Chapter 54

...as the Nazgûl surged toward them, their eerie shrieks tearing through the night. The wraiths moved like shadows—silent, swift, and relentless. John could feel the darkness they carried, a suffocating void that seemed to sap the very strength from his limbs. But he held firm, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword as he prepared to meet them head-on.

Aragorn charged first, his blade flashing in the dim light of the campfire, striking at the nearest wraith with the precision of a seasoned warrior. The wraith recoiled, hissing in fury, but it did not fall. These were not mere enemies—they were extensions of Sauron's will, creatures born of the darkest magic.

John stepped forward, the compass around his neck flaring with a sudden burst of energy. He could feel its light growing stronger, feeding into his sword. With a shout, he swung his blade at one of the wraiths, the metal slicing through the air with a sharp hiss. The creature screeched, a sickening, bone-chilling sound, but the blow seemed to slow its advance.

Legolas's arrows whistled through the air, striking their targets with deadly precision. Gimli roared with fury as he met the wraiths head-on, his axe cleaving through the shadowy forms with brute strength. Yet, for every wraith they struck, another seemed to emerge from the darkness, relentless in their pursuit.

Gandalf stood at the center of the fray, his staff radiating light so intense that it forced the wraiths to hesitate. "Do not let them surround us!" he called, his voice booming over the clash of weapons. "They are drawn to the compass! We must keep moving!"

John nodded, knowing Gandalf was right. The compass's power, though a beacon of hope, was also a lure for the enemy. As long as they remained in one place, the wraiths would keep coming.

"We need to break through their lines," Aragorn shouted, parrying a vicious strike from one of the Nazgûl. "If we stay here, we'll be overrun!"

John glanced around, his mind racing. There was no clear path through the wraiths, but they had no choice. If they didn't move now, the wraiths would overwhelm them. "We go for the pass!" he shouted, pointing toward a narrow gap between the rocks that led deeper into the mountains.

With a grim nod, Aragorn called the retreat. "To the pass! Everyone, now!"

Legolas fired one last arrow before sprinting toward the gap, Gimli at his side, swinging his axe to ward off any wraiths that dared follow. Gandalf held his ground, blasting a wave of pure light toward the Nazgûl, forcing them back just long enough for the group to start their escape.

John brought up the rear, his sword humming with the compass's energy as he struck at the wraiths that pursued them. His heart pounded in his chest, each breath a battle against the oppressive cold that seemed to drain his strength. But the light of the compass was still with him, guiding his every step.

As they neared the pass, the wraiths suddenly regrouped, their shrieks filling the air as they prepared for one final assault. John turned to face them, his sword raised, ready to fight to the end. But before the Nazgûl could close in, a blinding flash of light erupted from behind him.

Gandalf stood at the entrance to the pass, his staff glowing brighter than ever before. "You shall not pass!" he roared, slamming the staff into the ground. A wave of energy shot out from him, sweeping through the wraiths and scattering them like leaves in a storm. The Nazgûl shrieked in fury as they were driven back, their dark forms dissolving into the night.

For a moment, silence reigned.

John gasped for breath, lowering his sword as the immediate danger passed. His heart still raced, but the cold grip of fear that had clutched him moments before had lessened. They had survived. But as he looked at Gandalf, he could see the strain on the wizard's face. That last spell had cost him dearly.

"We must keep moving," Gandalf said, his voice weaker than before. "The wraiths will return... and next time, they will be stronger."

John nodded, the weight of the compass heavy against his chest once more. They had bought themselves time, but the darkness still hunted them. And the deeper they ventured into the Misty Mountains, the more perilous their journey would become.

As they pressed onward into the pass, the howling wind rose again, carrying with it the distant cries of the wraiths. The Misty Mountains loomed high above, their peaks shrouded in cloud and shadow, hiding the secrets—and dangers—of Eldorath within.

And John knew, as the road ahead grew darker, that the hardest trials were yet to come.

As they ventured deeper into the narrow pass, the oppressive weight of the Misty Mountains bore down on them, the cold biting at their skin, and the wraiths' distant cries fading into the wind. The group pressed on, their pace brisk but weary, with Gandalf leading the way despite the visible toll the last encounter had taken on him.

The path ahead twisted and turned through jagged rocks, the mountain walls narrowing until the sky above was barely visible. Shadows seemed to flicker at the edges of John's vision, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something far worse than the wraiths awaited them.

Just as they rounded a sharp bend, the ground beneath their feet trembled. A low rumble echoed through the pass, sending loose stones tumbling from the cliffs above.

"An avalanche?" Aragorn muttered, drawing his sword again. His eyes scanned the cliffs, alert for danger.

But it wasn't an avalanche. The earth groaned, and suddenly, the rocks at the base of the mountain began to shift. Slowly at first, but then with a sickening speed, the very walls of the mountain began to close in on them.

"It's a trap!" Gandalf shouted, raising his staff to halt the closing rocks. But his magic, drained from the battle with the wraiths, flickered weakly. The walls continued to tighten.

John's heart pounded in his chest. The compass around his neck flared with light again, but this time it burned hotter, more intense than ever before. A deep, resonant hum filled his ears, drowning out the sound of the shifting stone.

Suddenly, the light of the compass shot out in a brilliant beam, slamming into the mountain walls with the force of a thunderclap. For a moment, the rocks halted their movement. But something strange was happening to the light—it wasn't just repelling the walls, it was drawing something out from within them.

A deep, ancient voice echoed through the pass, reverberating off the stone. "Foolish mortals," it boomed, filled with malice and disdain. "You carry the compass of Eldorath... and now, you will face its true master."

Before John could react, the very ground beneath them erupted in a surge of shadowy energy. From the depths of the mountain emerged a colossal figure, cloaked in darkness—an ancient guardian, older and far more terrifying than the wraiths. Its form was barely distinguishable from the mountain itself, a living embodiment of the stone and shadow.

Gandalf's face paled. "A Morgûl Avatar," he whispered. "One of Sauron's first creations... a being of pure malice."

The creature's glowing eyes locked onto John, and a slow, terrible realization dawned on him. The compass wasn't just a tool of light—it was a key, and he had unwittingly used it to awaken something that should have remained buried.

"You have brought me back," the creature said, its voice like grinding stone. "And now, you will pay the price."

Aragorn and Legolas immediately sprang into action, weapons raised, but the Morgûl Avatar waved a massive arm, and a shockwave of dark energy knocked them all to the ground. John's sword clattered out of his hand as he was thrown back, the compass glowing brighter but not enough to shield him from the force.

Despair began to creep in as the shadow loomed over them. But then, something unexpected happened. The compass around John's neck began to vibrate violently, and before his eyes, it split into two—revealing a hidden core. A second, smaller object emerged from within, pulsing with energy far more potent than before.

The Morgûl Avatar recoiled, hissing in surprise. "No... that power... it cannot be..."

John didn't understand what was happening, but he knew this was their only chance. With a surge of instinct, he grabbed the new object in his hand. A rush of memories, not his own, flooded his mind—ancient, forgotten knowledge about the true purpose of the compass. It wasn't just a key. It was a weapon, designed to imprison beings like the Morgûl Avatar.

With renewed determination, John rose to his feet, ignoring the pain coursing through his body. "Get back!" he shouted to the others, gripping the compass core tightly. The Morgûl Avatar lunged toward him, but John thrust the object forward, and a beam of pure, blinding energy erupted from it.

The light was so intense that the entire pass seemed to explode with radiance. The creature howled in fury as the light engulfed it, its form dissolving into smoke and shadow, pulled back into the depths of the earth.

As the light faded, silence fell once more. The Morgûl Avatar was gone, sealed away once again, but the toll on the group was clear. Gandalf collapsed to one knee, his staff dim and cracked. Legolas and Gimli helped each other to their feet, while Aragorn wiped blood from a cut on his forehead.

John stood in the center of the group, the compass core still glowing faintly in his hand. His mind raced as he processed what had just happened. This journey had become far more dangerous than he had imagined.

Gandalf struggled to his feet, his eyes locking onto John. "The compass... is far more powerful than I realized," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And it seems... it is bound to you now, John. For better or worse."

John swallowed, the weight of the core in his hand suddenly feeling much heavier. The path ahead had always been uncertain, but now, with the ancient forces stirring and dark secrets revealing themselves, one thing was clear:

The compass was not just a tool of guidance. It was a weapon of unimaginable power. And the fate of their world might depend on how he wielded it.

As they resumed their journey into the heart of the Misty Mountains, John couldn't help but wonder if they had just awakened something even darker than Sauron himself.