Baiting the Dark

Following Balin's advice, Wayne didn't head straight for the Lonely Mountain. Instead, he took a detour toward the ruins of Lake-town. 

The town, abandoned for nearly a month after the orc invasion, lay in silence. But as Wayne approached the riverside, a surprising sight awaited him—a huge, familiar beast, Robin the Deathclaw, lay by the river, drinking deeply. 

What surprised Wayne even more was the sight of a bonfire nearby. Standing beside it, grilling meat, was a towering figure—Beorn, the skin-changer. Wayne hadn't expected to see him here, nor to find him seemingly at ease with Robin, sharing a peaceful moment by the water. 

Wayne descended from the sky on his magic flying carpet. At once, Robin lifted his head from the river, his massive tail wagging slightly in recognition. The beast let out a deep, affectionate roar that echoed through the valley, drawing Beorn's attention. 

Wayne landed next to his companion, carefully inspecting the Deathclaw's condition. Though Robin bore minor wounds and scorch marks, likely from his battle with the Nazgûl, they were superficial—nothing serious enough to affect his combat abilities. 

The most notable change was Robin's size. In the weeks since Wayne had last seen him, the beast had grown from eight meters to nearly nine. His dark green scales had taken on a bronze hue, and a faint, sulfurous scent clung to his breath—evidence of the lingering power from devouring Smaug's remains. The transformation in Robin hinted at deeper changes yet to come.

"Beorn, what are you doing here?" Wayne asked, his curiosity piqued. Beorn's sudden appearance wasn't part of anyone's plan, and given the recent events, Wayne hadn't expected the skin-changer to join the fray.

Beorn, with his rough-hewn demeanor, smiled broadly and offered Wayne a skewer of roasted boar. "I saw a lot of orcs leaving the Misty Mountains," Beorn replied in his characteristic straightforward manner. "Figured they were up to no good, so I thought I'd head toward the Lonely Mountain and see what mischief they were planning." 

He gestured toward Robin with a grin. "But then I ran into your big friend here. Figured I'd camp out for the night."

Wayne nodded in understanding. Beorn, with his ability to transform into a massive bear, was a valuable ally. Running into him here was an unexpected stroke of luck. 

Wayne took a moment to inform Beorn about the Woodland Kingdom and the Lonely mountain being under attack. He invited the skin-changer to join the upcoming battle, and to Wayne's surprise, Beorn agreed without hesitation. It was a testament to the purity of character often found among Middle-earth's inhabitants—people driven more by honor and duty than personal gain. 

After securing Beorn's help, Wayne rested for a few hours near the ruins of Lake-town. He took the opportunity to treat Robin's wounds, using healing potions to restore the beast's vitality. The Deathclaw, now larger and stronger, guzzled down over forty vials of healing elixirs before reaching his peak condition. 

In addition to healing supplies, Wayne shared provisions from his enchanted space bracelet, ensuring both Robin and Beorn were well-fed and ready for the battle ahead. The group shared food and drink around the fire, regaining their strength for the trials to come. 

...

More than ten hours later, Wayne finally reached the outskirts of the battlefield near the Lonely Mountain. 

Rather than charge headlong into the fray, Wayne took a tactical approach. He pulled out the bow, taking advantage of his elevated position in the sky to strike down any orc who wandered into his sights.

Wayne, perched on his flying carpet, wielded the bow with deadly precision. With his mastery of long-range combat, limitless ammunition from his enchanted storage, and the ability to rain arrows from the sky, he transformed into a one-man army. 

Within just half an hour, more than 200 orc soldiers lay dead beneath him. With each arrow, Wayne dismantled the orc defenses, breaking their morale. But it still wasn't enough for the relentless adventurer. When no more orcs dared to show their faces, Wayne pulled out his alchemy bombs and hurled them at the siege engines and catapults left outside the Lonely Mountain walls. 

BOOM! BOOM! 

The sky echoed with a series of thunderous explosions as the orc fortifications crumbled. This brazen act of destruction enraged the orc forces, prompting them to send out their archers and crossbowmen in an attempt to retaliate. 

The orcs, however, underestimated Wayne. His bow had a much greater range than their weapons. From the sky, with the added advantage of high ground, Wayne picked off their ranks with surgical precision. Orc archers and crossbowmen, caught in the open, became easy prey. 

After more than 100 orcs fell to his arrows, the rest abandoned their positions, fleeing into the palace, too terrified to face the airborne archer. 

Wayne, unperturbed by their retreat, didn't charge in recklessly. He knew storming the palace alone would be foolhardy, especially with the Witch-king of Angmar and four Nazgûl lurking inside. His task now was to weaken the orcs before Thranduil's reinforcements arrived.

According to Balin's estimate, half of the orc army—around 7,000 soldiers—had been slain during the two-day defense of the mountain. With 8,000 orcs remaining and Thranduil's forces two days away, Wayne set a grim but necessary goal. 

"If I can kill one orc per minute, the elves will face a much smaller force when they arrive," Wayne thought. He only hoped that Thorin Oakenshield and Dáin Ironfoot could hold out for three more days. 

Wayne took no chances. While the orcs cowered inside the palace, he bombarded every remaining fortification on the city walls, dismantling the remaining crossbows, catapults, and defensive structures to ensure the elves wouldn't face additional obstacles upon their arrival.

Despite his brazen attacks, the Witch-king and his Nazgûl did not emerge to confront him. No reinforcements arrived, nor did any commander show their face. Wayne considered the possibility that the enemy was planning a trap but shrugged off the thought with confidence.

After his previous encounter with the Nazgûl, Wayne was certain that, without thousands of orc warriors surrounding them, the ringwraiths were no match for him. Even if the Witch-king of Angmar was as powerful as Smaug, Wayne believed he could dispatch him in short order.

Wayne's confidence emboldened him to enter the palace. With his sword in hand, he ventured into the halls of Erebor. 

As expected, a large contingent of orc warriors awaited him inside, their weapons drawn, eyes glinting with malevolent intent. The moment they spotted Wayne, they unleashed a volley of arrows and crossbow bolts, followed by a guttural war cry as they charged at him with reckless fury. 

Though Wayne felt no fear confronting the oncoming orcs, he maintained caution. Holding up the Quen shield, he deftly blocked incoming arrows and bolts while retreating quickly to the city walls. His strategy was simple: avoid encirclement, strike fast, and retreat before the enemy could respond.

Time and again, Wayne used his short-distance teleport ability to evade the orcs and reposition himself. Each time he slaughtered a few dozen, he would vanish and reappear outside the orcs' grasp, only to rain death upon them again with arrows and alchemical bombs.

After seven or eight such raids, the battle dragged on for over an hour. By the time the sun began to set, Wayne had slain over 400 orcs. However, even with his remarkable stamina, the prolonged battle had taken its toll.

Wayne, aware that his strength was ebbing, decided not to press his luck. He used his ability to teleport far from the battlefield, emerging on the ground outside the Erebor city wall.

As he caught his breath and pulled the magic flying carpet from his space bracelet, he spotted five Nazgûl riding black, winged beasts soaring out from the palace gates. Clearly, they had been waiting for this exact moment, hoping to strike while Wayne was fatigued.

One of them, wearing a crown of iron and riding a colossal flying dragon, raised his voice in a chilling, rasping tone:

"Now that you're here, do you think you can escape again?"

"We've been waiting for this moment for a long time!"

Wayne recognized the figure as the Witch-king of Angmar, the most fearsome of the Nazgûl. Rather than feeling fear, Wayne smirked inwardly, though he feigned weariness.

"If you think numbers alone will bring you victory, you'll have to catch me first."

With that, Wayne leaped onto his flying carpet and surged forward, putting distance between himself and the pursuing Ringwraiths. 

The Nazgûl, driven by the hope of victory, spurred their flying beasts forward. Though Wayne urged the magic carpet to its limits, the swift, winged dragons gradually closed the distance between them. Within minutes, the Witch-king and his companions had cut the gap in half, now trailing only 200 meters behind Wayne.

Wayne kept his expression serious, gauging the distance carefully. When they closed in by another ten meters, Wayne suddenly shifted the flying carpet's course, diving into a nearby canyon. 

The Witch-king and the Nazgûl followed without hesitation, determined to capture their quarry. Wayne expertly piloted the magic carpet through the narrow, winding canyon, weaving between jagged rocks and tight bends. He descended closer to the canyon floor, hoping to use the complex terrain to his advantage. 

The Nazgûl's flying beasts proved agile, maneuvering through the canyon with ease. Using the natural air currents, they gained ground quickly, closing the distance to a mere 50 meters. 

The Witch-king, sensing victory, sneered beneath his iron crown and hissed: 

"There is no escape for you, elf!"

"Our master has been watching you closely for some time."

"Swear your allegiance to the great Lord Sauron, and not only will you be spared, but you will gain power beyond your wildest dreams."

"This is your only chance," the Witch-king of Angmar rasped, his voice dripping with malice. "Otherwise, your body will serve us."

With those words, the Witch-king summoned two swirling masses of pitch-black energy, the darkness coalescing ominously in his gauntleted hands. 

Wayne remained silent, his expression steady, as ten seconds dragged by with no answer. 

The Witch-king sneered, his skeletal face twisting under the shadow of his crown. With a sudden motion, he merged the two orbs of dark energy and launched them toward Wayne with explosive force. 

Caught slightly off guard, Wayne's eyes widened. The energy surged forward in a powerful shockwave, striking him head-on and throwing him violently off his magic flying carpet.

Fortunately, Wayne hadn't been flying high. With quick reflexe, he twisted in mid-air, rolling skillfully as he hit the ground. He came to a stop against a canyon wall, rising to his feet almost instantly. 

The flying carpet, now devoid of magic without Wayne's control, drifted lazily to the ground, coming to rest a few dozen meters away like a discarded blanket.

But the brief respite was over. In mere moments, the Witch-king and the four other Nazgûl descended with their flying beasts, landing in a circle around Wayne. Their oppressive aura filled the air with a thick, stifling sense of dread.

The Witch-king sneered again, drawing dark magic to his hands but holding his attack for the moment. His voice was a rasping hiss, filled with cruel amusement:

"You are trapped, little mouse. A rat in a cage. Our master awaits your answer." 

"Swear allegiance, or die. This is your only chance."

Despite the ominous presence surrounding him, Wayne stood tall, his expression calm and unwavering. A faint smirk curled at the edge of his lips as he locked eyes with the Witch-king. 

"A rat in a cage?" he said with a laugh. "It seems you haven't figured out who's the hunter and who's the prey."

The Witch-king's gauntlet clenched tighter, his eyes narrowing in fury. But before he could react, Wayne's reinforcements struck. 

With a deafening roar, Robin leaped down from the canyon's edge. Beorn, now in his giant bear form, followed closely behind, his massive frame crashing down like an avalanche. 

The sudden assault threw the Nazgûl off balance. Robin barreled into one of the flying beasts, tearing into its scales with his massive claws, while Beorn tackled another, scattering the Ringwraiths like leaves in a storm.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Wayne's smirk widened. Without hesitation, he activated the distortion enhancement, channeling raw energy through his body. His physical strength tripled, his muscles swelling with power, and every movement became impossibly fast and precise.

His body expanded slightly as the enhancement took hold, making him seem larger and more imposing. With a flash of energy, Wayne blinked from his position, reappearing directly above the Witch-king's head.

The electric blade in Wayne's hand crackled with bright arcs of lightning. He swung it down with deadly precision, aiming directly for the Witch-king's dark, ethereal form. 

The blade hummed with power as it descended, a bolt of pure electricity slicing through the air toward its target.