Thorin’s Battle of Revenge

Despite Azog being slightly larger than Wayne in size, when Wayne—clad in blood-red armor and wielding the Great Sword—dragged Azog out of the mine by the back of his neck like a dead dog, there was no sense of incongruity. Wayne's presence in the midst of the bloody chaos was almost mythical, towering above the orcs who seemed like mere ants before a hero. The members of the expedition team, who had been watching Wayne closely, couldn't help but be filled with admiration.

With a sharp whistle, Wayne summoned Deathclaw Robin. The beast roared excitedly in response to its master's call, its strong hind limbs twisting as its barbed tail lashed out like a cannonball. In a single, violent sweep, the tail arced through the orcs in front of it. This was one of Deathclaw's most devastating attacks.

The force was unimaginable. The first few orcs caught by the tail were instantly pulverized, exploding into clouds of blood, as if they had been crushed like ripe berries. Another dozen orcs were shattered, their bones crushed, and they were flung off the platform, plummeting into the bottomless pit.

With just one strike, Robin cleared a large swath of the battlefield, killing nearly twenty orcs in mere seconds.

The sheer efficiency of the massacre left the remaining orcs paralyzed in fear. Their morale, already weakened after the death of the Orc King, evaporated entirely. Their attacks became feeble, and they posed no real threat anymore.

However, neither Wayne, Deathclaw Robin, nor the rest of the expedition showed any mercy. If anything, they fought with even greater ferocity, determined to wipe out the orc horde.

Had they not been fighting in a confined cave, Wayne would have unleashed a level-six spell, Thunderstorm, on the orcs' heads without hesitation. But even without magic, Wayne had plenty of ways to deal death.

Whether through sheer physical prowess—slicing through orcs as if they were mere vegetables—or by using alchemical bombs to obliterate his enemies, Wayne's killing efficiency was astonishing. Though Deathclaw's rampage was the most spectacular, Wayne's methodical execution of his enemies left Thorin and the other dwarves in awe.

Before Wayne's mirror clones vanished, the path to the mine's entrance was completely cleared. Any orc that dared stand in the way was either hacked to pieces or thrown into the abyss below.

As he fought, Wayne couldn't help but wonder, fleetingly, if Gollum, who now possessed the One Ring and lived deep in the caverns, would have plenty to feast on with the pile of orc corpses piling up below.

But that thought passed quickly—dealing with the One Ring was not an immediate concern.

With the path clear, Robin eagerly bounded up to Wayne, lowering its head so that its master could climb on. Wayne, still holding the unconscious Azog in one hand, swung himself onto Robin's back. After signaling to the rest of the expedition, they swiftly made their exit from the mine.

This was, after all, an orc stronghold deep in the Misty Mountains. There were likely thousands more orcs lurking inside. While it wasn't impossible to continue fighting, Wayne's primary objective had already been achieved: the deaths of the two orc leaders had left the enemy forces scattered and leaderless.

A disorganized enemy was far easier to deal with than one with a unified command.

The expedition team made a swift retreat, and without any leaders to guide them, the orcs inside the mine failed to mount any serious pursuit. The group easily evaded tracking and returned to their camp.

As they sat down to rest, an excited, elder voice broke the silence:

"It's a tale worthy of an epic!" exclaimed Balin, one of Thorin's trusted companions. His white beard trembled with excitement as he stood beside Thorin, recounting the day's events. "On our journey to the Lonely Mountain, the great adventurer Wayne has slain the Orc King of the Misty Mountains and captured Azog, the feared orc leader of Moria, alive!"

Laughing heartily, Balin continued, addressing both Wayne and the dwarves, "When I return to my kin, I shall tell them of this grand feat! Let all the descendants of Durin know of our expedition to the Lonely Mountain and the glories we have achieved."

Among the dwarves, Balin was second only to Thorin in prestige. His words immediately stirred the hearts of the other dwarves, and soon they followed his lead, singing praises of Wayne's strength and achievements.

Thorin, however, gazed at the unconscious pale orc in Wayne's hands with a serious expression. His face reflected a complex mix of memories, regret, and trance—but above all, an unforgettable hatred.

After listening to the dwarves' praises, Wayne glanced at Thorin, then at Gandalf, who stood stroking his beard with a satisfied smile. Wayne cleared his throat, put on a gentle smile, and addressed the group:

"My friends, you give me too much credit. The success we achieved today was not mine alone. Without your bravery and the way you distracted the orcs, our plan wouldn't have worked as well as it did."

"Perhaps this victory will be remembered in future legends, but it's not just my name that should be celebrated. Every member of our Lonely Mountain expedition is a hero. Together, we brought down the orcs of the Misty Mountains."

The dwarves, though aware of their smaller contributions compared to Wayne's, appreciated his humility. Despite the fact that Wayne had dealt with the majority of the orcs, he didn't hesitate to share the credit with everyone present. Even Bilbo, who had killed several orcs during the battle, felt a sense of pride as Wayne acknowledged the group's efforts.

Hearing Wayne call them all heroes filled the group with excitement. A sense of honor settled in their hearts, and for the first time, the victory brought the expedition team even closer together.

After the camaraderie subsided, Wayne tossed Azog's unconscious form—pale-skinned, one arm replaced by an iron fork—into the center of the group. He looked at Thorin and said softly:

"Thorin, I've fulfilled one of your commissions. Azog is here, nearly intact. As for when you want to duel him, the choice is yours."

Thorin's gaze lingered on Azog for a few seconds, taking in the sight of his enemy. He then turned to Wayne with a solemn expression and said in a measured tone:

"Thank you, Wayne, my friend."

"Azog is the orc our clan, the Durin line, has longed to kill. You have completed my commission, and for that, the Durin line will always be your ally."

Taking a deep breath, Thorin addressed the others:

"There is no need to wait. The orcs we've slain today are not enough to quench our hatred for their kind."

"Now, I, Thorin Oakenshield, grandson of Thror, the King Under the Mountain, and son of Thrain, will fight to the death with Azog, the sworn enemy of the Durin line, the vile half-orc chieftain."

"His death will mark a great victory in our quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain."

Thorin's powerful words stirred cheers and shouts of approval from the dwarves, who rallied around their leader. In the midst of the noise, Azog began to regain consciousness.

The pale-skinned half-orc shook his head, still dizzy from the earlier blow. As he realized he was in an unfamiliar place and hadn't been bound, his eyes flicked around warily.

Azog's gaze landed on the members of the expedition, pausing for a long moment as he observed Wayne. His attention lingered on the Witcher before finally shifting to Thorin, who stood in the middle of the circle, waiting for the duel.

Seeing Thorin's hateful expression, Azog, the half-orc, quickly understood the situation and the dwarf prince's intentions. Smiling bitterly, he spoke in the common tongue:

"Thorin Oakenshield, descendant of the King Under the Mountain."

"It was you who cut off my arm and brought shame to my name."

"And now, do you wish to kill me while I am defenseless?"

"It doesn't matter. Dwarves have always been despicable and shameless."

"But as a proud half-orc, even if I die, I will not surrender. Even unarmed, I will use my fists and teeth to kill a lowly creature like you."

Hearing Azog's words, Wayne couldn't help but find it amusing. Since when had half-orcs, among the most treacherous and vile of the dark forces, begun posturing as noble and heroic?

Azog's position as a leader wasn't just due to brute strength—it was clear he possessed some cunning as well. His taunt had succeeded in provoking Thorin, playing on the dwarf's sense of pride and need to avenge his father and grandfather in a fair fight.

Without hesitation, and visibly enraged, Thorin threw a short sword at Azog. Armed with his oak shield and dwarven blade, Thorin pounded his chest and roared:

"You orcs are the filth of the world, the plague and curse of Middle-earth!"

"I have no interest in your cowardly words. Take up arms and fight! I will avenge my kin and my people."

"Azog, your end is here!"

Azog, no longer hesitating, grabbed the weapon. He knew his chances of survival were slim, but if he was to die today, he wanted to take Thorin with him, just as the dwarf prince had once taken his arm.

With no further words, the duel erupted. Both Thorin and Azog were seasoned warriors, but Azog, larger and physically stronger, held a distinct advantage in sheer force.

From the very start of the battle, Azog's brute strength gave him the upper hand. Even with a dagger that was less familiar to him, his relentless and reckless assault quickly overwhelmed Thorin. The dwarf prince found himself retreating under the savage onslaught, his expression grim as he desperately blocked each strike.

But Thorin was a prince of the Durin line, a warrior with royal blood and exceptional skill. He was the strongest fighter among the dwarves in the expedition and possessed both patience and resilience. Despite being cornered, Thorin quickly adapted, finding a strategy to counter the larger orc.

He used his shorter stature to his advantage, focusing his attacks on Azog's lower body, exploiting the orc's less flexible, massive frame.

The tactic proved effective, forcing Azog to adjust and making it harder for him to land heavy blows. Thorin's strikes to the legs and lower body began to chip away at the half-orc's defense, causing discomfort and weakening Azog's footing.

However, in the brutal world of melee combat, raw strength still held a considerable advantage. Though Thorin was a skilled and tenacious fighter, Azog's sheer power began to wear him down.

The duel raged back and forth, with both warriors putting everything on the line. But gradually, Thorin found himself forced into a desperate situation.

His oak shield, which had taken countless blows, could no longer withstand the strain. With a loud crack, the shield shattered, splintering and falling apart.

In the moment of confusion, Azog seized the opportunity. With a ferocious swing of his blade, he struck Thorin hard, slashing deeply into his left arm.

Blood spattered everywhere, and a severed hand fell to the ground.

As the searing pain from his wounded arm hit him, Thorin let out a piercing wail, stumbling backward and losing his balance, collapsing to the ground.

Seeing their prince in such dire straits, the other dwarves turned pale with fear and anxiety. Instinctively, they reached for their weapons but hesitated, bound by the sacred honor of the duel, unwilling to interfere.

Even Gandalf, who had been watching silently, couldn't help but tense up. His pupils narrowed, his lips tightened, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped his staff.

Azog, still gloating over his revenge, let out a wild laugh before raising his dagger to deliver the fatal blow to Thorin, who lay helpless on the ground.

Suddenly, the pale-skinned orc's eyes widened in shock. His body had betrayed him—he had lost control. The dagger that was meant to sever Thorin's head struck the stone beside him instead.

Thorin, though wracked with pain, was no coward. The moment he saw Azog's weapon falter, he seized the chance to turn the tide. Ignoring the pain in his left arm, he thrust his dwarven sword upward with all his remaining strength, driving it deep into Azog's heart.

But Azog was no ordinary orc. Rising to lead a powerful clan, surviving the brutal life of orc-kind, had made him a monster of sheer willpower. Even with a sword buried in his heart, Azog refused to die easily.

With a final surge of strength, he roared in defiance, impaling himself further on Thorin's blade as he lunged forward. His jaws closed on Thorin's neck, his sharp teeth sinking into flesh, desperately trying to tear out his enemy's throat.

In those last moments of life and death, Thorin mustered every ounce of his remaining will. Though his left arm was bleeding profusely, he clung to his sword with his right, repeatedly twisting it deeper into Azog's heart, determined to kill the orc before he was bitten to death.

For what felt like an eternity, the two struggled. But after a few more agonizing seconds, the light in Azog's eyes dimmed. His body slackened as the life drained from him, and the pale orc leader finally succumbed.

Thorin, however, wasn't much better off. Trapped beneath Azog's heavy corpse, he lay pale and motionless, his neck torn and bleeding. Had it not been for a stroke of luck that spared his jugular, he wouldn't have survived long enough to land the killing blow.

Even so, when the other dwarves rushed to pull Azog's lifeless body off him, Thorin was barely conscious. His once-proud form was now covered in blood, riddled with wounds, and close to death.

Reaching out weakly, Thorin clasped the hands of Balin and Fili, as though offering his final words. The sight brought tears to the eyes of the dwarves. They wept openly for their prince, lamenting the fate of their leader.

Wayne, who had been standing a short distance away, frowned as he watched the scene. In his mind, he debated whether to save Thorin. In the original tale, this prince's growing madness and greed would lead to trouble, earning him the disdain of many.

But after a moment, Wayne sighed. They had been comrades for over a month, fighting side by side. Though their bond wasn't deep, they were still teammates.

Stepping forward, Wayne approached Thorin's side and glanced at Gandalf, who looked distraught, knowing there was little he could do. Then, turning to Balin and the other dwarves, Wayne spoke:

"Step aside and let me try. There's a chance I can save him."