Sylas stood beneath the weight of Sauron's gaze, every nerve in his body taut. The Dark Lord's presence pressed in like a storm, and with it came the relentless tide of whispered voices, hissing like a swarm of insects gnawing at the walls of his mind.
But Sylas was no stranger to such assaults. He had honed Occlumency to perfection, and within his mind stood an unyielding fortress, its ramparts braced against every probing tendril of corruption. Still, Sauron's might was vast beyond measure. The whispers battered him without pause, and though his walls held, he felt their stones beginning to crack. His face had gone pale; the strain was immense. He knew he could not endure forever.
Saruman's bitterness curdled like poison in his veins. The more Sauron praised Sylas, the sharper the sting became. He had labored for decades to fashion his own ring, drawing on scraps of knowledge stolen and half-remembered from the Dark Lord, only to watch that same craft dismissed as crude when compared to what Sylas held so casually in his hand.
Sauron's admiration was no idle flattery either; Saruman knew it. The Dark Lord saw in Sylas something he had never once acknowledged in him, true potential, the touch of a master smith. And that was what enraged him most.
For a moment, these protections bought him breath. But the ring's magic bled away like a flood through broken gates. If nothing changed, he was finished.
And then;
[Hogwarts Sign-In System: Location, Minas Harad Fortress. Sign in?]
The words blazed across his mind like fire in the night. Sylas's eyes lit with sudden, desperate hope.
"Yes!" he shouted inwardly. "Sign in!"
Sylas only prayed the system would not betray him this time, but grant him something truly useful, something that could turn despair into escape.
[Sign-in successful. Congratulations, you have obtained a Portkey!]
His eyes blazed with sudden hope. Relief surged through him like water breaking a dam. At last! The system had given him exactly what he needed.
Saruman's wards had bound the air itself, smothering any chance of Apparition. No spell of teleportation could pierce those bindings. But a Portkey was different, ancient magic older than such wards. Where Apparition was blocked, a Portkey could still carry its bearer across leagues in the blink of an eye.
Without hesitation, Sylas forced his mind to study the charm. The invisible Crown of Wisdom upon his brow flared with light, sharpening every thought until his mind raced faster than any mortal scholar's. Yet the cost was great. His focus wavered from the fortress walls of Occlumency in his mind, and at once Sauron's whispers pressed harder, gnawing at the cracks in his defenses.
The Dark Lord was quick to notice. Sensitive to every flicker of thought, every surge of hope, he felt the shift at once. His crimson gaze narrowed.
Something had changed.
With a roar, Sauron hurled his full strength against the shield of power surrounding Sylas. The barrier quivered like glass struck by a hammer. Each blow devoured the ring's magic in torrents. What should have lasted minutes was bleeding away in seconds. The shield thinned to a trembling veil of light.
And then Sylas opened his eyes, the decision made. He ignored the storm hammering against his barrier, ignored Saruman's leering gaze, ignored even Sauron's vast shadow towering above him. Holding high the Phial of Eärendil, he cried the incantation:
"Portus!"
The crystal vessel blazed blue. Light ran across its surface like quicksilver, and the glass trembled as though alive.
"Rómestámo!" Sylas shouted over the roar. "Take Morinehtar, touch the Phial, now!"
The Blue Wizard staggered, his face pale, his will nearly spent. He had poured everything into shielding Morinehtar's broken mind from corruption. His strength was gone, but not his loyalty. With the last of his power, he clutched his friend with one arm and reached with the other, pressing his fingers to the glowing crystal.
Sylas stretched out his free hand to lay hold of the bison's shaggy mane.
The world yanked itself out from under them. A hook seemed to pierce his very navel, dragging him forward with irresistible force. Their feet left the ground. The fortress, the shadow, the very air became a blur.
"No!"
Sauron's roar split the skies. Power exploded from him in a storm of annihilation. Before his fury could shatter the shield, Sylas, Rómestámo, Morinehtar, and the bison vanished from Minas Harad.
They were gone.
The Dark Lord's wrath became a cataclysm. His power burst outward in an invisible shockwave, obliterating stone and flesh alike. The fortress of Minas Harad disintegrated in an instant, walls collapsing to dust, towers toppling like stalks of wheat. Haradrim and Orcs screamed once and were gone, shredded by the fury of their master. Even the great mûmakil were torn apart, their cries drowned beneath the storm.
The Ringwraiths threw themselves to the earth, prostrate, trembling before his rage.
Saruman staggered, his fine robes reduced to rags of dust and ash, leaning hard on his staff to keep from falling. Though he shielded himself with all his power, terror still gripped his heart. He dared not speak, dared not breathe too loudly, lest the fire in Sauron's eyes turn upon him.
...
Stones Plzzz
Read chapters ahead @/Keepsmiling818