Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"Skyla! Clear the way with Dragon's Breath!" As Elenthor's Hunting Moon dissipated due to the depletion of battle energy, Elandor shouted toward the sky at Skyla. 

Without an area-of-effect skill to cover them, even a group of goblins armed with pitchforks could ambush and take down the most elite warriors. 

Just as a battalion of Rapid Infantry could bring down a knightly order if they were willing to throw enough bodies into the fray.

Of course, Elandor had no intention of leaving himself and Elenthor stranded in a sea of orcs. There was a stark difference between a tiger among sheep and being surrounded with no escape.

"Your Majesty!" Elandor tackled the battle-ready Elenthor to the ground as the frigid breath of the Star Dragon seared past them overhead.

In such a confined space, Dragon's Breath could reach every corner, maximizing its lethal effectiveness. 

One had to admit, in Middle-earth, a place severely lacking in anti-air capabilities, roasting "fries" was immensely satisfying. 

The orcs had no means to stop a fully unleashed dragon. 

Even the Nazgûl retreated into the shadows, for against a dragon in full attack, they were no more effective than ordinary orcs in defense.

One day, Rynar would be grateful for having the Elaris Woods Rangers, a unit specialized in aerial combat. 

At the very least, they wouldn't become mere targets when facing enemy air units.

"...Riding a dragon is truly insane!" Elenthor muttered as he took in the horrific carnage left in the wake of the Dragon's Breath—scorched corpses and severed limbs littered the battlefield.

"Your Majesty! Stay with the soldiers! Do not act alone! Do not forget your father!" Elandor grasped Elenthor's shoulders, shaking him. 

He didn't want Elenthor to meet the same fate as his father—who, despite his valiant strength, had been overwhelmed and slain by a swarm of common orcs. 

The Battle of the Black Gate had not only been a tragedy for the Woodland Elves but also an eternal wound for the Star Elves.

"Your Majesty!" Seeing Elenthor momentarily dazed, Elandor quickly shook him again, reminding him they were still on the battlefield.

"Hah— I understand! Let's check on Thranduil! The path to him won't be easy!" Elenthor shook his head, burying his sorrow deep within and steadying his emotions before addressing Elandor.

"Be careful, then, Your Majesty! I will see how King Thranduil is faring!" Elandor took off like a firefighting captain, running between the scattered forces of the allied army.

"Hold formation! Do not panic!" Thranduil commanded his soldiers as waves of orcs continued to flood toward them from all directions.

"Advance steadily! They are nothing but beasts! Raise your longbows! Ready your spears! Grip your shields tight! Victory belongs to those who stand in the light! 

They can only scurry in the darkness, clinging to life! For freedom! Let us cut off their heads! Split open their chests! Let their corpses be a testament to our strength!" 

Thranduil's rallying cry surged through the ranks of the allied forces.

"Kill!" The soldiers, outnumbered several times over, harnessed their fear into unyielding ferocity. 

Fear could make men cowards, but it could also drive them to madness. Under Thranduil's leadership, the allied forces had become the latter.

Steel-tipped spears plunged into flesh, drawing gouts of thick, dark-purple orc blood. 

Curved elven blades slid through flesh with a wet slicing sound, sending blood cascading down their edges. Bones snapped, sinews tore, and the ground quickly became a crimson swamp.

 Shields smashed against each other in brutal collisions, wood splintering, and metal bending under the strain—the battlefield had devolved into utter chaos.

To Thranduil's horror, the rugged and narrow terrain had scattered the allied forces! 

Small groups of soldiers huddled together, fighting back-to-back, desperately holding their ground against the relentless orc assault. 

More and more warriors fell, their crimson blood mixing with the dark ichor of the orcs.

The elves had abandoned their famed archery, the dwarves had cast aside their heavy spears, and the humans, swallowing their fear, brandished their longswords. 

No longer did they fight for their kings or alliances—they fought for themselves, for survival.

"We have breached the inner city, Your Majesty!" A panting elven guard reported to Thranduil, bloodied curved blade in hand.

"Regroup! All forces, fall in! Rally to me! Our dragon rider has arrived!" 

Thranduil looked up at the sky, where the Star Dragon Skyla circled above, and for a moment, he was filled with envy. Having air support truly made a difference!

Meanwhile, Elandor was growing increasingly frustrated. 

The battlefield below was a tangled mess—forces from both sides were locked in a chaotic melee, making it impossible for high-damage dragon knights and similar elite warriors to unleash their full power. 

The sheer density of the skirmish left Elandor with few viable options.

"Skyla! Focus on eliminating the orc reinforcements! It's too chaotic here—we can't be of much help!" Elandor commanded decisively. 

Rather than hovering uselessly, it was better to cut off the endless stream of orc reinforcements.

"Star Dragon Meteor Rain!" 

Elandor ordered as he surveyed the twisted battlefield below. Given the irregular layout of the city, the precision of the Star Dragon's Meteor Rain was the best option.

Dragon energy surged outward, constructing an intricate magical array in midair. 

As the formation solidified, dozens of starry-blue meteors streaked down from the heavens, trailing shimmering tails.

Under Skyla's precise control, they struck directly into clusters of orc forces.

"Boom!" 

Debris flew as orcs were flung skyward by the sheer force of the impact, tumbling like ragdolls. 

With the added annihilation effect of the Star Dragon's power, countless orcs were torn apart, withering and disintegrating into dust.

"Hold your ground! Push them back! For our fallen kin! Slaughter them all!" 

Thranduil roared as he fought like a whirlwind of death, his once-mighty Hunting Moon ability now too drained to use.

Breathing heavily, Thranduil surveyed his surroundings. 

For a fleeting moment, the familiar sights transported him back thousands of years—but the devastation around him quickly shattered the illusion. 

This was no longer the home he had once known. 

Tears welled in his eyes, unbidden and silent. Yet, steeling himself, the Elven King clenched his ancient, still-razor-sharp curved blade and took another step forward toward the inner city.

"For the Black Gate... for the honor we lost!" Thranduil whispered, his vision blurred by blood, exhaustion weighing upon him. 

But his eyes burned with renewed determination. Closer... Closer... The Royal Hall was just ahead...

"Charge! For the Woodland Realm! For the children of the Goddess of Nature! We shall reclaim our lost home! Forward!

Drive these vermin back into their filthy holes!" Thranduil's voice rang with fervor, his blade moving even faster.

"Madmen... they're all madmen!" Elandor stared in disbelief at the charging Thranduil, eyes wide. 

He had thought Elenthor was reckless, but now he was utterly awed. Truly, elves were the most stubborn lunatics.

.

.

.

Guys, do leave some power stones and reviews.

🤞patreon.com/MythosWriter🤞

If you guys enjoy this story, you can support me on Patreon and get access to Advance Chapters, it really helps me to work on new chapters.