-Aldril-
"Witch-King," I whispered, my voice barely audible, as if speaking his name aloud would bring misfortune. I knew of him from the knowledge I had of this world.
He was a figure shrouded in mystery, more shadow than flesh. His black cloak danced with a life of its own, like the dark mist swirling in Dol Guldur. He didn't move with haste, but each of his steps seemed to bend the space around him, as if the darkness grew denser wherever he stepped.
Among his kind, he was the only one who did not hide his head beneath a hood. His helm, resembling a skull forged from dark iron, evoked nightmares in those who faced him. I could see it in the eyes of the Elves, they were afraid.
They might have had years of experience, but their strength did not compare to that of the Witch-King. Worse still, all the Nazgûl prowled like predators; any moment of carelessness would bring deadly danger.
"I will open a path," I whispered. The Elves' ears twitched slightly; clearly, my murmur had reached them. "Leave this place and warn Thranduil."
The Elf beside me took a deep breath. As he relaxed his shoulders, he let out a sigh laden with emotions that made him tremble.
"I will stay with you. I cannot let you fight alone," he said.
I appreciated the gesture, but honestly, they would be of no help. They had already proven unfit for this battle.
It might be madness to face all the Nazgûl, and even more so to cross blades with the Witch-King himself, but I had a trick up my sleeve: my system points were still waiting, and the new unlocked abilities would be what allowed me to stand against them.
"You would only get in the way," I said. It was cruel, but it had to be said.
The Elf gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. His eyes reflected the weight of my words. The mere fact that they couldn't withstand the Nazgûl's scream spoke volumes, and he knew it.
There were no more words. They were not as stubborn as the Dwarves; they knew when to fight and when to retreat.
His fingers clung to the sword's hilt, and sweat beaded on his face, causing his brown hair to cling to his skin. The Elves would follow my order, but I needed to find the perfect moment.
"Globûrz, burzum-ishi krimpûrz-ob (Fools, none will leave here alive)," the Witch-King's cold, emotionless voice chilled the blood. Even I was slightly affected; I felt it in the tension of my muscles.
I understood what he said, though the same could not be said for the Elves. They did not understand the Black Speech of Mordor... not that they would ever want to learn it, anyway.
With each step the Witch-King took, the Elves' hearts beat harder. My senses, sharpened after absorbing Smaug's blood, allowed me to perceive everything: I could hear every heartbeat, every strained breath. I knew that, were it not for my presence, many would already have fallen prey to fear.
The atmosphere grew tense. The Nazgûl, like predators stalking prey, advanced with slow steps, feeding on fear with each movement.
The Elves stood together, firm despite the trembling in their hearts, and I waited for the right moment to act. Which did not take long to come.
The Nazgûl charged like specters risen from the abyss, their robes as black as the night mist, blending with the living shadows of Dol Guldur.
"Duck!" I commanded.
In a splendid display of coordination, all the elves ducked at once, just as the Nazgul swooped in, the telekinetic wave hit the wraiths with full force, launching them into the air with greater power than before.
"Now!" I shouted as I leapt toward the Witch-King.
His sword was already drawn. The clash of our blades rang like thunder, tearing through the oppressive silence of Dol Guldur.
That first strike halted the Witch-King, giving the Elves the opportunity they needed to flee.
They ran like deer escaping a pack of starving wolves.
I stood face to face with the Witch-King. From his body emanated a putrid stench, the very essence of dark magic. No matter how close I stood, I could only see the bottomless abyss within the empty sockets of his helm.
The clash of our swords dragged on for several seconds; sparks erupted in rhythm with the friction between the metals, as if fire itself tried to escape from the steel.
With a graceful leap backward, I broke away from the Witch-King, narrowly dodging the blade of a Nazgûl who tried to strike me from behind. I landed with the grace of a flower dancing in the midst of a storm, but there was no room for rest.
My demeanor shifted completely, I had to focus. I couldn't let arrogance cloud my judgment.
The Nazgûl had recovered and were now charging at me, completely ignoring the Elves. I had become their top priority.
"Foolish," said the Witch-King, his voice hollow and frigid. "You are nothing compared to what that woman was... and yet you dare face all of us at once?"
Despite the emptiness of his tone, I could feel the mockery behind his words. That "woman" was undoubtedly my mother... they knew. Maybe Sauron had told them, I didn't know, and I didn't care. That was the least of my concerns.
"And what if I do?" I challenged, locking my gaze into the darkness of his helm.
In the corner of my vision, like a silent light in the midst of the void, what I needed appeared:
[Attribute Points: 89]
[Rellana's Dual Magic — Level 0]
---
The Witch-King fixed his hollow gaze on Aldril. That challenge... those words...
They dragged him into the past, into a memory that still burned like molten iron: the first time he faced that woman. He would never forget her eyes. He had sworn to Sauron that he would hunt down all who shared her blood.
And now, that woman's son dared to challenge him.
"Fool..." he growled, voice torn and ragged. "No man can kill me."
From within his black cloak emerged a spiked mace, cruel and heavy. In his other hand, his black sword was already waiting. Rarely did he wield both weapons, only against truly formidable opponents... or when he wished to end the battle swiftly. This time, it was both.
Beside him, the Nazgûl began to advance with slow, deliberate steps. All of them would strike at Aldril. But he didn't flinch. Aldril closed his eyes for a brief moment.
And then, as if a sleeping beast had awakened within him, he rose. His amber eyes shone with golden light, and his pupils transformed into reptilian slits.
His wild spirit burned bright, yet he still held the natural elegance of his Elven bloodline.
With a fluid motion, he unsheathed Anglachel. The black blade glowed like a nebula in the heart of the void. Both swords, Anguirel and Anglachel, vibrated in harmony, resonating with Aldril's energy.
Aldril adjusted his stance, one leg forward, the other firmly behind. In his right hand, Anguirel rested at his side, powerful. In his left, Anglachel nearly brushed the ground, but it was ready, precise, lethal.
The Witch-King tightened his grip on his weapons. He felt the danger. This boy was no longer the same. That stance, it was something entirely different. He had never seen it in any man, Elf, or Dwarf. There was something dangerous in it, something that lured him to strike... and yet, carried a clear message:
"Attack me... and you will die."
***
Filthy orcs! Good evening, I come to announce that Aldril's travels will be until his arrival to Rhun, then there will be a time jump one year before the events of Lord of the Rings and as they go on their journey there will be flashbacks of Aldril's adventures, as well as extra chapters that talk about them.