-General-
Aldril took a deep breath. The distance between him and the Nazgûl granted him those few seconds of respite. His decision was already made. With resolution gleaming in his amber eyes, he raised the level of Rellana's dual magic, which he had only recently unlocked.
[Rellana's Dual Magic: LV 0 → LV 5]
Instantly, a cool and dense current slithered through his body like a serpent wrapping around its prey. The sensation was uncomfortable, but the mint-like freshness eased the unease.
Anguirel and Anglachel vibrated with delight, for they were an extension of him. Instinctively, Aldril crossed both swords, as if the movement were the catalyst for what was to come.
Silence fell. The wind stopped. The dark magic of Dol Guldur receded. A series of phenomena manifested, as if all of Arda were welcoming something appearing for the first time in its history.
Even the Nazgûl stood still, rooted like oaks. The powerful magic emanating from Aldril shook them. The Witch-king, however, watched intently; had his eyes been visible, they would have shown fanaticism. His spirit felt the change, and a thought arose with clarity:
"A new magic would be born."
---
Then it happened...
The swords uncrossed with a thunderous sound that seemed to tear the air apart. Aldril, arms outstretched, unleashed the magic born from his dragon blood.
Anguirel roared, its blade covered in a crimson flame dancing with a life of its own. Anglachel was not left behind: a bluish glow burst from its edge, radiating a cold so pure that the air around it began to crystallize.
Tiny red and blue sparks detached from both swords, spinning around him like enchanted fireflies. Ice and fire, opposites by nature, embraced in a harmonious dance. Aldril finally let go of the breath he had been holding, releasing the tension from his chest. His movements were fluid, instinctive, as if those motions were the proper way to present dual magic.
There was no longer arrogance on his face, nor pride. Only a serene, almost indifferent expression remained. He felt the changes coursing through his veins, a new strength that asked for no permission. With it, he was ready. Ready to expel the wraiths of Dol Guldur.
"You say no man can kill you," Aldril said, standing tall with elegance, "Then hear this... I have never known defeat, and today won't be the exception."
A tense silence hung in the air after that declaration. Then, the metallic creak of the Witch-king's armor broke the stillness.
With a deafening shriek, he lunged at Aldril, sword and mace raised. The other Nazgûl quickly followed, gliding like the specters they were. Some melted into the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Aldril did not panic, not in the slightest. Calmly, he raised both swords and, with a movement akin to a dance, spun twice. From that spin emerged a powerful magical attack, where fire and ice entwined in a protective whirlwind that barred the Nazgûl from advancing.
A majestic column of fire and frost shot into the sky. Those who saw it from afar were struck by the dazzling display of power; but for those who suffered the attack, it was anything but dazzling.
The Nazgûl screamed in agony as searing flames and cutting ice engulfed them. Their natural fear of fire made them writhe in pain. Some couldn't withstand the blistering fire and dissolved into black mist, returning to Mordor. Meanwhile, those lurking in the shadows moved behind Aldril, and as he finished spinning, they emerged with swords aimed at his body.
But Aldril, with the same composure with which he had begun his dance, leapt and spun gracefully in the air, a figure of lethal grace in the darkness.
Upon landing on the mossy ground of Dol Guldur, he used the momentum to launch himself toward the Nazgûl. His swords, an extension of his being, slashed in a perfect diagonal arc.
The movement was so swift and precise that the wraiths could do nothing but scream as the combined purity of Anguirel and Anglachel engulfed them in fire and ice.
With a final, harrowing shriek, they dissolved into black mist.
In a matter of minutes, Aldril had eliminated nearly all of the Nazgûl. Only the Witch-king remained... and three others.
It was at that moment, as Aldril looked at the remaining foes, that a pulse of pain surged through his head, making him narrow his eyes and grit his teeth. It seemed he would need to increase his attributes even further to bear the weight of unleashing such powerful magic.
'I must hurry,' Aldril thought. Raising Anglachel to shoulder height, he unleashed magical ice slashes that surged toward the Witch-king and the remaining three Nazgûl.
The Witch-king, showcasing his power, summoned a black mist that clashed against Aldril's ice attack. Both forces neutralized each other, but the remaining slashes struck the other Nazgûl, dissipating them into the shadows of Dol Guldur.
At last, after the explosive clash, only Aldril and the Witch-king remained, facing each other.
Their eyes locked, silent, but loaded with intent. If, for any reason, the battle dragged on longer than expected, Aldril wouldn't hesitate to use the system's remaining points to boost his attributes. However, he feared they might be too few after his recent upgrade in dual magic.
A sharp pain pierced his skull, but he didn't falter. Clenching his teeth, he launched himself at the Witch-king... and the wraith responded in kind.
Black mist gushed from the specter, wrapping him like a cloak from the abyss. His dark magic coated both sword and mace, imbuing his weapons with wickedness and cruelty.
The clash was inevitable. Aldril's fire and ice collided with the dark mass of the Witch-king, and the impact was so immense that an explosion of whitish and blackish light shook Dol Guldur to its foundations. Cracked walls shed dust and debris.
Their duel was short but brutal. Driven by his strength and dragon blood, Aldril managed to push the Witch-king back, unbalancing him for a moment. But the specter recovered with unnatural speed, crossing both weapons to block the next strike.
Then, another flash, a whitish discharge like a telekinetic shockwave, burst between them, forcing them apart and flinging them in opposite directions, as if their magics repelled each other in disgust.
Aldril slid across the worn, ancient stone, only managing to stabilize himself after crashing into a wall. On the other side, the Witch-king fared worse; dents were now visible in his armor.
As Aldril straightened up, another wave of searing pain struck his head, making him stagger. He was nearing his limit. He decided that if he couldn't end it with the next move, he would use one of his stat points to recover.
Meanwhile, the Witch-king was thinking the same. His physical body, sustained by Sauron's sorcery, was barely holding together. The blasts of magic and Aldril's purifying energy had damaged him more than he let on. His body trembled as if his very existence was being unrooted. He couldn't afford to lose, not now.
He carried with him the Dwarven Ring, a treasure Sauron had entrusted him to retrieve. If he failed, if his body gave in, he'd be dragged back to Mordor, and the mission would be a failure.
His armor creaked as he stood, as if protesting the movement itself. Sparks of dark magic burst from its joints as the specter rose, sword in one hand, mace in the other. The black magic surged around him more violently now, like a miniature hurricane forming around his weapons.
Aldril, too, poured all his remaining strength into his blades. Anguirel and Anglachel shone more brilliantly, the fire turned deeper crimson, the ice a more intense blue. Once fully charged, he lunged at the Witch-king, who did the same.
Their magics clashed, and another shockwave rippled outward from Dol Guldur. The elves rushing to aid him were halted by the gust of wind spreading from the impact.
Aldril gritted his teeth, his strength and magic were being matched by the Witch-king, who shrieked with a piercing wail each second that passed. The magics of ice and fire clashed against the darkness, like two ancient beasts locked in a primal duel.
It wasn't until a cracking sound echoed, that of armor giving way, that the battle shifted. The Witch-king's body could no longer endure. With a thunderous noise, it collapsed. The combined forces of fire and ice overwhelmed the dark magic.
But it came at a cost.
The Witch King's body exploded, unleashing a shockwave that sent Aldril into the air, crashing him into a wall.
The elves, led by Thranduil, watched as the wave approached them. They could do nothing but cover their faces with their arms. The air roared, and they were all thrown backward. Even Thranduil, with his superior strength, could not withstand the blast: the phenomenon was very much like that time he witnessed the clash of Gil-galad's spear against Sauron's mace.
***
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