Druid Slap Battles Novels & Stories

“Come on, you useless filth! Hit me! Slap! “Come on! Aren’t you going to fight for the four great Martial Arts Alliances?! “Aren’t you?! Slap! “Didn’t you want to take revenge?! I slapped you in the face twice before, didn’t I?! “Here’s your chance! Then, do it!”

When Rowan Nightshade’s hand struck my face, I did not understand what had happened at first. The sound cracked through the training corridor of Silvermoon Federal Academy. My body tipped to the side, my teeth aching from the force, and for a few seconds all I heard was a dull ringing in my ears. My left cheek went numb, then burned as if molten silver had been poured over it. I covered my face and looked up at him. Rowan Nightshade, heir of the Shadowfang Pack, had slapped me in front of more than a dozen students because I had argued with a transfer girl.

When he heard what was going on, he called Sally over and told him to protect me at school from now on. "... like you would protect your future wife," Don Tony said. I thought he was joking, but when I turned to look at Sally, the tips of his ears had gone red. And just like that, I felt my own face flush too. … The very next day, Sally dragged that boy out and beat him to a pulp. He had always been tall for his age, tough by nature, and his father started training him to fight, shoot, and manage territory when he was only seven.

A deep, earth-shaking growl left his chest, sending ripples of heat through the air. And then— They attacked. The sound was deafening. Arrows rained down. Swords clashed. Shouts and war cries filled the night. Drake moved like a force of nature. He wasn’t just fighting—he was devastating them. His claws tore through armor as if it were paper. His flames turned men into nothing but ashes. Every movement was precise, brutal, and inhumanly fast. Soldiers fell around him, some trying to run, others screaming as his fire consumed them.

Tohr stretched his wings out and prepared himself for Sólas' charge when, out of nowhere, a form flashed in front of him, taking the brunt of the Blue Draygons attack. The newest Draygon took Sólas down to the ground slamming him into it with such an impact that I could hear the ground tremble even from my perch high above. The Blue Draygon shifted, and I could make out the form of Caylan standing tall and proud, ready to face off with Sólas. His warriors made their way down the stairs to join their leader. They were ready to begin this battle that they had been anticipating.

His attack was incredibly simple, and for Dravin, with such a keen combat sense, it was predictable. He turned the fingers on his free hand into claws and slashed at Darius' neck once he was close enough, lopping his head off cleanly. The fight came to a standstill as the other two elders were not foolish enough to attack recklessly. Dravin dropped Dale's body and stared down at it. "Two down, three more to go." He then looked up at the other two men. "Are you going to attack, or should I?" "You are going to pay for this," Cedric said as he gnashed his teeth so hard that they drew blood.

They were silenced before they could even make a sound, their lives extinguished in a single violent moment. Vivienne saw bodies drenched in blood that sprayed across the battlefield every time a limb was being ripped off. She saw a great number of limbs torn from bodies, saw heads crushed beneath brutal force, saw warriors, some shaped like men, others not, falling, rising and fighting again in endless cycles of destruction. Swords clashed again and again, their ringing cutting through the air. The sound was deafening, a chaotic symphony of agony, rage, and death.

Alright, let’s show them what we got. Slade, Sandra, Spirit, Spartacus, and summer show these vampires what you got! Slade is blowing air, Spartacus is stomping the ground, which leads to a crack in the ground and some vampires fall in. Summer is using water to keep them distracted, and Sandra is using fire to burn them to the ground. No, this can’t be, I will not be defeated.

Wolves ducked low behind their shields; some shifted mid-run, claws tearing into the mud as the first clash erupted. “Forward!” Delph’s voice cut through chaos like steel. He surged ahead, his wolf half rising within him. Draven’s growl vibrated under his ribs, a pulse of primal strength begging to be unleashed. The ground beneath him was slick, the scent of rain and iron thick in his lungs. Every movement was instinct, precise, learned through years of battle. He caught a flying spear, twisted, and sent it spinning back into the fog. A cry answered, a man falling.

The noise had been deafening. Metal against metal, flesh against flesh, shield against shield. And over it all, the battle cries of warriors lost to bloodlust and determination to kill or be killed. Brand had forgotten what it felt like – the all-consuming need for the blood of his enemies to be spilled on the ground at his feet.