LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

"The dragon and I have a blood feud," Thorin said coldly.

"You're not exactly tempting bait, Thorin," Bilbo muttered. "Smaug wouldn't fly into a rage over a dwarf he's never seen before."

"And Eric wouldn't work either," Thorin added. "He's strong enough to fight the beast head-on. If he suddenly retreats, it'll raise suspicion."

He stood in the center of the group, gaze firm.

"It has to be me. I am the rightful heir of Durin. The true King under the Mountain. I am the one the dragon despises most. He won't miss a chance to kill me."

"He'll lose control the moment he sees me."

A glint of madness flickered in Thorin's eyes.

Eric saw it. He didn't need to say anything. Thorin was right... but the reverse was just as true.

The dragon might enrage Thorin, too.

Since they set foot in Erebor, Thorin had been teetering on the edge. The curse that lingered on these ancient halls had already coiled around his soul. Should he reclaim the throne, his greed might one day outmatch even the dragon's.

Fine, Eric thought. If madness is coming, let it come in full.

His fists clenched. He had his sword... and his potion. Both ready.

"Eric. Your thoughts?" Thorin asked as he finished laying out the plan, a habit left over from when Gandalf was around.

"Do it," Eric replied. No hesitation.

He pointed the others to a narrow tunnel he had secretly dug behind the corridor. From there, the dwarves swiftly moved to assemble the ballista.

Far at the end of the hidden passage, Bard stood silently. He stared at the refurbished wind-lance and the black arrow in his hands. Taking a few deep breaths, he waited.

Then came the roar.

"You flame-belching maggot!" a voice bellowed from deeper inside the mountain.

Smaug's first instinct was to assume it was that wretched Steve again. But when he turned, his eyes widened... then narrowed with a slow, amused grin.

"Well, well. Look who finally crawled out of the mines," he growled. "If it isn't the last heir of Durin. Thorin Oakenshield."

"Tired of scrubbing chamber pots across Middle-earth, dwarf? Come back to die properly?"

Smaug shifted, abandoning his guard post, and began slithering toward Thorin. Each step made the stone shake. But Thorin stood his ground, unmoving. A statue forged in pride and fury.

"You think dragging some mystery warrior into this mountain will change your fate?" the dragon snarled. "You're still the same spineless coward!"

"You talk too much, you bloated, sluggish, crusty-scaled fossil!"

Thorin's voice rang through the corridors like a war drum.

He was in his element now, finally putting that natural gift for taunts to good use.

"You're no king, no rightful ruler. Just a worm in a cavern! You've stolen what you'll never understand! I am the King under the Mountain. I am the rightful heir, and you are nothing!"

Smaug let out a rumbling chuckle. "Did you just cough that speech up? Still steaming hot. Fresh delivery."

He crept forward, slowly savoring the moment.

Suddenly--

Boom!

A cluster of flash bombs burst across Smaug's snout. White light and clouds of dust filled the air.

The dragon didn't even blink. He barely flinched, only recoiling his neck slightly in annoyance.

"More of these pathetic toys? Come now. Don't you dwarves have anything new?"

With a guttural growl, his belly flared red. Fire gathered in his throat.

Thorin dove around a corner just in time, sprinting toward the old forge chamber.

Smaug followed, wings tucked, preparing a scorching blast.

Just then--

"Now!" Thorin shouted.

Hidden dwarves pulled the lever. With a roar, cold mountain water surged from above and drenched the dragon mid-charge, dousing his flames before they could ignite.

Smaug hissed, steam pouring off his body.

"All right. Now you're making me angry."

Boom... Boom... Boom...

His pace quickened, massive claws gouging the walls. He chased Thorin through the corridors like a tidal wave of fury.

At the forge's end, Thorin flung two more flash bombs straight at the beast's eyes, distracting him again.

Clang!

A large iron gate slammed shut behind Thorin as he dashed through. At that exact moment, enormous boulders crashed down from the rafters, smashing into Smaug's head.

"You think that would hurt me?" the dragon snarled. "Please. I've been through worse."

"How has this worm survived everything?" Fili muttered from above. "These were all brand new ideas."

Their traps barely made a dent, but Smaug was done playing.

He rammed the gate, tucked his wings in, and dove inside, his underbelly glowing hot. One clean shot, and he'd finish Thorin once and for all.

Smaug was certain. These dwarves had nothing left.

But... he missed one thing.

From the distant end of a tunnel, a whoosh of wind swept through.

The giant shadow descended.

Talons scraped against stone as the beast shot forward like a cannonball.

Bard stood ready.

Another human?

"You think your little toys will save you?" Smaug snarled, beginning to whisper in dragon-tongue, attempting to cloud the mind of this oddly calm man.

But Bard didn't flinch.

He stared only at one spot: the faint gap in Smaug's scaled chest, where a diamond had been lodged for centuries.

Now... it was exposed.

Smaug didn't notice the first arrow.

Thwip!

It was a plain one, just enough to knock the diamond loose.

The second came from the wind-lance.

Thunk!

The black arrow shot like thunder, slamming into the exposed flesh over Smaug's heart with a deep, wet crunch.

"URAAARRRGHHHH!"

The scream was guttural and wild. Lava-like blood erupted from his mouth. His body jerked, muscles locking in agony.

[-900 HP]

[100/1000 HP remaining]

Status Effect: Massive Bleeding. Life Suppressed.

So the black arrow was a dragon-slaying weapon. Good to know.

Bard dove into a side shaft just as the beast came crashing down with terrifying force.

"Eric!" he shouted.

"I'm here."

Eric emerged from the shadows, chugging a Strength Potion II. His longsword gleamed in the firelight.

He leapt from the upper scaffolding and descended like a hawk.

Smaug was barely moving, slashing feebly in blind rage. Even dying, he was still a force of destruction. One wild strike could reduce any man to mist.

But none of his flailing could stop Eric's blade.

The young warrior struck again and again.

His dynamic sword skill activated, each strike faster and harder than the last. The more hits landed, the stronger the next became. Up to twelve in total.

Smaug couldn't flee. Couldn't regenerate. He could only take it.

And Eric didn't miss.

On the twelfth strike, he drove his sword between the dragon's jawbones, piercing the skull with brutal finality.

Clink!

The light in Smaug's eyes dimmed.

His limbs twitched. Then fell still.

Just like that, the last fire-drake of Middle-earth... was dead.

Or was he?

Lines of text flickered across Eric's vision.

[Achievement Unlocked: Dragonslayer]

[Achievement Unlocked: Liberation of Erebor]

[Title Earned: Slayer of the Fire-Wyrm]

Is it over?