The Balrog loomed above Arinyanénar, its massive form wreathed in flame and shadow. Its fiery whip cracked through the air, scattering both friend and foe alike. The beast's roar shook the earth, and for a moment, even the stout hearts of the dwarves faltered. But not Arinyanénar.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword. The golden blade burned with a light that rivaled the sun, its flames dancing and roaring as if eager for the battle. He stepped forward, the heat of the Balrog washing over him like a suffocating wave.
"I will end you," Arinyanénar growled, his voice steady and resolute.
The Balrog lashed out with its whip, the flaming cord slicing through the air toward him. Arinyanénar raised the sword, the golden flames of the blade flaring as they met the fire of the whip. The impact sent sparks flying, and the force of it pushed Arinyanénar back a step.
With a shout, he surged forward, the sword glowing brighter as it clashed against the Balrog's massive blade. Each swing of the sword released waves of scorching heat, and every strike that landed left glowing, molten wounds on the creature's flesh. The Balrog roared in fury, swinging its fiery sword in a wide arc.
Arinyanénar ducked beneath the swing and retaliated, calling upon the Infernal Charge. The sword's fiery energy propelled him forward in a blur, leaving a blazing trail in his wake. The sword carved deep into the Balrog's leg, cutting through flame and shadow to the dark, sinewy muscle beneath. Black blood, hot as lava, sprayed from the wound, hissing as it hit the ground.
The Balrog stumbled but retaliated, its whip striking out like a viper. The flaming cord wrapped around Arinyanénar's arm, searing through his armor and burning his skin. He gritted his teeth against the pain, wrenching free just in time to dodge a downward strike from the Balrog's massive sword. The ground where the blade struck erupted in flames and debris, sending shards of rock flying in all directions.
A piercing whinny rang out as Lauriënénar, his horse, charged into the fray. The steed's hooves glowed with a silver light, striking the Balrog's back with the force of a hammer. The creature staggered, momentarily distracted, and Arinyanénar seized the opportunity.
He activated Blinding Radiance, the sword flaring with a burst of intense light. The Balrog howled, its fiery eyes blinded by the sudden brilliance. Arinyanénar leaped high, his sword raised above his head. The blade ignited in a cascade of golden flames as he called upon the Flame of the Sun, bringing it down with a mighty swing.
The sword carved into the Balrog's shoulder, the golden fire consuming its flesh and bone. The creature screeched in agony, its fiery form flickering and dimming. Arinyanénar pulled the blade free and struck again, severing one of its massive arms in a spray of molten blood. The Balrog retaliated wildly, swinging its remaining arm and smashing Lauriënénar aside. The horse stumbled but rose, its fiery spirit unyielding.
The Balrog's whip lashed out again, but this time, Arinyanénar was ready. He raised Amanarótar and unleashed Solar Fury. A massive wave of flame burst forth, engulfing the Balrog and the surrounding orcs in a sea of golden fire. The heat was unbearable, and the battlefield was bathed in a light so intense it seemed as though the sun had descended upon Middle-earth.
When the flames subsided, the Balrog stood barely upright, its once-mighty form reduced to a charred, flickering shadow. Arinyanénar charged, the sword blazing with renewed fury. With a final, mighty swing, he drove the blade through the Balrog's chest, the golden flames consuming its heart. The creature let out one last, ear-splitting roar before collapsing, its fiery body extinguished as it crumbled into ash.
The orc army, witnessing the fall of their monstrous champion, broke into chaos. Arinyanénar turned his blazing blade upon them, unleashing the Flame of the Sun in sweeping arcs. Each strike sent waves of fire coursing through the ranks of the orcs, turning them to ash and scattering the survivors in panic.
The dwarves of Belegost and Nogrod rallied behind him, cutting down the fleeing orcs with axes and hammers. The battlefield became a slaughter, the ground slick with black blood and littered with severed limbs. Victory was theirs.
As the last of the orcs fell, Arinyanénar stood amidst the carnage, the sword glowing with the light of triumph. His chest heaved with exhaustion, and his burns throbbed with pain, but his spirit was unbroken.
Then, as the dust settled, a vision filled his mind. Aule's deep, resonant voice echoed in his thoughts.
"You have proven yourself, Arinyanénar. Your courage and strength are a testament to your lineage. This blade shall bear the name Amanarótar, Dawnbreaker, for it is a light that will pierce even the darkest shadow."
The vision faded, and Arinyanénar looked down at the sword in his hand, its golden flames burning brighter than ever. It was more than a weapon—it was a symbol of hope and defiance, a gift from the divine.
He sheathed Amanarótar and turned to face the cheering dwarves, ready for what lay ahead.