In LOTR with Harry Potter system

"Black-robed Wizard!" Azog growled in the Black Speech, his single eye narrowing in suspicion as he caught sight of the cloaked figure standing before him.

Sylas stepped calmly into view, his dark robes swaying in the cold mountain wind, as if he had been waiting for this confrontation all along.

Azog's expression darkened. Sylas was alive, yet there was no sign of the Orc warband he had sent out earlier. His gut twisted.

"Looking for this?" Sylas said coolly.

With a casual flick, he tossed something onto the rocks between them. It rolled once, twice, before stopping.

The severed head of Azog's second-in-command stared lifelessly at its former master.

"I already sent your little war party straight to the underworld," Sylas added with quiet finality. "Don't bother waiting for them."

He raised his wand.

"Unless, of course… you'd like to join them."

"Diffindo!"

Villains often fall because they talk too much. Sylas didn't consider himself one, but he certainly wasn't about to make that mistake. The moment his sentence ended, the curse flew forward with deadly precision.

Azog's reflexes, however, were as sharp as ever.

Among Orcs, strength ruled, and Azog had clawed his way to the top by defeating every rival in brutal combat. Though one-armed, he still reacted with brutal cunning, ducking the spell and dragging one of his own underlings in front of him as a shield. The unfortunate Orc took the blow and collapsed with a gurgle.

Then, in a flash of motion, Azog raised his arm, and from a hidden mechanism beneath his bracer, he launched a black arrow, inscribed with jagged, glowing runes. A Morgul Arrow.

Sylas saw it coming.

With a flick of his wand, he summoned a length of pine timber from nearby, snapping it into position just in time. The arrow struck the wood, embedding itself in a burst of splinters.

But Azog had already moved. He lunged for a nearby warg, flinging a rider off its back and leaping astride it. With no hesitation, he turned and fled down the rocky pass.

The remaining Orcs and beasts scattered in his wake, confusion and panic spreading like wildfire.

"Don't let him escape!" the Dwarves behind Sylas shouted, breathless and enraged.

But Sylas didn't move. His eyes were calm, his voice composed.

"Don't worry," he said with eerie confidence. "He's not going anywhere."

Just ahead of the fleeing Azog, the ground suddenly gave way. The massive wolf he rode plunged into thick, black mud, sucked downward by a swamp that hadn't been there a moment ago.

A trap.

One after another, the Orcs following him stumbled into the mire, thrashing helplessly in the muck.

But Azog wasn't finished.

Snarling, he kicked the wolf beneath him deeper into the swamp and leapt, using his own troops and their mounts as stepping stones. He scrambled to higher ground, mud dripping from his body.

"Wizard," he hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at Sylas with burning hatred, "I'll remember you. You'll be my enemy forever, Sylas! My blood feud now lies with you!"

Sylas's answer was a gleam of magic, and a flash of light.

"Bombarda!"

A thunderous explosion roared from the mountainside. The earth split, rocks shattered, and an avalanche of stone and snow thundered downward.

"The mountain, it's collapsing!" the Dwarves screamed as the cliff they stood upon began to crack beneath their feet.

Panic surged through the group. Debris rained from above. The whole mountainside trembled.

And then—

"Don't panic!" Gandalf's voice cut through the chaos. He raised his staff high, smiling through the wind and snow.

"Our friends are here!"

No sooner had Gandalf spoken than a sharp eagle cry pierced the sky. Moments later, more than a dozen colossal Giant Eagles soared toward them.

One by one, the eagles swooped down, plucking up the stunned Dwarves, and carried them aloft into the sky.

Sylas barely had time to react before one of the majestic creatures dived, seized him in its powerful talons, and flung him gently onto the back of another eagle mid-flight.

"Whoa!" Sylas exclaimed, gripping the feathers for balance, the sheer speed and sudden weightlessness making his heart leap into his throat. The wind roared past as the entire party rose into the clouds.

Below them, the mountaintop and cliff gave way. With a thunderous rumble, they collapsed completely, sweeping away the remaining Orcs and wargs. Massive rocks tumbled down, burying everything beneath a crushing avalanche of stone.

It should have been the end.

"Hm?" Sylas frowned as he pulled out his Palantír to check on Azog. "Still alive? That's one stubborn Orc."

Through the magical orb's shimmer, he spotted the warlord, bloodied but clinging to life. Azog had somehow embedded the iron hook of his severed arm into the cliff wall mid-fall, anchoring himself and narrowly avoiding death.

"Is this what they call final boss plot armor?" Sylas muttered, annoyed.

He leaned forward and tapped the Giant Eagle's back. "Can we talk for a second?"

The eagle tilted its head slightly as Sylas grinned.

"How about dropping me off real quick so I can finish that ugly brute off? Then we can be on our way, yeah?"

The eagle gave a crisp, piercing cry in response.

Then, without warning, it tucked its wings and plummeted.

"Wait—waaahhh!!" Sylas shouted as his stomach flipped, the sudden drop tearing the air from his lungs.

Below, Azog had managed to crawl partway up the shattered slope. He stood surrounded by the lifeless bodies of his kin, buried in stone. His face contorted with rage and humiliation.

"Wizard!" he roared, shaking with fury. "I'll make you pay in blood!"

"Did someone call me?" A teasing voice echoed from above.

Azog's head snapped upward. Sylas was descending like a thunderbolt, astride a Giant Eagle, robes flaring in the wind.

Azog's eyes widened. Without hesitation, he turned to flee.

"Diffindo!"

The curse struck before he could move another step.

Azog screamed in pain as the magic carved into him, deep gashes erupting across his body. Black blood poured from the wounds, his powerful frame shaking violently.

But the Orc warlord still refused to fall.

Sylas hovered in the air above, his expression cold. "You really are a tough one," he said quietly. "But even monsters like you have their end."

He raised his wand again.

"Diffindo!"

This time, the blow was final.

Azog froze in place. His red eyes dimmed, body trembling as it fractured like brittle stone. Then he collapsed, lifeless at last.

Staring at Azog's lifeless body, Sylas exhaled deeply, his breath misting in the cold air.

"Azog is dead. The course of fate has shifted. I wonder… will the Battle of the Five Armies still take place now?"

Just then, a familiar voice called out, "Sylas."

Gandalf soared down astride a Giant Eagle, followed closely by the others.

The Dwarves erupted into cheers the moment they saw Azog's corpse. Their archenemy, the warlord who had haunted their nightmares for years, was finally dead.

Gandalf's gaze lingered on the body before he nodded with approval. "Sylas, you've slain Azog, the King of the Orcs. Word of this will not remain quiet for long. News will spread swiftly through the ranks of the Orcs, and across all of Middle-earth."

The old wizard's eyes glinted beneath his hat. "From this day forward, the title Foe of Orcs rightly belongs to you."

Then he added with quiet gravity, "But this victory comes with consequence. You've made yourself a mortal enemy to every Orc tribe still lurking in the shadows. They will seek you out, eager for revenge. Be prepared."

"I understand," Sylas said calmly. "Thank you for the warning, Gandalf."

Truthfully, he felt no fear. Compared to what he had already faced, a few angry Orcs weren't enough to shake his resolve.

With Azog vanquished and no reason to remain, the group mounted the Giant Eagles once more and took to the skies.

These magnificent creatures, the messengers of Manwë, the High King of the Valar, were more than just beasts. Towering in size and intelligence, they could speak in human tongues and served as vigilant sentinels over Middle-earth.

As a Maia himself, Gandalf had long maintained close ties with the Great Eagles. Bound by the will of Manwë, they came when truly needed, often at the turning points of fate.

Their wings beat like thunder across the sky as they carried the party eastward, gliding above the craggy peaks of the Misty Mountains.

Eventually, they descended upon Carrock, a towering stone outcrop by the great Anduin River. It was here the Eagles brought them to rest.

Sylas couldn't help but mutter as he stretched his legs, "Why not fly us all the way to the Lonely Mountain?"

Gandalf, overhearing him, chuckled. "The Eagles are watchers of the Misty Mountains, not messengers for convenience. They mustn't stray too far from their post. Besides…" he trailed off, voice thoughtful, "even divine aid must tread lightly in the affairs of Middle-earth."

The Eagles were bound by rules...rules that echoed those of Gandalf himself. Though they aided the Free Peoples against evil, they were never meant to steer the tide of history outright.

Sylas sighed and crossed his arms. 'So it's just like that old tale from my world… where the Monkey King could've flown straight to the West in a single leap, but instead had to walk through deserts and demons just for the journey's sake.'

He looked up at the majestic Eagle one last time, his eyes catching the shimmering feathers along the crest of its head. A sudden idea struck him.

"Gandalf, you haven't found a core for your wand yet, right?"

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "That's true."

"Then… what if you used one of the Eagle feathers?" Sylas suggested, eyes gleaming. "As the core. Something noble. Ancient. And tied to the sky."

...

Stones PLzzz

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