
The attack came at midnight.
Korvath stood at the edge of the settlement, his ember eyes glowing in the darkness. Behind him, his legion waited.
Plaguebearers—hulking, disease-ridden creatures whose skin oozed with pus and whose breath carried pestilence. Their touch infected wounds with supernatural rot.
Blight Hounds—massive, hairless beasts with open sores covering their bodies. Their bites didn't just tear flesh; they injected a necrotic venom that caused flesh to die and slough off the bone.
Fetid Wraiths—rotting, foul-smelling spirits. They didn't attack physically; they simply passed through their victims, leaving them coughing blood and collapsing as their organs failed.
And behind them, a company of red priests—twenty of them—dressed in crimson robes, their hands already glowing with fire magic.
Korvath raised his whip. "Leave no one alive."
The horde descended.
---
The first scream came from a fisherman who had been mending nets by the shore. A Blight Hound tore out his throat before he could even draw his knife.
Then the Plaguebearers entered the town.
They moved slowly, deliberately, their very presence causing wood to rot. A woman ran from her home, clutching her child, and a Plaguebearer caught her by the arm. Her skin blackened instantly where it touched, the flesh dying and peeling away. She screamed, dropping her child, and the Plaguebearer crushed her skull with a single blow.
The red priests raised their hands, and fire rained from the sky. The new buildings were consumed in seconds. The flames were not normal fire—they were tinged with dark magic, and they spread impossibly fast, leaping from roof to roof, cutting off escape routes.
The Free Folk fought back. They were warriors. They grabbed spears, axes, anything they could find.
But they were no match.
A group of hunters formed a shield wall, spears pointed outward. A Plaguebearer charged into them, and the spears pierced its rotting flesh—but the creature didn't stop. It kept coming, impaling itself further, until it reached the men and wrapped its diseased hands around their throats. They died choking on their own blood as the plague spread through their bodies.
The Blight Hounds were worse. They moved like shadows, fast and silent, their open sores leaving trails of corruption wherever they ran. A young boy tried to hide in a fishing boat, but a Blight Hound found him. Its bite didn't just kill him—it made him suffer. He screamed for his mother as his flesh began to rot.
The Wraiths didn't bother with the living. They drifted through the town, and wherever they passed, wells turned black, grain spoiled, and animals collapsed. A man tried to drink from a water barrel and coughed up black bile. A woman touched her bread and watched it crumble into dust.
And at the center of it all stood Korvath.
He didn't fight. He didn't need to. He simply watched, his ember eyes glowing with satisfaction, his whip coiled in his hand. Every scream, every death, every moment of suffering—he felt it. It made him stronger.
The red priests chanted in unison, their voices rising above the chaos. "R'hllor sees you! R'hllor judges you! R'hllor has found you guilty!"
The last survivors—thirty or forty men, women, and children—were dragged to the center of the town. They were forced to their knees, their hands bound, their faces bruised and bloodied. Korvath walked among them.
"Your king," Korvath said, his voice like grinding stone, "offended the Lord of Light. You chose to follow him. Now, you will pay the price for his arrogance."
One of the Free Folk—a woman with grey hair and a defiant glare—spat at his feet. "The king will find you. He will kill you. He will burn you and your master to ash."
Korvath laughed. "Perhaps. But not before I burn you."
He gestured to the red priests. They raised their hands, and each survivor was engulfed in flames.
The screams lasted for ten minutes.
When it was over, Korvath stood amid the ashes. His work was done. The town was destroyed. The message was clear.
"Tell the others," he said to the handful of survivors he had deliberately left alive, cowering in the shadows. "Tell them what happened here. Tell them their king cannot protect them. And tell them... this is only the beginning."
The demons vanished into the night, leaving behind only fire and death.
---
Winterfell — Three Days Later
Bran Stark was in his chamber, reading by candlelight. Meera was there too, standing by the window.
Bran didn't know why, but something felt wrong. A cold prickle ran down his spine.
He looked up. The room was quiet. Too quiet.
And then he saw it—a flash of movement in the shadows near the window.
"Meera!" Bran shouted, lunging sideways.
He shoved Meera out of the way just as a dagger flew through the air where she had been standing. The blade sliced through Bran's shoulder instead—a deep, burning cut that made him gasp.
He looked at the wound. It didn't heal.
Bran's eyes tracked the attacker—a tall, slender figure with skin like charcoal and eyes of polished obsidian. He moved without sound, without breath, without any sign that he was alive. His eyes were locked onto Bran, but he was walking toward Meera.
"Go!" Bran shouted. "Get the others!"
Meera scrambled to her feet and ran for the door. Kaelen moved to intercept her.
But he didn't know what Bran was.
Bran shifted.
His body expanded—bones cracking, muscles swelling, skin darkening into thick fur. Within seconds, he stood on two legs—a monstrous humanoid wolf, three meters tall, with claws like daggers and eyes that blazed yellow.
He lunged at Kaelen, catching the demon off guard. His claws raked across Kaelen's chest, sending the assassin crashing into the wall.
Meera escaped through the door.
Kaelen stood up. There was no blood on his chest. No wound. Just a thin line where Bran's claws had scratched him—and even that faded within seconds.
He didn't speak. He simply attacked.
---
The fight was brutal.
Kaelen was fast. He moved like liquid shadow, appearing and disappearing, his cursed dagger finding its mark again and again. Each wound burned like fire—dark energy seeping into Bran's flesh, preventing his supernatural healing from closing the cuts.
Bran tried everything. He used his claws, his fangs, his strength—but Kaelen was always one step ahead. The demon dodged every strike, blocked every attack, and countered with a precision that was almost mechanical.
A slash across Bran's chest. A stab into his thigh. A deep cut along his ribs.
Bran roared in pain and frustration. He shifted into a full direwolf—a massive wolf the size of a horse—and charged.
Kaelen sidestepped. His dagger found Bran's flank, and dark energy pulsed through the wound. Bran stumbled, his legs giving out.
Kaelen stood over him, his obsidian eyes emotionless. He didn't gloat. He didn't mock.
And then he heard it. Footsteps. Voices. People coming.
Kaelen took one last look at Bran—slumped on the floor, unable to stand, his wounds festering with dark energy. He nodded to himself. The job was done. Bran wouldn't survive. He would die slowly, painfully, consumed from within by the corruption Kaelen had left behind.
Without a sound, Kaelen vanished through the window, leaving Bran bleeding on the cold stone floor.
---
Jon and Benjen burst into the room seconds later.
They found Bran in his human form, his body covered in wounds. The cuts were dark, sizzling with dark energy. Black veins spread from each wound like poison through his skin. His breathing was shallow, his face pale.
"Bran!" Jon shouted, dropping to his knees beside his brother.
Bran's eyes fluttered open. They were glassy, unfocused. "J-Jon... Meera... she went to get you..."
"I'm here," Jon said, his voice breaking. "I'm here. Just hold on."
Benjen knelt on the other side, his face grim. "This is dark magic. Powerful dark magic. The wounds won't heal."
Jon's hands trembled. He looked at Bran's face—at the black veins spreading across his skin—and knew he couldn't fix this.
But he knew someone who could.
He pulled out his phone. His hands shook as he dialed the number Cogman had programmed into it.
It rang twice before Cogman answered.
"Jon," Cogman said, his voice calm. "How may I assist you?"
"There was an attack," Jon said, his voice hoarse. "Bran... he's hurt. Badly. The wounds won't heal. There's dark magic—I don't know what to do."
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
"I will inform Sir immediately," Cogman said. "Where is Bran now?"
"In his chambers at Winterfell. Please, hurry."
"Help is on the way," Cogman said.
The line went dead.
Jon looked at Bran, then at Benjen.
"They're coming," he said. "Jacob is coming."
---
Beacon Hills
Jacob was at the mansion in Beacon Hills, waiting for his wives to finish getting ready for their girls' night out. He was sprawled on the couch in the living room, scrolling through his phone, when the phone buzzed.
It was Cogman.
Jacob frowned and answered. "Cogman? What's wrong?"
"Sir," Cogman said, his voice unusually serious. "There has been an attack."
Jacob sat up. "What kind of attack?"
"Winterfell was attacked. Bran Stark was hurt."
Jacob was on his feet in an instant. "How bad?"
"He is alive, sir. But he is cursed. Dark magic. I do not know how much time he has."
"I'm on my way."
He hung up and turned to find his wives—Allison, Lydia, Malia, Sansa, Daenerys, Melissa, and Cora—standing in the doorway, their faces filled with concern.
"We heard," Sansa said, her voice trembling. "Bran..."
Melissa took her hand. "He's alive. We'll save him."
Jacob said, "There is no time to waste. Let's go."
He opened a portal directly to Winterfell, and they all stepped through.