The orc stronghold in the Misty Mountains was less of a town and more of a vast mine or labyrinthine cave with treacherous terrain.
The orcs, also known as the Uruks, were said to be twisted creatures, the result of elves, humans, and other races captured by the Dark Lord Morgoth in the distant past. Warped by dark magic and cruelty, these beings became deformed monsters, molded into foot soldiers of evil. Over time, they multiplied and spread across Middle-earth, adapting to their environments, which led to the formation of various orc clans.
The half-orcs of this town lived in cramped, dark caves for so long that their bodies had shrunk, and their eyesight deteriorated. They spent their days digging tunnels and setting traps—living much like the goblins of other fantasy worlds.
In contrast, the Azog clan, which had relocated to the ruins of the former dwarf kingdom of Moria, had grown stronger and more proficient in warfare. Operating under a semi-military regime, they held a dominant position compared to their kin in the Misty Mountains.
After suffering heavy losses during a previous encounter with the expedition team, Azog sent word to his son Bolg to rally more orcs from Moria. Together, they planned to meet with the Orc King of Orc Town, a bloated and ancient orc who had ruled over the Misty Mountains for nearly a thousand years.
When the two orc leaders met, there was little in the way of pleasantries. Instead, they immediately began strategizing on how to eliminate the expedition team.
Orcs and dwarves were long-standing enemies, their hatred for each other deeply rooted. As much as the dwarves loathed the orcs, the orcs returned the sentiment with equal ferocity.
Upon hearing news of the expedition team, the Orc King—eager to be paid handsomely—agreed to aid Azog without hesitation. In his mind, the weak half-orcs in his service were expendable. They were, after all, his slaves—sometimes even food for the stronger orcs. Losing some in battle was no great concern.
As they discussed their gruesome plans, scheming how to capture and devour Thorin Oakenshield, grandson of the King Under the Mountain, a thunderous explosion shook the cave. The echoes of orcish shouts followed, and a fearsome roar reverberated through the tunnels.
Azog's expression darkened. His subordinates had already informed him about the wizard traveling with the dwarves and the terrifying beast in their ranks.
Frowning, Azog turned to the Orc King and said, "It's likely the wizard and his magic. They've found your cave."
"They've also tamed a fearsome beast—many of my warriors have already fallen to its claws."
The Orc King, feeling his pride wounded in front of Azog, furiously grabbed the metal scepter beside him and struck one of his minions repeatedly, roaring, "Send someone to find out what's going on! You worthless scum—bring me the heads of our enemies! I want fresh meat tonight!"
The Orc King was grotesquely large, his body swollen and obese from years of indulgence. He never needed to fight or hunt himself, relying entirely on the food brought to him by his minions. His legs had nearly atrophied, and he was often seen lounging on a wooden platform, carried about by his servants.
As the ruler of Orc Town for nearly a millennium, the Orc King commanded absolute loyalty from the half-orcs of the Misty Mountains. Many of them were his descendants, bound by blood to serve him. None dared to disobey his orders.
At his command, a swarm of half-orcs, short and gnarled, with festering skin and makeshift weapons such as mining picks and shovels, rushed toward the sound of the explosion. Their numbers quickly grew as they poured into the narrow passageways of the mine. Soon, nearly a thousand orcs had gathered, all armed with crude weapons.
The mass of bodies surged along the swaying, narrow bridge like a chaotic tide. A few unfortunate orcs were pushed off by their comrades, falling into the abyss below.
Azog watched the scene with disdain. Though the orcs were numerous, they were nothing compared to the disciplined warriors under his command. These half-orcs were an unruly rabble, untrained and disorganized. Despite their numbers, they were unlikely to pose any real threat.
When Azog and the Orc King arrived at the site of the disturbance, the battle unfolded just as Azog had expected.
The most striking sight was an eight-meter-tall beast with dark brown skin, resembling a dragon but with more muscular limbs, large horns, and a terrifyingly predatory appearance—though it had no wings. This creature, Deathclaw Robin, stood guard over the mine's exit. Its massive claws tore through the orc ranks with ease, crushing and slashing any who dared to approach.
The other two passages leading out of the mine had been collapsed by unknown explosives. Buildings near these tunnels had crumbled, and the orcs who had lived within were now buried under rubble, almost certainly dead.
Behind the monstrous deathclaw, Thorin Oakenshield and his companions, including Bilbo Baggins, taunted the orcs. Taking advantage of the high ground, they hurled insults while raining crossbow bolts down from their elevated position.
With Robin acting as an unstoppable shield, no orc could cross the gap to reach the dwarves. Even the orcs' throwing spears and axes, once feared, had no effect on the deathclaw's thick hide. Robin remained unscathed, a towering juggernaut that rendered the orcs' attacks futile.
Even though more than a thousand orcs surged through the mine like a black tide, the expedition team, with Deathclaw Robin at the forefront, stood firm like an immovable rock amidst a storm. No matter how fiercely the orcs attacked, they could do nothing to shake the group's defense, and their lives were swiftly reaped.
In less than ten minutes, black, sticky blood flowed along the cracks of the suspension bridge, dripping down to the bottom of the pit. The ground was soaked with gore, and many corpses were tossed down by Robin's powerful claws. The sight of their fallen comrades quickly cooled the fervor of the orcish horde.
Deathclaw Robin was exhilarated by the slaughter. At times, it was no longer content with simply holding its position. Instead, it dropped to all fours and tore through the orc ranks, using the various weapons attached to its body to decimate the enemies in front of it, only to double back and slaughter more on its return. Among this ragtag band of orcs, none could stand against it.
Azog, witnessing the scene before him, frowned deeply. This was the first time he had seen the full horror of the monster with his own eyes. Meanwhile, the Orc King was consumed with rage. Having ruled the depths of these mountains for centuries, he had long forgotten what failure felt like. He furiously struck the orcs around him with his iron-headed scepter, cursing them to fight harder.
At that moment, Azog felt a sudden chill—an unmistakable killing intent emanating from behind him. A deep voice spoke in fluent Sindarin:
"Found you."
"White-skinned Orc, I presume you are Azog... and the Orc King."
Before Azog or the Orc King, who was being carried on a wooden platform by his underlings, could react, a figure leapt down from the rock wall behind them. Clad in blood-red armor, with an intimidating presence and a gleaming two-handed sword resting on his shoulder, Wayne had finally revealed himself after silently stalking the mine in search of the leaders.
In battle against a disorganized horde, a decapitation strike is one of the most effective strategies.
Wayne moved with blinding speed. As soon as the words left his lips, he launched himself like a cannonball from the wall above. While still in midair, his right hand quickly formed a powerful Aard sign, enhanced with chaotic magic.
As he landed beside Azog and the Orc King, Wayne slammed his left hand against the ground.
Bang!
A shockwave of immense magical energy burst forth from his hand, sending a devastating ripple through the surrounding area. Orcs were flung into the air like leaves in a storm. Dust and debris filled the cavern, creating a wide circular clearing around Wayne.
The blast was so powerful that the orcs caught in it had their internal organs crushed and were left vomiting blood. Some unlucky ones had their bones shattered, dying midair before they even hit the ground.
The shockwave cleared the area immediately around Wayne, forcing the orcs on the perimeter to stagger back. The suspension bridge, already strained, swayed violently. Dozens of orcs lost their footing and plummeted into the bottomless pit below.
But just as the remaining orcs regrouped to rush in and protect their leaders, Wayne moved again. His figure blurred for a split second, and in the next, he split into seven identical knights, each clad in the same blood-red armor.
With the area cleared by the Aard Sign, Wayne's mastery of swordsmanship turned the seven copies of his two-handed sword into lethal scythes, reaping lives with terrifying speed.
His mirror images, though possessing only half his strength, held off the orcs rushing from all directions. Meanwhile, Wayne's true body surged forward toward his primary targets—the Orc King and Azog—without hesitation.
Both leaders, sensing the imminent danger, began to flee. But the witcher's speed was far beyond that of ordinary beings, giving them no chance to escape.
Without any hesitation or flourish, Wayne closed in. Under Azog's watchful gaze, Wayne leapt into the air, and his two-handed sword became a blur of motion. Executing a powerful, clean strike, he brought the blade down with deadly precision, using the New Moon sword technique. The Orc King, still in shock, was split from head to toe, cleaved in half with brutal efficiency.
As the Orc King's body fell, Wayne swiftly unleashed another powerful Aard Sign from his left hand, the force sending both the corpse and the terrified half-orcs nearby flying off the suspension bridge, plummeting into the bottomless pit below.
From the moment Wayne first revealed himself to the destruction of the Orc King, the entire process had taken no more than ten seconds.
Many of the remaining orcs hadn't even realized their leader had been slain. In the narrow confines of the mine, their numerical advantage was nullified, and Wayne's six mirror images easily held back the incoming horde, their two-handed swords cutting down any who approached.
After the Orc King's death, Wayne deliberately controlled the flow of the battle, swiftly dispatching the remaining orcs, leaving only him and Azog standing on the platform.
Throughout the battle, Azog—wielding a massive broadsword in one hand and an iron hook in place of his severed arm—fought with brutal ferocity. His reputation as a ruthless warrior, who had terrorized Moria for centuries, was well-earned.
Thorin Oakenshield himself had gained much of his fame by standing against Azog in battle, blocking his attacks with his oaken shield and severing his arm.
Azog was, without question, one of the fiercest orcs in Middle-earth. Yet, for all his strength and brutality, he was still an ordinary half-orc. He possessed neither magic nor special abilities—nothing that could stand against a master warrior like Wayne, whose skills encompassed combat, magic, and intellect.
As the duration of Wayne's mirror images began to wane, more and more orcs flooded the mine from all sides. The pressure was mounting.
Wayne, sensing the impending end of his clones, smirked at Azog, who was now panting heavily from exhaustion. With a mocking glint in his eye, Wayne snapped his fingers with his free hand. The Axii Sign, imbued with chaotic magic, shot directly into Azog's mind.
Despite Azog's iron will and rage-filled heart, the Axii Sign momentarily took control of his mind, freezing him in place for three crucial seconds.
When Azog finally regained control, Wayne was already behind him. Without giving the pale orc a chance to react, Wayne drove his iron-gloved fist into the back of Azog's head, the sheer force knocking him unconscious.