On the battlefield before Erebor,
The Elves and Dwarves, ancient rivals for countless generations, fought back to back as if they'd trained together for years. Despite their long history of conflict, they understood each other's battle styles perfectly and formed a surprisingly effective alliance. When the Dwarves held firm against the initial wave of Orc assaults, the Elven warriors swept in to plug the gaps, their movements swift and graceful. The two armies rotated in perfect rhythm, forging an unspoken pact to defend their shared ground.
Towering above them all, Beorn thundered into the fray in his massive bear form, eyes blazing with fury. His hatred for Orcs ran deeper than any mortal wound. Axes and blades bounced harmlessly off his thick fur and skin. Wherever he rampaged, Orcs were hurled aside like twigs, crushed under his paws or sent flying through the air with bone-shattering force.
But it was Smaug who truly turned the tide of the battle.
Though grounded and still recovering from earlier wounds, the dragon's might was undiminished. With every swing of his iron-hard tail, he carved deep swathes through the Orc ranks. The roar of his flames was like the wrath of Mount Doom itself, incinerating legions in seconds. The sheer heat of his breath melted steel, scorched earth, and reduced Orcs to little more than drifting cinders.
Wherever the fire raged, the battlefield turned to blackened ash, and terror spread like wildfire among the enemy. The Orc formation splintered into chaos. Smaug, furious, proud, and magnificent, unleashed his fury upon the Dark Lord's minions, as though exorcising every grievance he had ever borne.
Above the raging battlefield, Sylas fought his own war in the skies.
Hundreds of thousands of monstrous bats, bred in Mordor's darkest pits, swarmed to blot out the sun. These were not ordinary beasts, but shadowy creatures raised to serve a singular purpose: to shield the Orcs and Trolls below from daylight. The sun, after all, was the bane of such creatures, burning Orc flesh and turning Trolls to stone where they stood.
Sauron, cunning as ever, had bred these great bats as a living cloud of darkness. Each one was the size of a warhorse, and they swooped in organized waves, shrieking and clawing with fury. If there had only been hundreds, or even thousands, Sylas might have held them off with ease. But hundreds of thousands? It was like trying to fight the night itself.
With a swirl of his cloak, Sylas cast a shimmering barrier of protective magic. Bats slammed into it from all sides, their screeches deafening. Even more dangerous were the ultrasonic waves they emitted in unison, a haunting, resonant attack that vibrated through the air with bone-shaking intensity. One wave alone was harmless, but together, they could tear a man's mind apart.
Thankfully, Sylas had seen it coming. Moments before the sound reached its peak, he cast a Silencing Charm around himself, muffling the destructive frequency before it could take hold.
"You think your voices are powerful? Then allow me to introduce you to something worse, the cry of a Mandrake!"
Sylas reached into his enchanted satchel and pulled out a potted Mandrake. With a quick motion, he yanked the shrieking plant from its soil and extended it just outside the range of his silencing charm.
The Mandrake, suddenly ripped from its sleep, looked absolutely miserable. Its wrinkled little face contorted with rage as it let out a piercing scream.
"Sonorus!" Sylas shouted, casting a sound-amplifying charm to boost the volume.
A split second later, a deafening screech rang out across the sky.
The monstrous bats had hypersensitive hearing, just like their smaller kin. And that was their doom. The Mandrake's cry hit them like a shockwave. Their wings froze, their muscles stiffened, and in the next instant, they plummeted out of the sky by the thousands.
Sunlight poured through the gaps left behind, and with it came chaos for the Orc army below.
Exposed to the sun, the Orcs cried out in agony and confusion. Some dropped their weapons, blinded and weakened. Worse still, the Trolls caught in the rays of daylight began to turn to stone where they stood, transforming into hulking statues of rock mid-battle.
Even the falling bats themselves became weapons, crashing like hailstones into the Orc ranks, sending up clouds of dust and screams.
Riding the momentum, Sylas chased the densest patches of bats with the howling Mandrake in hand. Wherever he flew, the night was literally torn open, and havoc rained down from above.
"Use the Morgul Arrows! Bring him down! Kill that wizard!" Bolg roared in Black Speech from his command hill.
The Orcs obeyed, frantically assembling siege ballistae atop the ridges.
"Loose!"
A swarm of cursed bolts screamed toward Sylas. He narrowed his eyes and veered sharply upward, wind howling past his ears. The Morgul Arrows weren't just physical threats, they shredded through enchantments like a hot blade through parchment.
"Persistent lot," he muttered, noting that he couldn't approach Bolg directly without being turned into a magical pincushion.
Time for Plan B.
He turned his broom sharply and sped toward Smaug.
The dragon was mid-rampage, his tail flattening dozens of Orcs while fire spewed from his jaws in every direction. When Sylas appeared in his peripheral vision, Smaug's predatory instincts flared, he instinctively turned and prepared to unleash a torrent of flame upon the approaching figure.
But the moment he did, a searing pulse ran around his neck, the mark of their pact. Ancient binding runes etched into the dragon's scales glowed faintly, a painful reminder of the vow he had made.
Smaug snarled and recoiled, smoke pouring from his nostrils as the compulsion took hold. His jaws snapped shut just in time, the fire dying in his throat. His eyes widened with recognition, then flicked nervously to Sylas.
"Master!"
Sylas landed lightly on the dragon's back and pointed toward the distant ridge where Bolg's command was entrenched.
"Bolg is hiding there," he said calmly. "Let's go end this."
Smaug began to lumber across the battlefield on foot, his massive form crashing through ranks of Orcs as he made his way toward the distant hilltop.
Smaug's gleaming crimson scales were tougher than dwarven-forged steel, Morgul Arrows shattered against his hide without leaving a mark.
With the dragon as an impenetrable shield, Sylas had no need to defend himself. The cursed projectiles meant for him simply bounced harmlessly off Smaug's armored flanks as they steadily advanced toward Bolg's hidden command.
"My lord, the dragon is approaching! The dragon is charging straight at us!" shrieked the Orc herald in Black Speech.
Panic swept through the nearby Orc ranks like wildfire. If not for Bolg's brutal authority, they might have scattered already.
A flicker of fear crossed Bolg's scarred face. But he gritted his teeth and roared, "Release the Were-worm! Drag the beast underground where fire cannot reach!"
Sylas, balanced atop the dragon's shoulders, watched as they crushed a swath of Orcs beneath them, leaving a trail of mangled bodies in their wake.
But just as they neared the hilltop, the earth beneath them buckled, and a monstrous creature burst from below. An enormous worm, its circular maw lined with jagged, rotating teeth, latched onto Smaug's leg and tried to pull him underground.
The dragon let out a thunderous roar of pain. Enraged, Smaug chomped down on the worm's head, attempting to rip it from the tunnel. Yet the beast was anchored deep in the earth, resisting the pull like a rooted mountain.
"Crucio!" Sylas cast the curse directly at the creature.
The Earthworm writhed violently, screeching in agony under the assault of dark magic.
Smaug seized the moment and yanked his leg free, hauling the full length of the worm out of the ground. The massive creature, easily over a hundred meters long, thrashed in the sunlight, its armored, soil-colored hide glinting dully.
It had no eyes, only a gaping circular mouth built for grinding stone and bone alike. Disoriented aboveground, it instinctively tried to burrow back down.
But Smaug would not be denied. With a deep growl, he unleashed a torrent of dragonfire directly onto the beast.
Flames consumed the worm in seconds. It writhed, rolled, and howled, but there would be no escape. The stench of seared flesh soon filled the air.
"Careful," Sylas warned. "There were more Were-worms in the tunnels. That wasn't the only one."
As if summoned by his words, the ground trembled again.
Two more Were-worms surged forth.
One lunged for Smaug's neck, but the dragon ducked aside and bathed it in fire. It screeched and retreated underground, smoking and scorched.
The second one managed to seize Smaug's tail in its crushing maw and yanked hard, dragging the dragon's hindquarters toward the tunnel.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Sylas pointed his wand and shouted. A flash of emerald light struck the Earthworm square in its grotesque head. The creature froze, then collapsed in death, its jaw releasing Smaug's tail.
Sylas blinked in disbelief. "It worked…"
This was his first successful kill with the Killing Curse. After two prior failures, doubt had crept in. But now, vindication.
The remaining were-worms, clearly unnerved by the death of its kin, vanished without another attack.
Moments later, the ground shook again, but this time, not from assault.
The last worm surfaced just long enough to seize the corpses of its fallen brethren, dragging them into the deep earth as if reclaiming them for burial. Two vast sinkholes remained, but no further danger emerged.
Sylas and Smaug exchanged a glance.
"Let it run," Sylas muttered. "We've got bigger prey."
They pressed forward.
The defeat of the Were-worms sent terror through the Orc ranks. The sight of the Black-Robed Wizard and the fire-breathing dragon advancing unchallenged shattered what little discipline remained. Orcs broke formation and fled screaming.
"Lord Bolg, we cannot hold them! We must retreat!" cried the herald in desperation.
Bolg's glare turned murderous.
With one brutal swing of his mace, he crushed the herald's skull.
Blood dripping from the weapon, Bolg growled, "Into the tunnels. Now."