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In numbers, Azog held the advantage.
In quality, Thorin's side was stronger But Azog alone was enough to erase that advantage.
For generations, the Orcs had produced nothing like him.
A commander with both brutality and strategy.
A creature who ruled a "survival of the strongest" race with only one arm, holding power for years.
That alone proved his worth.
"Now," Thorin said, lifting his blade, "we fight to the death."
Azog sneered.
"You! Fight me."
"What right do you have?"
"You're here to die, Kill them."
With a single command, the Orcs surged forward.
The battle turned savage.
"Thip, Thip, Thip."
Legolas arrived at last.
From high ground, arrows fell like rain, buying the dwarves precious seconds to breathe.
"Woooo… woooo…"
Dwalin sounded the horn.
Azog had already engaged Thorin.
Surrounded by elite Orc guards, the dwarves were being crushed.
The younger fighters were faltering.
Breaking.
…
Jimmy heard the horn.
His head snapped up.
"Now."
He abandoned everything in front of him and sprinted toward the sound.
"Whip! Whip!"
Arrows struck his back.
"Thunk, Thunk."
"I hit him."
"So did I."
"Why is he faster?"
Jimmy reached back, ripped the arrows free, flesh sealing instantly.
Before another volley could loose, he was already beyond bow range.
"After him, don't let him reach the ridge."
They chased.
They shouldn't have.
Their pursuit relieved pressure elsewhere.
The mixed formation of Elves and humans finally stabilized.
Dain, exhausted from repeated charges, finally caught a breath.
Even the great mountain goats were near collapse.
"Kill them," Dain roared. "Don't let them chase Jimmy for free."
If momentum broke now, the battle would be lost.
"Ha."
Jimmy flipped once and landed on the frozen cascade.
Ice cracked beneath his boots.
"Azog."
Azog turned.
And for the first time.
Fear.
How was he here?
He was supposed to be buried under the horde.
Slash!
Jimmy's cleaver came down.
Clang!
Azog blocked.
The impact sent him flying more than ten meters, smashing into the ice and skidding across it like debris.
Jimmy spun the blade.
Whoosh!
He threw it.
Clang!
Azog barely deflected.
His weapon shattered. A chunk of the blade tore free and spun away.
Jimmy was already there.
Claws erupted from his fist, driving straight for Azog's skull.
Azog howled and thrust the broken blade forward.
Mutual destruction.
They collided.
"Thrk."
"Thrk."
Two blades entered flesh at the same instant.
Jimmy's claws pierced Azog's head.
Azog's broken blade drove into Jimmy's chest.
"Jimmy."
Thorin staggered forward, wounded, blood soaking his boot.
Jimmy stepped back calmly.
He pulled the broken blade from his chest.
Then, with a single motion, he severed Azog's neck.
The Orc warlord's head fell.
"What," Jimmy said flatly.
Jimmy wiped his chest once.
Blood smeared away.
There wasn't a single wound beneath it.
"I'm fine," he said. "You—"
"Stop worrying about yourself," someone shouted. "Thorin's down."
"Kíli. Fíli. Glóin. Dwalin," Jimmy barked. "Who's still standing, Thorin's injured."
"Jimmy, now," Glóin roared. "The Orcs have gone mad."
Jimmy pivoted instantly.
"Thorin's here, He's wounded. Get someone on him, Protect him."
"Raaaah!!!"
The Orcs surged uphill.
They ignored Dáin and the Elves behind them.
By Orc law, Azog was dead.
Whoever reclaimed his body… or slew the one who killed him… became the next warlord.
The entire host was frenzied.
They weren't trying to kill Jimmy.
They wanted Azog.
Jimmy planted himself in a narrow pass.
One man holding the line.
For a moment, it worked.
Blades fell. Bodies piled.
Then the Orcs climbed over each other.
Living ladders.
They poured past him.
Too many.
Then—
A thunderous crack split the sky.
Boom!
Light.
Pure sunlight tore through the clouds.
Gandalf's spell finally landed.
The sun spilled across the battlefield.
"Gaaaah!"
Screams rose.
Cave Orc flesh melted like wax. Skin bubbled. Muscle smoked.
These weren't mountain Orcs anymore.
They were tunnel-things. Lightless. Weak.
The sun erased them.
No cover. No shelter.
The Snowfield was flat and open.
Death rolled across it like a wave.
Dáin laughed harshly.
"That pointy-hatted wizard finally showed up on time."
"Press it," he roared. "Finish them."
Victory was close.
Then—
A black cloud moved.
Not smoke.
Wings.
Shrieking filled the air.
Vampire bats.
"Is this ever going to end," Bard said hoarsely. "All units. Brace."
They were spent.
Everyone was.
Another push would break them.
The straw was shifting.
Then—
A horn.
Clear. Sharp. Elven.
Thranduil.
He appeared on the ridge, mounted on his great stag.
"Archers," Thranduil commanded coldly. "Bring them down."
Arrows filled the sky.
At the same moment, shadows passed overhead.
Great Eagles.
Wind battered the battlefield as they descended.
Bats were smashed from the air.
Torn apart.
Then—
A massive figure leapt from an Eagle's back.
A bear.
Beorn.
He hit the ground like a living siege engine.
"ROAR!!!"
Orcs flew.
The battlefield dissolved into chaos.
Chains whipped out.
Beorn was snared.
Jimmy inhaled sharply.
…Right.
That was on him.
Claws flashed.
"No kill stealing," Jimmy muttered.
He launched himself downhill.
"Charge."
His movement reignited the field.
Dwarves rallied.
Elves advanced.
"Don't let the knife-ears outdo us," Dáin bellowed. "Iron Hills. One more time."
"Kill."
Bard lifted his blade.
"Charge."
And with that—
The battle surged one final time.
Steel met flesh.
Arrows fell.
The last Orcs broke.
The war ended not with a speech…
But with momentum.
With bodies.
With one final, overwhelming push.
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