The Mage of Middle-Earth - CH - 72

The fire from the Balrog’s emergence painted the walls of Moria in an orange glow that flickered like the final moments of a dying candle. The Fellowship stood still, their hearts gripped with fear as the great demon advanced, its molten eyes burning with malice. Gandalf was already preparing for the inevitable confrontation, his staff raised high and his sword gleaming with a cold, steely light.

“Gandalf…” Aragorn’s voice was tight with worry as he stepped forward. “Can you defeat it?”

The wizard’s eyes were dark, filled with the burden of his knowledge. His hand, steady yet resolute, tightened on his staff. “This creature is a Balrog of Morgoth,” Gandalf replied gravely, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. “It is no mere foe. This demon was forged in the darkness before the world as we know it. Even for me, it is a difficult battle. The strength I possess may not be enough.”

Samwise felt a cold knot form in his stomach. He glanced at Frodo, whose pale face mirrored his own dread. He knew what Gandalf meant—if the wizard could not defeat the Balrog, the others would be left alone in a dark, hostile place, fighting for their survival. But the thought of losing Gandalf, the one who had led them through so much already, was too much to bear. It was a blow too deep to even think about.

Gandalf continued, his voice filled with grim resolve. “I will hold it off for as long as I can. You must escape. The Ring must reach safety. It is the only chance we have. Go. Run.”

Sam's heart sank even further, understanding the unspoken truth behind Gandalf’s words. Escape… But that would mean leaving Gandalf to face the Balrog alone, to fight a creature that even the mightiest of wizards could barely stand against.

He couldn't bear it. He couldn’t allow Gandalf to be sacrificed in such a way. There had to be another option. There had to be someone else who could help, someone who could tip the scales.

Without thinking, Sam looked around, his voice filled with urgency. “Gandalf… I need to do something. There’s someone who can help. There’s someone I can call.”

Gandalf turned his head sharply, his expression puzzled. “Who?”

His hands shot to his pack, fumbling for the small enchanted mirror that had been given to him by Jimmy Porter before they parted ways. A safeguard. A way to communicate in dire circumstances. It had remained hidden away, untouched—until now.

He pulled it out, a smooth, silver surface reflecting nothing but the firelight around them. His breath quickened as he held it up and spoke urgently, “Jimmy Potter! Jimmy, if you can hear me, we need help! It’s Gandalf—there’s a Balrog! He’s going to fight it alone, and we can’t let that happen!”

The mirror remained still for a moment, then rippled like water disturbed by a single drop. The reflection twisted, shimmering with magic, and a voice—strong and familiar—came through.

“Samwise?” Jimmy Potter’s face appeared, his brows furrowed with concern. “What’s happening? Where are you?”

“In Moria! We were ambushed, and now a Balrog’s here! Gandalf says we have to run, but he’s going to fight it alone!”

Jimmy’s expression darkened, his eyes flashing with determination. “Hold tight. I’m coming.”

A flash of light.

It illuminated the dark hall of Moria for just a moment, casting a strange shadow upon the walls, before fading. Sam’s heart pounded in his chest as he opened his eyes, staring at the stone in his hand.

For a moment, all was still.

Then, a voice, faint but unmistakable, rang out across the chamber. “Samwise? Is that you?”

Sam’s eyes widened in disbelief. It was him. It was Jimmy Potter.

“Jimmy!” Sam cried out, his voice filled with both relief and urgency. “We need your help. There’s a Balrog—an ancient demon—and Gandalf is about to face it alone. We need you.”

The air around them seemed to hum, the very stone vibrating as if responding to the call. Sam could feel the weight of Jimmy's presence, even though they were worlds apart.

“We’ll do what we can,” came the reply, firm and strong. “Stay where you are. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

Sam felt a renewed sense of hope, a strength he hadn’t known he was capable of. They weren’t alone. Someone was coming. Someone who could tip the scales, who could help turn this tide of darkness.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Samwise allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they would escape this nightmare.

But they had to keep moving. Time was slipping away.

“Gandalf!” Sam called, his voice steady now. “Jimmy’s on his way. We’re not alone.”

Gandalf looked at him, his face filled with a mixture of disbelief and cautious hope. “You’ve done what you can, Samwise. But I will not ask him to risk his life…”

“Then don’t,” Sam interrupted, his voice unwavering. “But we have a chance. A real one. And we’re not going to waste it.”

The Balrog loomed, its fiery form casting shadows as it advanced. The moment was fast approaching, but Sam knew—he knew now—that they had a chance.

Jimmy Potter had arrived.

He barely had a moment to register his surroundings before his sharp eyes landed on the approaching Balrog. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his wand—or rather, the enchanted sword he carried, forged with powerful magic of his own. His gaze flickered to Gandalf.

“You weren’t planning on facing this thing alone, were you?” Jimmy said, his tone half a challenge, half a jest, though his eyes betrayed the weight of the situation.

Gandalf, though surprised, merely nodded. “A formidable enemy,” he admitted. “One that should not be underestimated.”

Jimmy turned his gaze to the fiery beast, watching as the Balrog’s whip cracked again, flames licking hungrily at the air. He tightened his grip on his weapon.

“Well,” Jimmy said, rolling his shoulders, “I guess I arrived just in time for the fun.”

Gandalf stood his ground, staff in one hand, Glamdring in the other. His white beard flowed with the unseen currents of power surrounding him. He was a being of wisdom and might, but against a creature of this magnitude, even he knew the battle would not be easy.

“Stay back!” Gandalf commanded the Fellowship, his voice ringing through the hall. “This battle is beyond you!”

Jimmy Potter gritted his teeth, standing between the Fellowship and the encroaching demon. His sword gleamed, humming with the latent enchantments woven into its very steel. He was no stranger to battles of magic and power, but even he could feel the sheer might of the creature before them.

The Balrog roared, raising its fiery whip and bringing it down with a force that split the very stone beneath them. Gandalf lifted his staff, summoning a great shield of light that held back the burning tendrils of destruction. The impact sent shockwaves through the chamber, scattering loose rocks and dust in all directions.

The wizard lunged, striking with Glamdring, the blade infused with the light of the Eldar. Sparks flew as the Balrog parried with its monstrous, charred blade. The sound of their clashing rang like a tolling bell of doom.

Jimmy watched carefully, his mind racing. Gandalf was holding his own, but barely. Each strike from the Balrog pushed the wizard further back, its sheer brute force overwhelming even the mighty Glamdring.

Then, Gandalf faltered.

A massive swing from the Balrog sent him skidding back, nearly toppling him to his knees. He caught himself with his staff, panting, his grip tightening around the wood. He could still fight—but the cost would be grave.

Jimmy knew what had to be done.

“Gandalf!” he called, stepping forward. “You protect the Fellowship! I’ll take care of this thing!”

Gandalf turned sharply, eyes blazing. “You do not understand the power you face!”

Jimmy only smirked. “Then it’s time I learned.”

Without waiting for an answer, he dashed forward, his enchanted blade glowing with runes that pulsed with raw magic.

The Balrog, sensing a new challenge, turned its gaze to Jimmy. It let out a monstrous growl, lashing out with its whip. Jimmy countered, slashing at the fiery tendrils with a speed beyond normal human reflexes. Each crack of the whip sent embers flying, but Jimmy stood firm.

Then, he unleashed his power.

From his belt, he withdrew an enchanted dagger, one crafted from the scales of the fallen dragon, smaug. He hurled it at the Balrog, the weapon slicing through the air like a comet of blue flame. It struck true, embedding itself in the demon’s shoulder.

The Balrog roared in pain, but it did not slow. Instead, it surged forward, striking with renewed fury. Jimmy barely dodged as a massive fist slammed into the ground where he had stood, shattering the stone floor into molten fragments.

Jimmy pulled out another weapon—his enchanted gauntlets, forged with the strength of a thousand spells. He clenched his fists, and the magic within them ignited, crackling with blue lightning.

With a fierce cry, he leapt at the Balrog, striking with all his might. His fist connected with the creature’s face, sending a shockwave of energy rippling through the hall. The force of the blow sent the demon staggering back for the first time.

But it was not enough.

The Balrog straightened, the wound on its shoulder already cauterized by its own heat. It let out a deep, guttural laugh, mocking Jimmy’s efforts. Then, with a single, devastating swing of its sword, it shattered Jimmy’s enchanted gauntlets, the magic dissipating like mist in the wind.

Jimmy’s eyes widened.

His most powerful enchanted weapons—defeated so easily.

The realization hit him like a hammer. The Balrog was unlike anything he had ever fought before. His strongest weapons, forged in the fires of magic and strengthened by the wisdom of masters, were useless.

But he was not done yet.

Jimmy stepped back, breathing heavily, his mind racing for a new strategy. The Fellowship watched in horror as the battle escalated, the chamber trembling with each clash.

Gandalf, still standing protectively before the others, gripped his staff tightly. “Jimmy! This is not a foe you can fight alone!”

Jimmy exhaled slowly, a grin creeping onto his face despite the danger. “Good thing I never fight fair.”

Jimmy Potter stood at the center of the chaos, breathing heavily, his body aching from the relentless battle. Every weapon, every enchantment he had crafted had failed. The Balrog was too powerful—unstoppable by ordinary means.

He clenched his fists, his mind racing. There was one last option. One last power he had sworn never to use. A power that would reveal the truth he had hidden for so long.

The Black Family Magic.

Jimmy hesitated, his heart pounding. He knew that the moment he used it, there would be no more secrets. Gandalf, Legolas, and the others would know the truth. The man they had fought beside, the one they believed was merely a warrior from another land, was in fact Sirius Black.

He exhaled slowly. He had no choice.

As the Balrog raised its sword for a final strike, Jimmy let go.

A dark aura erupted around him, his body trembling as the magic surged from the depths of his soul. His flesh shimmered, twisting, shifting—changing. His Hobbit form began to dissolve, his features elongating, his frame growing taller. The enchantment hiding his true self shattered like glass.

The Fellowship gasped in shock.

Gandalf's eyes widened, his usual calm momentarily broken. “Impossible...” he whispered.

Legolas, who had met Sirius Black before in another land, took a step back, his sharp Elven eyes filled with disbelief. “It cannot be... Sirius Black?”

Aragorn’s grip on his sword tightened, while Gimli let out a low, wary grunt. The others, too stunned to react, merely watched as the transformation completed.

Standing before them was no longer Jimmy Potter, the warrior they had known.

It was Sirius the Black, the wandering dark wizard, and master of a magic darker than any in Middle-earth had ever seen.

Sirius raised his hand. The air around him grew thick with unnatural energy. The shadows themselves seemed to respond to his call. His eyes, once alight with determination, now burned with a deeper, more ancient power.

The ground trembled.

Then, the chains emerged.

Thick, black as obsidian, wreathed in hellish flames, the chains burst from the stone floor of Moria, rising like serpents from the abyss. They twisted and coiled with eerie sentience, their edges lined with runes that pulsed with an insatiable hunger.

The Balrog recoiled.

It let out a monstrous roar, swinging its fiery whip in defiance, but it was too late.

With a mere flick of Sirius’s wrist, the chains shot forward.

They wrapped around the Balrog’s massive limbs, piercing through flesh and fire alike. The beast howled in agony as the enchanted metal dug into its very essence, binding it, suffocating it. The chains slithered over its entire body, squeezing tighter, choking the ancient demon as if the fires of Morgoth were being extinguished by an even darker force.

The Black Fire consumed it.

The cursed flames that ran along the chains did not burn like normal fire—they devoured. They fed upon magic itself, drawing out the Balrog’s strength, draining its power, absorbing its very soul into Sirius Black.

The Balrog writhed, struggling against the inescapable grip of the Black Family Magic. It screamed, its voice a mixture of rage and fear as it felt something it had never known before—helplessness.

The Fellowship watched in stunned horror. This was no ordinary battle. This was not the magic of Elves or Wizards. This was something ancient, terrible, forbidden.

Sirius could feel it. The power of the Balrog surging into him, filling his veins with raw, burning magic. His body trembled under the overwhelming force. His muscles screamed in protest. His very soul felt as if it were tearing apart.

But he did not stop.

He could not stop.

The chains tightened, the Balrog's form growing weaker. Its molten eyes flickered, its flames dimming, its monstrous strength dwindling as the magic was siphoned away.

Then, with a final, echoing roar, the Balrog of Morgoth was reduced to ash.

The chains crumbled. The flames flickered once more before vanishing into darkness.

And Sirius… collapsed to his knees.

His breath came in ragged gasps. His body was barely able to remain upright. He had won… but at what cost?

The Fellowship remained silent, unable to process what they had just witnessed.

Gandalf finally spoke, his voice heavy with a mixture of caution and admiration. “Black Magic… The magic of destruction.”

Legolas stepped forward, staring at Sirius with eyes full of both understanding and disbelief. “You… you were Jimmy Potter all along?”

Sirius let out a weak chuckle, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Yeah… I suppose I owe you all an explanation.”

But for now, there was no time for explanations.

Because Sirius Black—once thought lost to time and space—had just absorbed the power of a Balrog.

And that… was dangerous.