Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

The battlefield was chaos. The arrival of the Balrog turned the tide. The monstrous creature's fiery whip lashed out, sending dwarves and orcs alike scattering in terror. Its sword, a molten blade of shadow and flame, cleaved through the ranks of the dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost, and the air reeked of burning flesh.

I could see the fear spreading like a plague. The dwarves, for all their bravery, faltered at the sight of the ancient terror. The orcs rallied around their monstrous champion, surging forward with renewed bloodlust.

The Balrog must die, I thought grimly. It was the only way.

I urged Lauriënénar forward. "Come, my friend," I whispered, gripping my sword tightly. My steed responded with a powerful charge, his golden mane gleaming like a beacon against the encroaching darkness. We barreled toward the Balrog, and as the distance closed, I veered Lauriënénar sharply to the side, slashing at the Balrog's leg. My sword cut deep, molten fire spilling from the wound like blood.

The Balrog roared, a sound so terrible it shook the very stones beneath us. It swung its flaming whip in retaliation. Lauriënénar leaped clear of the first strike, but the second caught me square in the chest, tearing me from the saddle. I crashed to the ground, the force of the blow leaving me breathless, but I managed to roll clear as the Balrog's massive sword slammed into the earth where I had fallen.

The heat of its blade was unbearable, the ground blackening and smoking beneath it. I scrambled to my feet, my sword ready, but before the Balrog could strike again, Lauriënénar reared up behind it, his hooves smashing into the demon's back. The blow staggered the Balrog, and it stumbled forward, but the creature only seemed to grow angrier. It turned its blazing eyes on my steed, and with a snarl, it lashed out with its whip.

The fiery cord struck Lauriënénar, but to my amazement, my steed weathered the blow, his divine lineage evident in his resilience. Though the flames licked at his golden coat, he stood firm, defiant.

"Run, Lauriënénar!" I shouted, fear for my companion clawing at my chest.

Before I could act, a familiar voice roared in defiance. Baruk charged into the fray, his axe swinging with brutal precision. He struck the Balrog's foot, the blade of his axe cutting through the fiery flesh and sending another gout of molten blood spilling to the ground.

The Balrog howled in pain, but its retaliation was swift. The whip came down like a meteor, wrapping around Baruk's torso. The flames seared his flesh, and with a terrible yank, the Balrog hurled him across the battlefield.

"Baruk!" I screamed, running to his side. He was gravely wounded, his armor charred and his breaths shallow. Blood poured from his lips as he met my gaze.

"Aule… Mahal…" he rasped, his voice weak but resolute. "Give me… your weapon…"

The skies above seemed to answer his prayer. A blinding light erupted from the heavens, and with a deafening crack, a golden sword plunged into the earth between the Balrog and me. The impact sent a shockwave across the battlefield, blinding the Balrog and orcs alike with its brilliance.

As the light subsided, I approached the sword, my heart pounding. It was magnificent. The blade gleamed like the sun itself, golden flames flickering along its edges. The hilt was adorned with golden wings, and two fiery gems—one on the pommel and another in the guard—shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

I reached out, my hand trembling as I gripped the hilt. The moment I lifted the sword, its power surged through me. Heat radiated from the blade, warming me to my very core. Visions flooded my mind—images of its abilities, the fiery wrath it could unleash. I could feel its essence, the very power of the sun infused within it.

I stared at the weapon, awe and surprise etched on my face. The battle was far from over, but with this blade, I knew the tide could turn.

The sun itself was on my side.