Eric knew he couldn't win this one.
Ahead of him, an army of orcs and monstrous beasts was closing in, draining his stamina and resources. Behind him, the Balrog prowled like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
He had fought long enough to learn the pecking order of his enemies.
Orcs: Weak as insects.
Trolls: A mild inconvenience.
Beasts: Manageable, if slightly risky.
Balrog: A full-blown nightmare.
One Balrog was trouble enough. Add everything else into the mix, and even a golden apple might not save him.
As the saying went, "A wise hero lives to fight another day."
"Fine, you win this round!" Eric shouted, gritting his teeth. "But I'll be back!"
He threw a pearl and vanished in a flash of light.
"You cannot escape me!" roared the Balrog. "I have memorized your scent—and your soul!"
Flames surged as it charged forward, the ground trembling beneath its steps. Orcs scrambled to the sides, clearing a path for their fiery master before rushing to follow.
The earth rumbled like a living drum, and the heat in the air clung to Eric's back. In his wake, stone pillars shattered under the Balrog's claws, their fragments ground to dust beneath molten hooves.
Eric sprinted through the hallways, his boots clattering against the stone. In his haste, he brushed against a weapon rack.
He quickly stopped, picked up the fallen weapons, set them neatly back in place, and bolted off again.
A second later, white fire swept over the rack, reducing it to molten iron and ash.
The Balrog smashed through a narrow corridor, widening it into a massive tunnel. Orcs followed behind, pounding war drums that echoed with every heartbeat.
The sound matched Eric's pulse, gnawing at his nerves.
"Great. The marching band from Mordor just had to show up," he muttered.
"You'll regret crossing me, little worm!" the Balrog roared.
"Oh, you're talking now? Fantastic! Maybe next you'll write me a song!"
The Balrog snapped its whip, the sound cracking through the cavern like thunder.
"Silence, coward! You flee from every battle!"
"Coward?" Eric shouted back, leaping over a fallen beam. "You're the one who's been hiding in a cave for a thousand years!"
The Balrog laughed, a sound like lava bubbling. "And yet, here you are, running from me."
"Fine! You want a fight? Come and get it! One-on-one!"
Another drumbeat. Orcs poured from side passages, only to be sent flying by Eric's blade. One hit the ceiling, caught fire midair, and fell just in time to be trampled and incinerated by the Balrog.
It was a well-choreographed disaster. Even the drumbeat seemed to approve.
Eric gulped down a speed potion, jumped across a deep pit, and dashed up a flight of stone stairs. He reached the other side, tossed a few explosive potions behind him, and blew up the staircase.
"Let's see you climb that, lava-face!"
But as he turned, the Balrog spread its wings—great arcs of living fire—and launched itself forward in a brief glide.
"Perfect," Eric muttered. "He's got built-in jetpacks."
He scrambled to block the passage with stone blocks, sealing the entrance tight. But within seconds, a flaming fist smashed through, and the Balrog's horned head peeked inside, scanning the room.
Eric pressed himself flat against the wall beneath it, then jumped with a quick slash—
The Balrog reared back, clutching its head. White light flickered where Eric's sword had struck.
"Got you!" Eric yelled, then sprinted away before the creature could recover.
The Balrog's roar shattered the newly built walls, rocks exploding into rubble. Its fury blazed hotter than ever.
Eric glanced back, heart pounding. "Yeah, he's definitely mad now."
If this thing had shown up during the Battle of Five Armies, he thought grimly, none of them would have survived. No wall could hold against that much firepower.
"Why don't you crawl back into your hole and go to sleep, you overgrown torch?" Eric called. "Your master's gone, and your tantrum won't bring him back!"
The words echoed through the cavern.
The orcs froze, their faces drained of color. None dared look at their flaming overlord.
The Balrog hesitated for a moment, its chest-fire dimming slightly as if smothered by cold water.
"Such brave words," it rumbled. "You almost convinced me… that chasing you is meaningless."
"Exactly!" Eric said quickly. "You should really reflect on that!"
"Which is why…" The Balrog's voice rose, trembling with rage. "…I will chase you to the ends of this world until I watch you burn to ash!"
A deafening roar followed, and the Balrog's flames erupted anew, lighting the dark halls like sunrise. Eric's well-meant speech had apparently motivated it—just not in the way he hoped.
The chase went on. No one could tell for how long. A day? Two? A week?
Sometimes the Balrog gained the upper hand, driving Eric to roll, dive, and barely dodge each fiery lash. Other times, Eric managed clever counters—ambushes, traps, or sharp turns that left the Balrog staggering and half-melted.
The tunnels of Moria suffered for it. Walls crumbled, bridges collapsed, and even the strongest metal melted like butter.
And someday, when the dwarves finally returned, they'd probably stand amid the ruins and whisper,
"What in Durin's name happened here?"
At last, Eric leapt down a steep flight of stairs and landed before a familiar sight.
A corridor that seemed to lead to the world above.
Even with a night vision potion, he couldn't see the end of the abyss—it felt like staring into the void beyond creation.
The heat behind him swelled again. The Balrog emerged, towering and furious.
Eric turned, raised his sword, and planted his feet at the bridge's edge. Check latest chapters at 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝔫𝔢𝔱
"You shall not pass!" he roared.