-General-
It was mere chance that the titanic being joined the battle: his slumber had been interrupted by the shriek of unnameable creatures, risen from the depths of the earth. He would not lie by saying they frightened him, for they were primordial spawns, known only to Morgoth, who at that time was the first and mightiest of the Valar. He himself had fought against those aberrations of Eru, defeating them and driving them into the most hidden corners of Arda.
It would not be far-fetched to claim that the Balrog harbored a silent fury toward them. He ignored, however, that one of those beasts had managed to slip into the halls of Moria. It moved without emanating any malice or energy detectable by the Balrog; hence they had not clashed before.
Now, upon sensing the presence of one of his kin—a Maiar—he awoke from his lethargy. He believed the Valar had discovered his hiding place and sent one of their own to face him. How wrong he was! Following the trace of that familiar energy, he discovered that his "brother" was battling one of those aberrations.
The Balrog did not hesitate. Not this time. With resolve, he summoned his whip of fire and unleashed it furiously upon the creature.
The strike was deadly, and the Balrog knew it. He let out a deafening roar that fed the flames of his body, as if they were a second skin. He advanced one step that made the stone slabs quake, then another, and yet another, until he stood before the creature that, with great effort, tried to rise again.
The wound from the whip had cauterized the pus and viscous blood; regeneration failed. It was no wonder they said the Balrogs were Morgoth's deadliest servants: his final line of attack, and also his final defense.
The abomination, though battered by the blow, reacted with lethal precision: a tentacle burst from its back and caught the Balrog by surprise, who barely managed to cross his arms. With a deep crash that made the hall vibrate, Morgoth's servant was hurled across the distance.
"This is getting complicated…" murmured Aldril beside Gandalf. Both gripped their weapons tighter; far from relieving them, the Balrog's intervention only deepened their concern.
Sweat beaded Gandalf's brow. He knew well the Balrog's strength and, bound by the Valar's prohibition, doubted he could defeat him. To see his kin cast aside with such ease made it clear that this creature was beyond his own capabilities. Only by uniting their strength would the three of them have the faintest chance of bringing down that unnamable entity, for no word existed to describe what they faced.
Moreover, he doubted the Balrog would offer them any help. But what choice did they have? They had to take the risk.
"Let's take advantage of his intervention," he said at last, making his decision. "Only then will we have a chance of casting this nameless creature into the abyss."
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend, huh?" Aldril replied with an ironic smile, as he readied his attack once more. The abomination's distraction would be exploited.
Gandalf's staff glowed with a bluish radiance, while Aldril's twin swords, wrapped in purple fire, burned with renewed intensity. In the distance, the Balrog rose again: in his left hand he gripped his whip of fire with firmness, and in his right he conjured his flaming sword, both artifacts forged by his master in ancient days. The battle would now be taken with utmost seriousness.
Launching himself like lightning, Aldril slashed at the abomination's back, followed by a bluish sphere hurled by Gandalf. The effect was immediate: the Balrog's cauterized wound reopened, spilling blood and pus; yet it did not end there, for the force of the impact hurled the creature afar.
And in the direction of its fall awaited Morgoth's servant. With whip and sword in hand, he let out a defiant roar and swung his blade, inflicting a grievous cut upon the monstrosity. The blow was so brutal that it flung it against one of the pillars: like a rag doll it crashed into the stone, sprawling across the floor while the gashes in its forehead and back smoldered.
The deafening shriek came without delay, the slabs trembled, provoking an echo that incapacitated most of those present. Many dwarves lay sprawled, fainted or dead; the few still standing aided their comrades, dragging them to safer ground. Those corrupted by the tentacles on their heads had been decimated—for some reason, the creature's echo affected them more.
The tentacles flailed erratically, striking everything around them, toppling several pillars. Rocks, granite, and soil poured down in torrents; both Aldril and Gandalf evaded them with skill, while the Balrog remained motionless—there was no need to take measures, for every stone disintegrated upon touching his skin.
Something stirred beneath the skin of the nameless creature, like swarms of worms eager to tear it apart from within. With a roar that mingled fury and pain, dozens of tentacles burst from its body, writhing in every direction. The sight was as grotesque as it was unbearable.
"Damn it…" cursed Aldril. He had felt it. The creature's presence grew more oppressive, and his instincts screamed at him to flee: with his current strength, he could not survive.
I have no choice… he thought, shifting his focus to his attribute panel.
[Strength: LV 8] [Constitution: LV 8] [Agility: LV 8] [Mentality: LV 8]
[Attribute points: 360 → 80]
At the start of this journey he had barely gathered 200 points; the remaining 160 had been earned by defeating the nameless creature of the lake—a pleasant surprise at the time. But now, all he had accumulated vanished in the raising of his attributes. He could still ascend one more level—since each upgrade now required 80 points—though he still debated which attribute to strengthen. The battle itself would reveal the answer.
And, as they had all suspected, Aldril was not the only one to sense the surge of power: both the Balrog and Gandalf felt it with absolute clarity. Something dark and sinister seeped into the creature, as if a shroud of black miasma enveloped it.
Knowing it would be a fatal mistake to let it grow stronger, the three of them charged. For a fleeting moment, one thought united them: prevent the abomination from increasing its power.
With his enhanced strength, Aldril gained greater mastery over the purple flames, stretching them along his blades until they became blazing tongues of fire. As if wielding living sabers of flame, he struck from afar, slicing and burning the tentacles that barred the way to the creature's body.
This allowed Gandalf and the Balrog to land direct blows on the monster. It screamed in agony, yet did not cease to regenerate its tentacles. Each strike forced it back further, gradually driving the battle away from the heart of the hall.
Wherever they went, the thunder of clashes and the explosions of light followed. The shadows that enshrouded Moria were torn apart with every flare, and the abomination's shrieks mingled with roars that shook the stone. At some point, the struggle spilled onto a bridge, its dark edges revealing the bottomless abyss yawning below.
In tacit understanding, the three struck at once, driving the creature toward the abyss. It seemed, at first, the only way to be rid of it—at least for the time being. But the result was not as they expected.
In a calculated move, the abomination stretched out all its tentacles, violently separating them. Recognizing its most dangerous foes, it focused its fury on the Balrog and Gandalf, overwhelming them and hurling them into the void.
The Balrog's weight, combined with that of the creature, caused much of the structure to give way. Stones cascaded down, and the bridge shuddered under the destruction. Barely, Gandalf managed to cling to the edge, though his staff and sword fell irretrievably into the abyss. The Balrog, meanwhile, lashed his whip toward a nearby pillar and hung suspended, straining as the chain of fire groaned in the air.
Aldril wasted no time—he had to push the creature back and rescue Gandalf, or else the same fate as in the film would unfold. With a shout, he poured the full splendor of his power into his blades; both gave off a crackling sound, striking like a meteor of fire against the abomination. It staggered at the edge, about to fall, yet it clung to Aldril with one of its tentacles. But the half-elf would not yield.
With a roar that tore from his throat, he shoved the creature, and both plunged into the abyss—dragging the Balrog with them, as the pillar, shattered by their weight, gave way.
"Aldril!" cried Gandalf in alarm, watching as the Balrog's fire and the half-elf's swords faded, swallowed by the darkness of the abyss. The Grey Wizard did not hesitate—where a friend needed help, he would go, even if it meant descending into the underworld itself.
Letting go of the edge, Gandalf fell into the abyss in aid of Aldril. What none of the four expected was that, in the depths, even more grotesque creatures stirred, delighting in what they sensed.
Three of Eru's great creations were drawing near—and without doubt, they would revel in devouring them.
**
Support me in "ptreon.com/Mrnevercry"