On the waters of Rune Bay, pirates and elves faced each other across open sea.
Elven warriors stood upon the decks of iron steamships, bows already drawn.
At a single command, arrows were loosed.
The elves were veteran archers. Every shaft flew true.
Pirates at the front ranks were cut down instantly, screams and curses echoing across the water as bodies fell.
Enraged, the pirate marshal bellowed orders for the cannons to fire, demanding the elven ships be blasted apart.
But to his shock, and fury, the elven vessels did not break.
Their hulls were forged of metal, far sturdier than wood, and their speed was overwhelming. They surged forward and veered away with ease, opening distance faster than cannon crews could adjust their aim.
Cannonballs splashed uselessly into the sea.
The pirates were left trailing behind, literally choking on steam and smoke.
They could not comprehend these ships.
Steel hulls that refused to sink. No sails. No oars. Only towering smokestacks belching white mist as the vessels cut through the water faster than any ship they had ever seen.
Battle erupted across the Bay of Lune.
Using speed and maneuverability, the elven steamships harried the pirate fleet, striking and withdrawing again and again.
The pirates whipped the orcs at the oars, screaming for more speed, while their cannons thundered without pause.
Yet the disparity in numbers was brutal.
The elves of Lindon had dwindled after generations of sailing west. Across Grey Harbor, Harlond, and Forlond, only a few thousand elves remained, commanding mere hundreds of ships.
Against them stood thousands of pirate vessels and tens of thousands of crew.
Speed alone could not overcome such odds.
Elven ships were eventually surrounded. Cannon fire smashed into their hulls, denting iron, tearing plating loose, and leaving proud vessels listing and close to collapse.
The pirates paid dearly as well.
Wooden ships burned under rocket fire. Flames climbed their rigging. Some pirates leapt into the sea to escape.
Only to be skewered by arrows moments later, their bodies sinking to become food for the deep.
Fire and smoke blackened the sky. Screams rang out across the waves.
Despite mounting losses, the pirate marshal showed no hesitation.
He ordered the destruction of every elven ship, no matter the cost.
Even if it meant one-for-one exchange.
Even if it meant suicide.
Then the sea itself turned hostile.
Drawn by blood and sorcery, massive sea creatures surfaced—sharks the size of ships, twenty to thirty meters long, twisted by Sauron's corruption.
Fed on corpses by the Umbal pirates, they had become monstrous.
They slammed into hulls from below, ripping ships apart, and devoured anyone who fell into the water.
They made no distinction.
Elf or pirate, anyone who sank was swallowed whole.
The elves now fought on two fronts: cannon fire above, monsters below.
Their situation became desperate.
Just as the elven ships were on the verge of being completely encircled;
Soft cracking sounds echoed across the battlefield.
Figures appeared in flashes of light, on elven decks and pirate ships alike.
They moved instantly.
Wands flashed.
Pirates were hurled through the air. Small boats exploded into splinters. Spells plunged into the sea, striking even the monstrous sharks below.
These were the one hundred Aurors sent by Sylas to reinforce Grey Harbor.
They had originally been stationed across Grey Harbor, Harlond, and Forlond, assisting the elves in defending the ports.
At first, the Aurors believed the elves could rely on their steamships. Even if they couldn't win a direct naval engagement, superior speed should have allowed them to maneuver and harass the pirates safely.
They had not anticipated the arrival of something far worse.
The pirate fleet had brought with it massive, corrupted sea creatures, giant sharks twisted by Sauron's power.
With pirate numbers several times greater on the surface, and monstrous predators capable of capsizing ships from below, the elven fleet was suddenly under attack from both directions.
The situation deteriorated rapidly.
Gardor, the elven secretary commanding the defense, urgently requested Auror intervention.
The Aurors responded immediately.
They Apparated onto ship decks, leapt into the air on flying brooms, and struck from above.
Small pirate boats were obliterated outright by explosive spells, pirates and timbers vanishing in flashes of light.
Larger ships fared little better, capsized, set ablaze, or torn apart by coordinated magical bombardment.
Even the giant sharks beneath the waves were not spared.
These creatures were mindless and blood-crazed. The scent of gore drove them into frenzies, causing them to attack anything nearby, elf or pirate alike.
When pirate ships were destroyed and bodies fell into the sea, the sharks surged toward the blood.
That was when the Aurors struck together.
Spells pierced the water, detonated beneath the surface, and shattered the monsters one by one.
Soon, the Bay of Rune was drenched in blood.
The water was choked with wreckage, severed limbs, and the bloated corpses of overturned sharks.
Some pirates survived the initial destruction and struggled in the water, only to be dragged under by currents or swallowed whole.
Panic spread through the pirate fleet.
Watching ship after ship vanish under magical fire, the pirates broke ranks and fled toward the bay's mouth.
The retreat collapsed into chaos.
Large ships crushed smaller boats in their desperation to escape, capsizing dozens and sending hundreds of pirates to their deaths.
By the time the survivors reached open sea, fewer than twenty large warships remained, along with only a few hundred smaller vessels.
Over two-thirds of the pirate fleet had been annihilated.
The Aurors did not pursue.
Instead, they focused on rescuing wounded elves and securing the ports.
Yet the pirates did not withdraw entirely.
What remained of their fleet formed a wide, fan-shaped blockade along the coast, as if waiting for something yet to come.
At the same time, war erupted across the continent.
From Morannon and Chilis-Ugó, the armies of Mordor poured westward, assaulting Gondor and Rohan.
To the south, the Haradrim advanced.
To the north, Easterling hordes joined the march.
Millions of soldiers moved as one.
Separate forces surged toward Gondor, Rohan, Lórien, Mirkwood, the Vales of Anduin, and even the Lonely Mountain.
In the far north, beyond the Misty Mountains, Angmar stirred once more.
Under the Witch-king's command, hundreds of thousands of orcs gathered in silence.
Dark sorcery spread across the land.
Graves split open.
The dead rose.
Tens of thousands of wights clawed their way from the earth, forming an undead legion that marched south beneath blackened skies.
Once again, war engulfed Middle-earth.
And this time, It was far more terrible than ever before.
...
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