The Killing Curse struck true. The Balrog staggered, its form flashing bright and dim as its flames sputtered. A roar of agony thundered from its throat, shaking the stone around them. Sylas gasped, leaning heavily on his staff, relief flashing across his face, only for it to vanish a heartbeat later.

The demon's burning eyes narrowed. With a sudden, savage sweep, it conjured a spear of fire and hurled it, not at Sylas, but at Herpo. The serpent recoiled as the weapon struck, sending it tumbling backward. With a hiss that echoed like thunder, the great snake fell into the abyss below.

Sylas's heart lurched, but before he could even move to help, the Balrog let out a deep, unnatural roar. All the flames in the cavern seemed to bend toward it, sucked into its body until its fire blazed brighter than ever before. Its weapon reshaped into a flaming scepter, from which torrents of fire erupted, crashing down upon wizard and Maia alike.

"Protego Maxima!"

Sylas cried, slamming his staff into the ground. A mighty shield rose around himself, Gandalf, and the dwarves retreating behind them. The flames struck like molten waves against a copper wall, the shield rippling and bending under the unbearable heat. Stone melted into rivers of lava; sweat poured down Sylas's brow as the potion's effect began to fade.

Without hesitation, he snatched up several more vials, gulping them all in a rush, before tossing one to Gandalf.

"Drink it! If the Balrog doesn't kill us, the heat will roast us alive!"

Gandalf downed the potion, his chest heaving as its coolness surged through him. Then he stepped forward, holding the Flame of Anor aloft. The fiery sword in his grasp blazed with a holy, white brilliance as he cried:

"I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor! The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn!"

For the first time, Gandalf revealed the full might of Narya, the Ring of Fire. Countless fire-spirits swirled to his call, igniting his blade into a raging inferno of white-gold light. He and Sylas were swept into a whirlwind of flame as sacred fire clashed with dark fire, filling the cavern with searing light.

Orcs screamed, unable to flee; the wave of fire consumed them in an instant, leaving nothing but drifting ash. Even the walls and pillars of Moria warped and melted under the storm of heat. Sylas, shielded by his potions, still felt his skin prickle as though pressed against a forge.

Then, drawing on his own craft, Sylas lifted the Phial of Galadriel high. He whispered a charm, normally a simple spell of light. Yet, infused with the Light of Eärendil, it burst forth like the sun itself. The pure radiance swept across the bridge, piercing shadow and fire alike.

The Balrog snarled, shielding itself with wings of shadow, retreating step by step as if stung.

For a moment, it seemed wizard and sorcerer might hold their ground. But both knew the truth: they could not match the Balrog forever. Unless the battle ended quickly, they would be overwhelmed.

And then it came, the thunder of wings and a deafening roar from the east. The stone walls trembled as a shape broke through the cliffs. Armored in glimmering scales, vast wings spread wide, Smaug the Magnificent descended in fire and fury.

"Help us finish this thing!"

"Gladly!" roared Smaug, his chest swelling. He unleashed a torrent of dragonfire.

The flames roared across the bridge and struck the Balrog squarely.

But instead of recoiling, the demon only stood taller, its body drinking in the fire like a furnace devouring fuel. Its flames flared brighter, its aura burning fiercer than ever before.

"Ah… what?" Smaug's eyes widened in disbelief.

Sylas's face darkened. "You great fool! It's made of fire! Did you think feeding it more would make it weaker?!" He groaned, nearly pulling at his hair. "Honestly, if I wanted this thing stronger, I could've just lit a campfire under its feet!"

Smaug coughed, scales glowing red with embarrassment. "…Well. No one told me." Without further excuse, he tucked his wings and charged straight at the Balrog.

The dragon was vast, his body stretching nearly a hundred meters. The Balrog, by contrast, stood little more than seven meters tall. For all its terror, it was dwarfed by the dragon.

For a time, the clash of dragon and demon shook the very halls of Moria. Though Smaug was no divine being, his sheer size allowed him to grapple with the Fire Demon, buying precious moments.

Gandalf and Sylas felt the pressure lift. The Balrog's whip cracked against Smaug's wings, scorching his hide, but the dragon snarled, refusing to yield.

Then, in the midst of chaos, the system stirred within Sylas's mind.

[Target Located: Khazad-dûm. Would you like to sign in?]

His eyes lit up. Sign in! he thought desperately.

[Marked successfully. Congratulations: you have obtained Grindelwald's Improved Protego Diabolica!]

In an instant, memories not his own flooded him, the mastery of Gellert Grindelwald, who alone had bent Protego Diabolica to his will. For most wizards, it was uncontrollable; but Grindelwald had forged it into a weapon that could distinguish friend from foe.

Sylas's heart pounded with exhilaration. Raising his staff, he conjured the spell.

A surge of dark-blue fire erupted, twisting and writhing like living serpents. The heat was so fierce that even the Balrog itself turned, its burning eyes narrowing in wary recognition. The Protego Diabolica coiled, reshaping into a blazing drake that charged with a scream of flame.

The cavern became a sea of fire, Balrog flame against wizard's cursed flame, orange against blue, both consuming everything around them. Stone bubbled, metal wept, and even Smaug growled uneasily at the unnatural blaze.

Yet Protego Diabolica was no ordinary flame. For a moment it held its ground, gnawing at the Balrog's form. But the demon roared, tore through the conjured fire-beast, and shattered it with whip and sword. The Fiendfyre collapsed into scattered embers, still deadly, but no longer bound.

Sylas cursed under his breath. The spell had wounded the demon, but not destroyed it.

Sylas's mind raced. He recalled how Gandalf had once faced the Balrog at Durin's Bridge, how both had fallen into the abyss together. The demon's fire had not gone out even in the depths. So what kind of water could truly extinguish a spirit of flame?

He turned sharply. "Gandalf! What water could quench a Balrog's fire?"

For a heartbeat, the wizard was taken aback. Then comprehension dawned, "Ulmo, the Lord of Waters," he said grimly. "All rivers, all deeps, all seas are his domain. He has ever hated Morgoth's servants, and especially these demons of flame. If the Balrog is forced into running waters, its fire will wane."

Sylas nodded quickly. "There must be water beneath us. I can feel the vapor rising from the chasm."

Their eyes met, wordless but resolved. They would have to drag the demon into the abyss.

On Smaug's side of the battle, the dragon's confidence was being tested. The Balrog swung its blazing scepter of fire. Waves of heat blasted against Smaug's scales, turning his armor red-hot. The dragon bellowed in pain, writhing in the flames.

Though Smaug was born to fire, even he could not endure the baleful heat of Morgoth's corrupted servant. His roars shook the caverns, echoing with rage and agony.

Gandalf stepped onto the narrow span of Durin's Bridge. His sword blazed with sacred fire.

The demon turned, its whip of fire curling like a living serpent, eyes burning with mockery. Smoke poured from its nostrils as though laughing at the folly of mortals. With a stride that shook the stones, it advanced upon the wizard.

The whip lashed out. Where it struck, the air itself caught fire, leaving trails of flame. Gandalf twisted aside, his own blade flashing to parry. Steel and fire met with a crash like thunder. Sparks burst outward, the impact cracking the ancient bridge beneath their feet.

The Grey Wizard staggered back, the fire in his blade dimming for a moment under the onslaught. The Balrog pressed forward, step by step.

"Avada Kedavra!" Sylas cried from the far end of the bridge. The Killing Curse streaked across the gap.

The Balrog snarled, whipping its fiery lash to intercept. The curse struck the whip itself, freezing it midair in a crackle of unnatural magic. For a heartbeat, the demon faltered.

"Now!" Gandalf thundered. He lifted his staff high, channeled all his strength, and slammed it against the stone.

With a deafening roar, the bridge beneath the Balrog crumbled. Rock split and tumbled into the abyss, the Fire Demon's massive form plunging downward with the falling stones.

The dwarves gasped as the demon's bellow of rage echoed into the deep. For a fleeting moment, it seemed the ancient evil had been cast down.

But before relief could set in, a streak of fire coiled upward from the depths. The Balrog's whip latched onto the cliff. With terrifying speed, the demon began to climb, its burning form surging upward once more.

Sylas was ready. He thrust the divine spear Aeglos deep into the rock, pouring all his magic into the strike. Cracks spidered through the cliffside, and with a thunderous crash, the remaining half of the bridge gave way, dragging stone and flame together into the abyss.

The Balrog roared again, this time in fury and pain, as it was smashed down by the avalanche of stone.

...

Read chapters ahead @/Keepsmiling818