"Hah!"
Thorin swung his sword with all his might, separating the head of an orc from its shoulders with a brutal spray of black blood. The dwarves, gathered tightly around him, fought desperately against the surging tide of pursuers.
"Head down! The chariot squad is guarding the path below. We'll rendezvous with them and then break out!"
"I'm afraid there's no time, Thorin. The orcs are surrounding us from another direction," Dwalin growled, his eyes nervously scanning the swarming enemy. At this moment, the path ahead and behind was completely choked with orcs, blocking any hope of escape.
High above them, in a spot no one had noticed, Bolg quietly drew his massive bow, aiming down at Thorin with cold, murderous intent.
A faint whistle cut through the din of battle. Thorin's head snapped up, his eyes widening as he saw the black arrow arcing towards him.
Clang!
A flash of silver intercepted the vicious projectile, deflecting it harmlessly into the rock.
"Who?" Bolg snarled, his gaze shooting up to a nearby tower. He saw an elf, bow already drawn, releasing another arrow at him.
Smack!
Bolg contemptuously swung his heavy cleaver, shattering the incoming shaft in mid-air. He gave the elf a long, deep look before choosing to melt back into the shadows.
Two different arrows, shot by two different marksmen, had both failed to find their targets.
"Your life is spared, dwarf," Legolas called down proudly from his perch.
Thorin bent down, picked up the elven dagger that had saved him, and looked up at the tower. With a sudden, powerful motion, he hurled it back.
Thud.
The dagger grazed past Legolas's ear, burying itself in the throat of an orc that had been creeping up behind him.
"Returning it to you," Thorin grunted.
Legolas pulled the dagger from the orc's neck, took a deep breath, and descended from the tower.
The orcs' assault grew fiercer. Even though those present were the most capable warriors of Durin's folk, led by a valiant king, they were still ultimately outnumbered. Their stamina dwindled while the number of orcs only seemed to grow, a seemingly endless flood of filth and hatred.
"Kili!"
The first to falter was the youngest dwarf. In a moment of distraction, a heavy blow from an orc knocked the sword from his hand. Just as the creature was about to bring down its blade for the killing strike, a familiar voice rang out.
"Get down!"
Thwack.
A long elven blade flew through the air, embedding itself deep in the orc's chest. Kili quickly pulled the blade free and glanced up, his heart leaping.
"Tauriel!"
Strength surged through his body once more.
Tauriel leaped down from the rocks, a whirlwind of deadly grace. She drew the twin daggers from her waist and joined the battle, her powerful and fluid fighting style not only relieving a great deal of pressure on the others but also serving as an inspiring example of elven martial prowess.
Dwalin roared, swinging his axe with renewed vigor. "I won't lose to an elf!"
"Where's their leader?" Thorin, at the side, suddenly realized a problem. Why had the enemy commander vanished after just one sneak attack?
On the second floor of the ruined tower, Legolas watched as Tauriel joined the battle. Just as he was about to jump down to support her, his movement was cut short by a cleaver that suddenly swung at him from the shadows.
It was Bolg.
The orc lieutenant calmly walked over, trapping Legolas on the crumbling second level.
This one is strong, Legolas thought, his senses on high alert. Observing him up close for the first time, Legolas realized Bolg was no shorter than himself and far more powerfully built. For an orc, he was practically a giant.
However, as an elf skilled in all forms of combat, and a particularly battle-hardened one at that, Legolas certainly wouldn't shrink back. On the contrary, the challenge ignited his fighting spirit.
After a few sharp exchanges, Legolas saw an opening and pierced Bolg's palm with his dagger. An ordinary orc would have howled in agony and retreated, only to be finished off. But this time, past experience failed him. Bolg seemed to feel no pain. Instead, he clenched his fist, trapping the blade, and with a savage twist, snatched it away. He grabbed Legolas, slammed him to the ground, and used his superior strength to lift the elf up and hurl him from the tower.
But if Bolg thought he could kill an elf with a simple fall, he had seriously miscalculated. Legolas's hand shot out, his fingers closing around a protruding stone, arresting his descent. After climbing back up, he panted heavily, a trickle of unfamiliar red liquid dripping from the corner of his mouth. An uncontrollable ferocity surged within him. He climbed back up to the tower's second level, but Bolg was nowhere to be found.
He had simply left.
"Hold on!" Thorin bellowed, still struggling against the orc horde. The path was narrow; as long as they fought well, they could hold the line.
Just as the dwarves felt they could still fight on, the orcs at the front of the path suddenly parted. A troll came running from behind, swinging a massive club downwards. Thorin gritted his teeth and rolled away just in time. That dodge broke their rhythm. The orcs at the sides immediately swarmed in, sealing his movements.
Just as another club was about to swing down, a stone was suddenly thrown, accurately hitting the troll's head and drawing its attention.
"Hey! Big guy!"
"Bilbo?" Thorin's eyes widened in disbelief. "How did you..."
Bilbo nodded at him, giving him a look of reassurance, then threw another stone with all his might, taunting the troll. "Stupid oaf, I'm over here!"
The troll roared in anger, forgetting Thorin completely. It scrambled up the rock wall, fiercely chasing after Bilbo, who quickly darted behind a large stone. The troll smashed the stone to pieces but found nothing. Just as it was about to turn back, smack. Another stone came flying. The hobbit had reappeared from somewhere else.
Almost at the same time the troll was lured away, Bolg descended from the tower. He strode forward quickly, pulled the dagger from his own hand, and with a vicious flick of his wrist, threw it at Thorin.
"Argh!" This time, it pierced straight through Thorin's hand.
He endured the pain, ripped the dagger out, and despite his bleeding hand, cut down two more orcs before glaring toward Bolg.
"Is this the king of Durin's folk? Weaker than I imagined."
"Whether I'm that weak or not, you'll find out if you try."
Though his stamina was nearly gone and he was bleeding, Thorin still raised his sword, meeting the enemy commander's provocation head-on. There was no despair yet. Strength was something that could always be squeezed out.
An arrow flew toward Bolg, but he dodged it with a simple sidestep. He stomped on the arrow on the ground and looked up with a sneer. "Haha, elf! Both of you, come at me together!"
Hearing this, Legolas flared up. He had never been so insulted in his entire life. With a thud, he jumped down from the high ground, kicked up the dagger Thorin had dropped, and caught it in his hand.
Dwarf and elf, fighting side-by-side once more.
Just as the three were about to clash, a rumbling sound of heavy footsteps came from behind. A troop of trolls pushed aside the orcs blocking the way and ran forward.
Bolg's lips curled upwards. "Just in time. Go and get them for me."
But the trolls rushed past him in a hurry, completely ignoring his words.
"You..." Bolg turned back in anger, not knowing what had gotten into them. But soon after the trolls, a large group of orcs also came running, as if fleeing from something terrifying.
"What are they doing?" The dwarves quickly gathered together. Legolas and Tauriel finally reunited.
"It's fear," Tauriel said, her eyes wide. "They're afraid of something."
Taking advantage of the orcs' diverted attention, Thorin tore a piece of cloth from his clothes and wrapped his wounded hand. He gripped his sword tightly and stared toward the direction the orcs were fleeing from. "Whatever it is, let it come. I don't think things can get any worse than they are now."
Bolg grabbed a passing orc by the neck. "What are you all doing? What happened over there!?"
The unfortunate orc struggled to squeeze out a few words. "Great... Great Enemy... Nemesis..."
"What Great Enemy? What Nemesis?"
A series of wails rang out as several orcs fell from the sky, their bodies wreathed in flame.
Bolg's eyes widened as he looked over.
When that jet-black figure appeared, his heart inexplicably trembled. His pulse hammered in his ears, his body instinctively flooding with adrenaline.
"So you're here," the figure spoke, his voice calm and steady.
Bolg forcefully suppressed the urge to turn and flee. With a great roar, he swung the blood-stained cleaver in his hand and charged.
In an instant, blade and sword met. Neither retreated. But Levi had no interest in a prolonged contest of strength. He parried the cleaver, took two steps back, and began to channel his power.
"Aaargh!" Bolg rushed forward again, swinging the cleaver down with all his might.
Crack.
A flash of sword light passed, shattering his cleaver and the armor on his body, striking the flesh within.
Armor break.
With a whoosh, Bolg's body also burst into flames, and he fell to the ground wailing. The strength he was most proud of was useless now, and his insensitivity to pain couldn't help him resist the flames.
Before long, the orc lieutenant stopped moving.
Bolg, son of Azog, was dead.