Northwestern Area of the True North
POV of Domeric Bolton
Domeric knew that one of his men was in a dire situation when he received feedback from a magical mark.
The magical mark he created and bestowed on his men instantly tracked their situation. It could also magically determine whether a person was in a dangerous situation or dead, like the Weasleys' family heirloom clock.
But unlike the Weasleys' clock, it was not able to detect danger very early on. Only when they got into a perilous situation could their magical mark give feedback to Domeric. So, the reaction time available for Domeric to intervene was very little.
And now he had received a warning of fatal danger from the magical sign of one of his men.
The wights only carried medieval weapons, incapable of cutting through his magical armor. This meant that the White Walker had joined the battlefield and was personally fighting one of his men.
Hot fury bubbled inside his heart as he thought of Ygritte, Varko, and Raksa and how it was possible that one of them might die at the hands of the powerful Necromancer.
Then he calmed himself with the help of Occlumency, as blind rage would be of no help to him right now.
For now, he needed to remove the wights from around him, find the White Walker, save his man, and then kill the icy bastard.
"Protego." He said after summoning his Holly Wand. Wandless magic wasn't enough anymore.
A white, shimmering, weak bubble formed around him at 10 times the usual cost, as even the distorted magic around him sought to undo any spell he tried to perform.
But even so, it gave him breathing space and some time to observe the battlefield.
Most of the men were still around where they had started. Killing any wight that got near them quickly, using the magical armor and Valyrian sword/Dragonglass dagger, proved to be a successful counter against the wights.
However, some of them had moved away from their initial position during the battle.
One of them was Raksa, who was furthest away from the group. She was swiping her great Valyrian sword around herself, killing half a dozen wights with each swipe of her blade.
And another one was Orell, who was running toward the White Walker.
Then he realized that Raksa was also going toward the White Walker, albeit unknowingly, while killing wights.
He won't allow the cold fucker to kill one of his wargs and the girl he had come to see as his younger sister.
He quickly used a magical spell to repel the wights around him, destroying his shield in the process.
With a glance, he realized that Orell could no longer stand up to the White Walker and would die at his hands. He could not safely apparate there with the magic around him so disturbed.
So, he transfigured the surrounding stones into great swords and threw them towards the White Walker with a powerful Depulso after the Leviosa charm.
The great swords caught the unaware White Walker by surprise and sent him hurtling backwards. In the meantime, he prevented Orell's head from being separated from his body at the last moment. If he had been a few seconds late, he would have lost one of his men, and Orell would have died.
"Orell, step back and join the others," he shouted at Orell, and Orell, recovering from the shock of almost dying, ran towards the group.
When he shifted his gaze from Orell back to the White Walker, he saw the icy bastard back on his feet, unharmed.
Even stranger, his transfigured great swords repelled the White Walker and turned back into stone after falling to the ground. Under normal circumstances, the effect of his transfiguration should have lasted longer.
It seemed that the White Walker himself was the primary source of the magical distortion around him, and the closer he got to him, the more suppressed the effect of his magic became.
White Walker looked at the un-transfigured stones on the ground and then at Domeric. Intrigued by Domeric, it took a step towards him, but then he turned his head at the sound of voices nearby and saw Raksa destroying the wights en masse.
Raksa had unwittingly gotten too close to the White Walker while fighting the wights.
White Walker turned his head again and looked at Domeric. After a mocking smirk, he changed his direction and started walking towards Raksa.
'That fucker. Not on my watch!' Domeric thought, and with a quick swipe of his hand, he took a ball from his bottomless pouch. Then, he threw the ball between the White Walker and Raksa. The ball fell to the ground and burst into green flames.
The White Walker halted his steps and gazed at the flames, which faltered in intensity but didn't die down.
Domeric took out another batch of balls and threw them between Raksa and the White Walker before the wights fell upon him once again.
He killed any wight that got near him with ease, but not feeling any sense of accomplishment, as he knew that Raksa might still be in danger.
But as the cold around him rose and the magic in the air distorted even more, he realized that the White Walker had changed its target again.
After killing a few wights, he found a blade coming toward him but dodged it easily.
At close range, the White Walker was like a beacon of magic before him. Far more potent in its own element of cold and death than even he ever was in his past life.
Its sword also radiated cold and death elements in droves.
He only had a single moment to wonder how someone could create something so magically dense. Because, to his magic senses, it felt like the entire sword was made up of magic and nothing else.
He gazed at the White Walker, which stared back at him with apathy.
Then the White Walker moved, and the battle between the two leaders began.
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Next Chapters' Name:
Ch.145: Warlock
Ch.146: After the Collision