-General-
Without exception, everyone trembled. The weakest-minded clutched their heads and began murmuring in broken voices: "Who am I? What am I doing here?"
As had once happened with the creature from the lake outside Moria, its mere presence radiated a power capable of bending the sanity of the fragile.
"Don't look at it!" Gandalf shouted, spinning sharply.
His gaze locked onto Kili and Fili. Both, despite their shaking hands, gripped their weapons firmly and had stepped forward. But under the weight of the wizard's stare, they froze. Words were unnecessary; they understood the warning perfectly.
Without hesitation, they ordered a retreat. Those beginning to lose their minds were knocked unconscious and dragged away. They were not fleeing; on the contrary, they fell back to form the rearguard, ready to support Gandalf and Aldril against the abomination before them.
But nothing would be that simple.
Before they could fully withdraw, dozens of orcs and goblins emerged from the shadows. Tentacles sprouted from their skulls, whipping like frenzied lashes, and they lunged with the hunger of starving beasts.
The dwarves, however, would not be taken by surprise so easily. With coordinated movements, they drew swords, spears, axes, and maces.
"Formation!" Fili commanded, bringing his shield alongside his brother's, instantly flanked by another line of shields raised by the other dwarves.
The spearmen advanced, pointing their weapons at the frenzied charge of the corrupted. The clash came like thunder: bodies collided, and spears sank into flesh. The frantic tentacles struck shields, leaving dents and scorching marks.
From the rear, the dwarf archers did not hesitate. They loosed their arrows with deadly precision, cutting through the air before embedding in corrupted flesh. A cacophony of guttural screams erupted, chilling the blood. Yet the dwarves held their ground.
Occasionally, one of the abominations broke through the line. With their fleshly whips, they tore skin and muscle, drawing screams of pain from those struck. But whenever one fell, another dwarf stepped in, raising their weapon with fury.
Meanwhile, Aldril, despite the fear, stood tall. In his hands, he wielded Anglachel and Anguirel, twin swords exhaling fire and ice. Their opposing dance scorched the air, making it crackle with each clash, creating a friction that shook the surroundings.
Corrupt creatures daring to approach were instantly incinerated or frozen, forming a natural barrier around him, allowing him to focus solely on the greater abomination.
This one, slow but inexorable, advanced. Its tentacles writhed with repulsive viscosity, and its eyes burned with an indescribable desire. Even amid the chaos, its gaze never left Aldril's small figure.
"It's you…" it hissed in a language that made Gandalf's hair stand on end.
The wizard, more than anyone, knew the lost tongues of Arda. But this one… it surpassed even the dreaded Black Speech in malice.
"Delicious name… a name… mine… it is mine…" the creature crooned.
Each drawn-out word chilled the chamber, as if stealing the warmth from the stones themselves. It savored Aldril's name with sick devotion. The half-elf narrowed his eyes; he was afraid, yes, but he refused to let that fear control him.
Suddenly, like a lightning strike, a tentacle lunged at him. Aldril reacted with agility, leaping to the right, only to face another tentacle descending at full speed.
But before it could strike, a sharp light cut through the gloom. Gandalf had intervened. Glamdring whistled in his hands and struck the tentacle with a mighty blow, severing it cleanly.
Unlike the first nameless creature, this one could not withstand the steel of Gondolin. The appendage fell to the ground, writhing in nauseating spasms, while the abomination screamed, its roar echoing through the chamber. Its body convulsed with fury and stumbled back several steps, shaking the air with its pain.
"Aldril!" the wizard called, pointing at the severed tentacle with his staff.
"I know," the half-elf replied.
He hurled himself like a meteor at the creature. Both swords blazed with greater intensity, and the echo of fire and ice clashing reverberated throughout the chamber.
"Want my name?" Aldril whispered, a defiant gleam in his eyes. "You won't get it so easily, damn beast."
The blades descended violently, carving a deep gash into the abomination's body. From the wound oozed thick pus, red and yellow, bubbling as if burning from within.
The creature's scream was so deafening that everyone, without exception, covered their ears. Some dwarves fell to the ground, their eardrums ruptured, blood running down their faces. Several of the tentacled creatures, unable to withstand it, saw their heads explode in grotesque bursts.
Aldril grunted, enduring the scream as best he could, and stepped forward. He focused his power into a single point, ready to summon once again the devastating explosion of ice and fire with which he had destroyed the first abomination.
But this time, not everything went as planned. The severed part of the monster regenerated before his eyes, a new tentacle sprouting with repulsive speed. The appendage intercepted the attack before it could be completed.
Aldril couldn't dodge in time. The blow struck him full force, throwing him against one of the chamber's pillars. The impact was so brutal that his body shattered the stone into a thousand fragments before collapsing on the other side.
"Aldril!" Gandalf shouted, worry in his voice.
He raised his staff and unleashed a telekinetic wave, pushing the tentacles away from the spot where the half-elf had fallen. With the agility of a youth, the wizard maneuvered among the corrupted creatures; wherever he passed, heads tumbled to the ground. The monsters' writhing, still affected by the abomination's scream, allowed him to clear a path and reach the pillar within seconds.
The regenerated abomination lunged at them with unnatural speed for such a large, heavy body. Its tentacles swung with fury, but an arc of ice stopped them midair, freezing them instantly.
From the rubble, Aldril emerged, his shirt torn where he had been struck. He stood tall, despite the pain coursing through his body.
That blow had clearly rivaled the one he had received from Smaug, speaking volumes about the abomination's strength—its attributes were currently at level seven.
"That monster regenerates," Gandalf said, frowning, his voice heavy with gravity. "All I can think of is wearing it down until its own flesh can take no more."
"I agree," Aldril said. "Though a single strike powerful enough to stop its regeneration would also work. And we must hurry; we can't leave the dwarves without our support."
Gandalf nodded. His eyes scanned the battlefield; the dwarves held the front, but casualties were beginning to mount. It wasn't critical yet… but they couldn't waste any more time.
Aldril brought both swords together. The clash rang with a sharp, tearing sound, as if the very air itself split. Fire and ice began to dance around him, intertwining like serpents. From the blazing red and the glacial blue arose a new color: a violet glow, born from the fusion of both elements—a technique he had practiced long ago with Thalwen.
"Ready?" Gandalf asked.
"Yes," Aldril replied firmly.
Both prepared to strike, but then something stopped them.
The sound of a whip tearing through the air echoed in the chamber. The abomination shrieked and, in a convulsive movement, spun on itself… only to be struck again and slammed against the walls like a worthless bundle.
Sweat ran down Aldril and Gandalf's faces as they gripped their weapons tighter.
Why?
The answer emerged from the shadows.
A titanic figure appeared, wreathed in flames that writhed like living skin. With grandeur, it let out a roar that shook the stones, fueling the fire that enveloped it.
Durin's Bane had awakened.
The great Balrog of Moria had joined the battle.
***
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