[General POV]
Sweat dripped from his hands, and nervousness invaded every fiber of his being. He was old, and he knew it, his body no longer responded as it once had. Yet, even so, he took a step forward.
His shadow fell over the wounded Thorin, whose breath was heavy and labored. Balin clenched his teeth. His age and exhaustion didn't matter; if he had to fight, he would fight to the end.
"Take advantage of the distraction I'll give you, Thorin," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
With eyes burning with fervent determination, Balin stepped forward. As the seasoned warrior he was, he lunged at Azog with his axe raised high. The orc-goblin sneered, crossing his blades over his chest to absorb the impact.
Oh, but that sneer vanished in an instant! With the force of years of accumulated resentment, Balin unleashed a ferocious strike, like an avalanche. His left foot crashed into Azog's ribs with a dry crunch, fracturing several in the process.
With a growl filled with fury and pain, Azog unleashed the brutal strength of his kind, hurling Balin backward and creating distance between them. The impact resonated through his bones, but the surprise burned hotter than the pain, this dwarf had hurt him.
With vicious eyes, he glanced down at the gleam of his blades, his jaw tightening with rage.
'If I had my hands, they'd already be dead,' he thought, pure hatred coursing through him. He despised Thorin for taking his arm… and now, just a few months ago, that damned son of that elven whore had taken the other, greatly reducing his skill.
His wild eyes locked onto Balin, who, despite his labored breathing and the weight of age, stood firm. Azog hated this. He had never been one to prolong fights; the edge of death crept closer with every passing second, and something inside him whispered that if this continued, he wouldn't make it out alive.
He clenched his jaw so tightly that his body trembled with sheer frustration. A fleeting memory shot through his mind. His war scars carried stories, and one of them belonged to another old dwarf. Before killing him, that bastard had left him with a mark that still burned in his memory.
"Never underestimate an old man in a world where dying young is the norm," the dwarf had said with a bitter smile before falling lifeless, while Azog writhed in pain.
With a savage roar, Azog lunged at Balin. That memory only fueled his hatred, clouding his coordination and evasion but amplifying his raw strength. He no longer cared about wounds, he just wanted to end this duel and kill the dwarf once and for all. Then, he could focus on Durin's bloodline.
The frenzy with which he swung his two sharpened prosthetics was overwhelming. Balin began receiving cuts on his arms, his torso, even his face… but he endured! His aged body demanded surrender, the pain screamed for him to fall, but his will kept him standing, as steadfast as a mountain.
Adrenaline burned in his veins. He knew that at this rate, he wouldn't survive, but his goal had already been accomplished. He had provoked Azog, pushing him to his limit. The orc was no longer defending himself, blinded by rage. Now, he just had to give Thorin the chance to strike the final blow.
And that chance arrived when his axe was torn from his grasp, flung aside by the orc's monstrous strength. His numbed arms no longer responded. With eyes still blazing with fury, Azog lunged at him.
Balin barely had time to gasp before both blades plunged into his stomach.
A groan of pain escaped his lips, but it was not a cry of fear or surrender. Even with death looming over him, Balin lifted his gaze and locked eyes with Azog, challenging him one last time.
The orc bared his teeth in fury. He hated that look. He wanted to see him beg, to see him break… but all he found was pride and defiance. With a roar of rage, he drove the blades in deeper, feeling them tear through flesh.
Balin stifled a gasp, his body trembled, but he never looked away.
With a cruel laugh, Azog lifted him into the air, holding him like a trophy.
"BALIIIN!"
Bofur's anguished cry echoed across the battlefield. In the distance, he saw his friend suspended, life draining from his body as the orc displayed him like hunted prey.
Azog's cruel laughter rang through the frozen darkness. He had finally done it! But as his frenzied state began to fade, something sent a chill down his spine.
Balin's gaze was still on him, firm, defiant.
A sharp pang of unease ran through the orc. His instincts screamed that something was wrong.
And then it happened.
With the last of his strength, Balin gripped Azog's arms with an iron-clad hold. His life was slipping away, but his determination burned brighter than ever. He would not yield. Not now.
The orc growled, trying to wrench his blades free with a violent pull, but it was in vain. Balin held onto them, driving them even deeper into his own body.
"Now, Thorin!"
The cry tore through the frozen darkness like thunder. He was an old man. His time had come. But he had no regrets. He owed much to the line of Durin… and with his life, he would ensure his king's victory.
Azog finally understood, the foolish old dwarf had sacrificed himself to give that pathetic king a chance. With unnatural frenzy, Azog pulled at the dwarf, trying to break free from his grip. But Balin, even as life drained from him, held on with the last remnants of his will.
Desperation clouded the orc's mind. There was no room for reason, only instinct. With his back completely exposed to his enemy, he kept struggling, ignoring the imminent danger… until he felt it.
Cold steel pierced his spine. Thorin Oakenshield's sword shattered his backbone, cutting off his fury and his strength in an instant.
Azog collapsed. His body no longer responded. His energy slipped away like water from a shattered dam. His arms fell limp, releasing Balin, who no longer had the strength to hold on.
Both bodies hit the ground in a deafening silence. Azog's breathing weakened, and it was a miracle he still clung to life after such a fatal blow. His inhuman endurance allowed him to grasp at the last flickers of consciousness, just enough to see Thorin approaching.
The dwarven king had tears on his face. The weight of Balin's sacrifice crushed his heart, yet in his gaze, there was only determination.
He said nothing. There were no words to express what he felt. He raised his sword and, with a single, precise stroke, Azog's head rolled into the frozen darkness.
The battle was over. Azog the Defiler was dead. And it was the help of a 'mere old man,' as he himself had called him, that sealed his defeat.
The strength drained from Thorin. His grip slackened, and the sword slipped from his hands, sinking into the ice with a hollow sound. Azog was dead. The nightmare was over. Years of hatred and suffering had culminated in that single blow. He had avenged his grandfather. His people.
Dazed, his gaze drifted across the vast expanse of the frozen lake. A strange emptiness filled his chest, as if an unbearable weight had finally lifted from his shoulders. He felt lighter… but also more fragile.
Yet his trance didn't last. It wasn't the cold that snapped him back to reality. It was the blood. A crimson pool spreading across the frozen lake. His heart clenched. He scrambled toward Balin.
The old dwarf lay on the ground, his chest rising and falling with difficulty. Blood seeped from his stomach and trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"Balin…" Thorin whispered, his voice breaking with desperation.
The elder's weary eyes met his. A faint smile appeared on his bloodied lips.
"Thorin… my king…" his voice was barely a whisper.
"We won. We protected our home."
***
Filthy orcs!
Advanche chapters in "p@treon.com/Mrnevercry"