Smaug deliberately avoided the Auror commander, instead sweeping low across the battlefield and unleashing torrents of dragonfire upon the enemy ranks below. In mere breaths, raging flames devoured the Angmar army. Screams, shrieks, and death cries filled the air as Orcs and undead were reduced to ash.
When the inferno subsided, Smaug lifted his massive head and locked onto his true target, the Witch-King of Angmar, who was still being besieged by the Aurors.
With a thunderous roar, Smaug charged straight at him, his throat blazing with molten fire.
Without waiting for a warning, the Auror commander vanished in a phantom step. The next instant, Smaug unleashed a devastating breath of dragonfire directly at the Witch-King.
Having absorbed the essence of a Frost Dragon, Smaug could not fully evolve into a frost form due to incompatible attributes, but the heat and destructive power of his flames had reached the level of an ancient fire dragon. His breath was powerful enough to shatter barriers and pose a genuine threat even to the Witch-King.
The Witch-King did not dare confront it head-on.
He detonated dark energy beneath his feet, violently propelling himself downward onto a fallen beast below. The creature had no time to evade. Dragonfire engulfed it instantly, transforming it into a burning mass that shrieked horribly before crashing into the ground, crushing dozens of Orcs beneath it.
Smaug did not relent.
He pursued relentlessly, wings beating the air as he closed the distance. Without a mount, the Witch-King could not outrun a flying dragon.
As Smaug's jaws ignited once more, the Witch-King cried out:
"Master..."
The sky turned pitch-black.
Darkness swallowed the battlefield, and time itself seemed to freeze. A suffocating presence descended, crushing courage and hope alike. Ancient, distorted sounds echoed everywhere, silent screams that pierced the soul like a demonic requiem.
Smaug halted mid-attack.
His scales bristled. His muscles tensed.
For the first time, fear entered the dragon's eyes.
A vast slit opened in the heavens, a towering vertical rift of absolute darkness, like a colossal eye staring down upon the world. From it stepped a towering figure clad in flame-licked black armor, crowned with a spiked helm. Fire burned within his eyes.
"Sauron."
Smaug spoke the name with unprecedented gravity.
Gathering all his power, Smaug unleashed his fiercest dragonfire. Sauron advanced calmly through the air. The flames struck an invisible force and were extinguished instantly.
Smaug's pupils shrank.
He turned to flee, but it was too late.
A spear of condensed darkness formed in Sauron's hand and was hurled like lightning. Smaug had no time to dodge. The spear tore straight toward his heart.
At the last instant, a defensive layer erupted from Smaug's chest.
The scaleless weak point had long ago been reforged by Sylas, who embedded a dragon-scale-shaped alchemical artifact of silver, inscribed with runes and capable of regeneration. It was strong enough to withstand most high-tier magic.
Against Sauron, it was paper before a blade.
The artifact delayed the spear for less than a thousandth of a second.
But that was enough.
Smaug twisted violently.
The spear shattered the defense, narrowly missing his heart and punching through his chest instead. Pain exploded through his body as Smaug released a thunderous, agonized roar.
The tremendous impact hurled Smaug thousands of meters through the air.
Yet that very force granted him a chance to escape.
Suppressing the searing agony in his chest, Smaug forcefully spread his wings and fled outward. Even as he retreated, he roared toward the Aurors below:
"Leave, now! You are no match for him!"
Without looking back, he fled toward Hogwarts.
The black spear embedded in his chest pulsed with dark power, relentlessly corroding his flesh. Smaug could feel it attempting to twist his essence, trying to transform him into a creature of darkness, a puppet of Sauron.
On the battlefield, the Aurors understood immediately. Seeing that even Smaug could not contend with Sauron, they activated their Portkeys without hesitation and prepared to withdraw.
But Sauron had no intention of allowing them to escape.
The thirteen strongest Aurors, just as they triggered their Portkeys, were crushed under an overwhelming surge of dark power. Space itself seemed to freeze around them. Their teleportation failed.
With a mere flick of his hand, the thirteen Aurors were seized by an invisible force and dragged through the air, suspended helplessly before Sauron.
Their faces twisted in terror.
Sauron regarded them calmly, then released a low, amused chuckle.
"Not bad," he said softly. "You will serve me."
Raising his one-fingered black hand, he gently brushed it across their foreheads.
In an instant, the Aurors' pupils turned pitch black. Fear vanished from their expressions, replaced by reverent devotion. One by one, they bowed deeply.
"Greetings, Master. We willingly serve."
Sauron laughed, satisfied.
"Very good. From this moment on, you are my Dark Sorcerer Knights."
Dark power erupted from him, flooding the battlefield.
Under Sauron's influence, the fallen Orcs did not merely rise, they were remade. Their corpses twisted, reshaped, and reanimated into undead beings far more terrifying than those once commanded by the Witch-King of Angmar.
Skeletons, Orcs, Trolls, living or dead, it made no difference.
All were bound by Sauron's will.
The entire Angmar host was reforged into a single, vast army of puppets, marching as one toward Hogwarts.
Inside Hogwarts Castle
The moment Sauron and his army crossed into the territory, Sylas saw it.
On the map, Sauron's name burned unmistakably bright.
Beside Sylas stood Gandalf, Bilbo, and Boromir, who had been drawing Sauron's attention westward.
Seeing the situation on the northern front, Sylas's expression darkened.
He lifted his gaze and spoke in a low, grave voice:
"Sauron himself has entered the war."
A pause.
"We are about to face the most difficult battle yet."