Chapter 2: Echoes of the Wolf and the Monster
The cold did not stop him.
Neither hunger, nor fatigue, nor consciousness.
The creature walking through the snowy roads of the North was no longer Robb Stark. His paws left deep prints in the frost, and behind him, there were bodies. Many bodies. Bandits with their skulls crushed, Bolton men dismembered, Greyjoy stragglers whose intestines hung like torn flags among the trees.
Heracles dominated the body, driven by a primitive fury. A rage without name that burned like the fire of a thousand funeral pyres. He did not speak. He did not think. He did not reason. He just advanced.
And killed.
His body was no longer the same. During his escape from the Twins, he had felt every bone break and reassemble. The flesh swelled, the muscles exploded beneath the skin. Now he was taller—more than two meters—and his broad back seemed built to carry mountains. His arms were thick like tree trunks, and his veins burned with ancient power.
His head, that of a wolf, completed the image of a beast risen from legends. An elongated snout, fangs protruding even with his jaw clenched. His eyes were two golden embers, lit by hatred.
His clothes didn't survive the change. The shirt had torn on the second day. The fur cloak had been ripped in a fight. All that remained was simple pants, stained with blood and mud, and a ragged cape that hung like a shadow over his back. He wore no shoes. He didn't need them. His feet, hard as stone, could endure the ice without faltering.
A Bolton patrol was the next to cross his path.
Five men. Armed. On horseback.
They saw him among the trees from a distance, and one raised his hand.
—"Halt there! Who goes?"
He didn't answer. His footsteps resounded in the snow like the thunder of war drums.
—"Didn't you hear, damn it? We're talking to you!"
The leader, a bearded man with the flayed man sigil on his chest, stepped forward. When he saw the wolf's head, he paled.
—"What… what the hell…?"
The monster leaped.
A single leap. Ten paces in the air.
He landed on the horse, splitting the animal and its rider with one impact. Blood exploded into the air. The others barely had time to scream.
One raised his sword. Robb's claw deflected it with such force that the soldier's arm twisted at an impossible angle. The second tried to flee, but a piece of spear was thrown like a projectile, piercing his neck. The third dropped to his knees, begging.
—"Please, no… no!"
The last thing he saw was the shadow of an open mouth with fangs.
Hours passed.
Heracles didn't stop.
Further ahead, a Greyjoy camp. Four tents. A dozen men, injured, left behind after the retreat of their fleet.
There were no screams. No warnings.
Only the shadow that entered the back of the camp, one by one, and silenced them. He cut throats in their sleep. Broke necks. One of them, a young man barely lifting his sword, managed to wound him in the side.
Heracles roared with monstrous fury. The wolf inside him howled, desiring vengeance.
The young man was torn in two with the monster's bare hands. He didn't even use a blade.
But inside his mind, the chaos was different.
The voices persisted.
"Stop! For the gods, stop!"
It was the mind of the young man from Earth, lost in memories, trapped in a body that no longer responded. He saw the scenes through the eyes of a witness. He smelled the blood, the heat of the heart beating in his hands, and he couldn't do anything.
"This is not us! You are not him!"
But Heracles didn't listen.
Only the wolf, sometimes, whispered from the corner of his consciousness. A long lament, as if it knew this path could only end in ruin.
Finally, when the forest opened toward the north, the old towers of Winterfell appeared on the horizon.
The wolf's fortress.
The cradle of his humanity.
The monster stopped for the first time in days. The snow fell on his bare back. He breathed deeply, his chest rising like a living mountain.
—"Winterfell…" he growled in a broken voice. "Will they receive me… as a son? Or as punishment?"
His claws tightened around the hilt of a broken sword, taken from one of the corpses. He didn't need it. But he carried it as a symbol. As a reminder.
In the distance, the wild wolves howled. One. Then another. Then all.
A funeral chant.
A foreboding.
The beast took the first step toward the lands he once called home.
And the winter… he felt it coming.
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Guys, the body has three different personalities for now. The first is the wolf, who represents Robb Stark and his ideals. The second is the boy from Earth who knows the history of GOT from the books and the series. And the third is Heracles [Berserk] from Fate. For now, they are different entities, but later they will integrate and merge.