Animagus

Gaude took out a head-sized Wardstone with an array carved on top of it. There was a single line missing from a functional one, and Gaude used his Runecarving knife to complete it.

Out of nowhere, the starry sky overhead was blotted out by thick and dark clouds and within seconds, the first lightning bolt struck into a tree just a few hundred feet away. The tree shattered with a loud explosion, spraying splinters across half the clearing.

The lightning flash revealed an encirclement of Werewolves that had surrounded Gaude and his group. So far there hadn't been any that died on his side, but things looked like it would change soon. The approaching Werewolves had amongst them one that had a more human appearance than the rest, looking like he was in a partially transformed state, even during a full moon.

Gaude ordered: "Everyone, I'm all out of plans. Take all the recovery potions and trace it down with Potion No. 5!"

He placed his wand onto his heart and started channeling the minuscule strands of magic that were still left of his reserves.

While he was holding the small phial in one hand, he spoke: "Amato!"

The Werewolves, knights and Dragonites on his side took out potions from a belt that had been around their waist. The potion bottles were covered with various runes, those that had good understanding of runic charms would've recognized the unbreakable and stasis charms.

Gaude spoke the second word of the spell: "Animo!"

His troops downed multiple potions, the injuries on their bodies recovering at a visible pace. Greyback's Werewolves continued carefully closing the encirclement around them, claws out and ready to rip them apart.

Gaude didn't let their vicious appearance disturb him. He said: "Animato!"

Finally, Greyback's Werewolves, with the man himself in the lead had reached close enough and leaped at Gaude's party, fangs bared and claws ready to strike.

"ANIMAGUS, Motherfuckers!", Gaude yelled out, downing the contents of the phial right after.

With the sound of his clothes being torn apart, his body expanded at an insane rate. His hands and feet turned into claws, his face turned into a scaled maw.

Gaude's hair turned into a crown of horns on top of his head. A , spiked tail grew behind him and finally, black wings spread out of his back.

Anyone that had knowledge of dragons, would've recognized a Hungarian Horntail. The only difference was that this particular Hungarian Horntail was small, extremely small compared to the adults of its species, barely the size of a pony.

'What the fuck!', Gaude thought. 'Why the hell am I so friggin tiny? Am I a damn baby dragon or something?'

"Gaude, I don't think you're good at improvising!", Irma shouted.

"Shut up and get to fighting our way out of this mess!", was what Gaude wanted to say, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a: "Rawrrrr, rawrrrawwrr!" If it had been in a mighty draconic growl, Gaude could've still accepted his fate, but instead it sounded more like a puppy trying to be fierce.

The attacking Werewolves suddenly found the formerly tired out and easy prey regaining the fierceness of their posture, seemingly ready to go ten more rounds. Once more, weapons were brandished, cutting deep gashes into the flesh of the encircling enemy, flesh sizzling and wounds that should've already started healing remaining open.

Finally, the silver strips soldered to the weapons were fulfilling their intended purpose, putting a whole lot of hurt on the enemy.

The Werewolves yelped in pain and backed off a little, trying to come up with a different plan of attack. Since the enemy had turtled up into a perfectly circular defense, it was the same as trying to eat a hedgehog. Their instinct was telling them to keep attacking until they got rid of the obstacle, but that one glimmer of rationality told them that the first waves would absolutely lose their life.

"Rawwwrrr!", said the dragon, shooting out a small spout of fire, managing to set the fur of four Werewolves ablaze.

Gaude's troops started to move faster than they had ever before, their blows became twice as fierce, they shrugged of wounds that would've partially crippled their movement before. The wounds they sustained regenerated at three times the normal rate, even with the highest quality of potions.

Suddenly, little child-like figures rushed behind the advancing Werewolves, using blowpipes to fire darts into their backs. The figures then retreated, making way to the next wave while the first was reloading their weapons. Of course, these small figures weren't visible to anyone in that clearing, nor the last few Werewolves that were still in the woods. They had been trained better than to reveal themselves mid-operation.

Gaude's elves had arrived. They had been another contingency plan, but as Gaude hadn't been able to contact them, they had arrived only now, as the predetermined time of their master's return had long passed and one of them had come looking for him. Instead of their victorious master, the elf had found their master in deep shit, and had contacted the others, letting them know that for some reason, they can't apparate inside a certain area.

The elves had then gathered outside that area and advanced on foot until they reached the swarm of Werewolves. It wasn't until a hundred or so Werewolves had been taken down from the backline before they noticed that something was amiss.

Unfortunately, as they had no mastery over their own transformation, all those that noticed could do was howl and bark and growl towards the hidden enemy, drawing the attention of a few of their comrades that weren't so focused on getting into the center of the encirclement to show dominance to those sweet-smelling females and tear apart those annoying males.

However, there were too few of those that noticed another front appearing and they were quickly silenced as the most immediate danger – a werewolf's heart beat faster and more powerfully, meaning both oxygen and the Draught of the Living Death were carried around in their system faster than in a human's.

Greyback's Werewolf army had gone from having an encirclement around the entirety of the enemy's forces to becoming a donut that was eaten from inside and out, more and more falling on both fronts. Bodies were piling on both sides, a few intermittent rows had formed on the outside and a wall of corpses as tall as a grown man was in the center of the encirclement.

Greyback himself was in the middle of his troops, shouting orders: "Advance, you cowards! Swarm them! We have the numbers!", he half growled, half barked.

He was speaking the truth, it wasn't only his side that had suffered losses, there were many armored knights and more than ten armored Werewolves lying down in a pool of their own blood. Yet, Irma and a pony-sized Dragon were still fighting fiercely, the Dragon having adopted a different style now, utilizing its claws to maim the enemy, its scales too hard to get through with just claws and movements too quick to get a good grip on the forelegs and take a bite out of them.

The little Dragon, Irma, the armored Werewolves and knights had taken a position atop the circular wall of bodies, using it as a makeshift high ground.

However, the encirclement started getting tighter and tighter, the enemy advancing faster, climbing atop the bodies on all fours, jumping and rushing forwards like a flood of zombies, the room for movement becoming less, it was obvious what was about to happen – before the elves managed to chip away at the encirclement and save their master, the troops that were barely holding their ground in the middle would be overrun.

Suddenly, in a fit of desperate inspiration, the little Dragon climbed atop the wall of corpses, concentrated on the concept and feeling of casting a certain spell, attempting to channel it through his throat instead of hand and released a single roar: "YOL!"

A massive spout of fire erupted from the small Dragon's mouth, sending the Werewolves scrambling away for their lives, however, the tight encirclement didn't allow them to do that very effectively. A swath of the Werewolves were either suffering third degree burns or had their fur smoldering with flames, causing them to claw at their comrades in panic, the fire catching due to the close contact.

As an opening was created, the formerly turtled down troops got on the move, rushing to where the enemy encirclement was the thinnest. They slashed, cut and smashed with their weapons, not taking even a moment's reprieve.

Thanks to their efforts, they managed to slowly break their way out of the encirclement, onto a ground that wasn't muddy and slick from spilled blood, none of what was stuck to their boots and feet was wet by rainwater – while Gaude had summoned a thunderstorm, it had been dry lightning, not a drop of rain had come down with it, as at the time of drawing up the array, he had thought that rain would be disadvantageous to his side.

Finally, with barely a hundred left on his side, Gaude looked towards the enemy. He had noticed the bodies on the outside of the encirclement, with darts sticking out of their backs. He had realized the elves had arrived.

'If you haven't already, bring every elf that knows how to use a blowpipe and equip them with darts. I want to finish this properly.', Gaude transmitted a thought to the elves he managed to once more sense a connection with. He sensed that they had started moving on his orders, apparently it was indeed just the best of the elves on the battlefield.

There didn't seem to be all that much of the enemy left, only six hundred or so. It would've been a number that Gaude's troops could've managed easily with just the hundred of them that were still left, yet just as he thought that, his men started falling down one by one, groaning loudly, unable to move. It had started. The side effects of Potion No. 5 were kicking in.

Quickly, there were only the Werewolves, Dragonites and the little Dragon left standing, altogether thirty-five of them. The Werewolves advanced on shaky legs, brandishing their weapons, ready to take on the enemy's offensive, to at least take a few more down with them.

Greyback had finally taken the front line, advancing ahead of his troops. Irma went to the front of Gaude's troops, her path straight towards Fenrir.

"Come and fight me, you Coward!", Irma shouted.

"What a pretty lady, I'll make you my personal breeding bitch!", Fenrir replied, licking his sharp teeth.

Irma's eyes glowed silver, then a golden shine found its place in them.

"As long as we were strong and could kill you, you were hiding in the middle of your men, I wouldn't be with you if you were the last man on Earth!", Irma responded. She was disgusted with the man in front of her, not just because of his cowardice, but also because of the thick smell of blood emanating from him, as if he had slaughtered countless, and judging by his fighting tactics, he was picky about his battles, preferring the weak.

Irma's claws still bore the arrays drawn by Gaude, some of them were scratched and broken, but some still emitted a faint red glow, a sign they were operational. When they were around twenty feet from each other, Irma rushed forward at a speed a dead tired body shouldn't be capable of, swiping her claws at Greyback's gut.

Yet, the older Werewolf was plenty experienced, he had seen countless battles. He dodged the haphazard swipe easily, not paying any mind to Irma's efforts to follow it up with a quick thrust at his throat, instead he grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her back. As Irma tried to use her other hand to swipe at Fenrir's thigh, he grabbed that as well, bringing both her hands behind her back and forcing her to bend over.

A certain little Dragon had started running over to the two, but he was much too far away.

Fenrir tore off the leather pants that Irma was wearing and growled loudly: "I will make you mine!"

After he tore off the front of his pants, revealing a hulking piece of Werewolf meat, he suddenly stopped, staring at his chest. A wide blade was sticking out of it. Streams of blood flowed out from the corners of his mouth. Behind Fenrir's back, Captain Ross, in a black knight's armor, was fading into visibility.