Compared to a dragon, a Balrog wasn't quite as large.
But that hardly mattered. They were infinitely tougher to kill, and far, far deadlier.
In the Elder Days, when dragons still filled the skies, many of those mighty winged beasts had once been the mounts of Balrogs. The demons would ride on their backs over the walls of fortresses, leaping into cities to unleash chaos and fire upon all below.
Before Morgoth created the first true flying dragons, the Elves had never even imagined that they would one day need to defend against enemies falling from the heavens. The lesson was… costly.
Inside the ruined hall, Eric stood before the gaping hole in the wall and stared at the Balrog's health bar, eyebrows twitching.
+1 +1.
The wound he had just inflicted was gone almost instantly. The Balrog's flames flared, and its health completely regenerated in seconds.
"Great," Eric muttered. "Another overpowered boss monster."
The creature's regeneration rate was nearly equal to his own, and that was saying something.
His fire resistance potion allowed him to endure heat and flames, but it didn't counteract the Balrog's divine fire like the Ring of Fire once had.
Water could suppress a Balrog's flames, but unless it was an entire river or lake, it would barely dim its fire.
Unfortunately, Eric didn't exactly have time to dig a lake right now.
Water had its power only because all waters of the world still carried the faint blessing of Ulmo, Lord of Waters. Every drop contained a trace of divine purification, capable of burning corruption and darkness.
That was also why Orcs could only drink filthy water—the clean kind hurt them worse than poison.
A deep, rumbling growl shook the hall.
The Balrog had clearly noticed the ambush. With a furious snarl, it grabbed a chunk of stone and hurled it across the chamber. Eric vanished in a flash of light, reappearing at a safe distance with a teleportation pearl.
The demon's molten eyes locked on him immediately. It stomped forward, clawing through the wreckage of the great gate to squeeze inside.
A sharp hiss filled the air.
The piles of TNT Eric had carefully placed earlier were now catching fire from the Balrog's heat, one after another.
The Balrog paused, sensing something was wrong.
Boom!
The world exploded in white and orange light. Shockwaves tore through the hall, stone walls cracked, and chunks of flaming debris rained down.
The explosion turned the entrance into a crater, but at least the Balrog had a convenient doorway now—large enough for it to walk through comfortably.
Eric glanced back at the wreckage.
With a thud, flaming debris flew skyward as the Balrog emerged from the rubble, roaring with fury.
"You miserable insect! You dare to fight fire with fire?"
Its face twisted into something that almost resembled a grin—if molten hatred could grin.
Eric shrugged. "Yeah… not my brightest plan."
Fire and explosions. Of course the creature was immune to both.
"Let's see what makes you tick."
He pulled out his analysis lens, scanning the advancing Balrog as if examining a particularly stubborn piece of redstone machinery.
Fire, Chaos, Void, Hunger, Energy, Darkness, Soul…
And then new elements appeared.
Immortality. Wrath. Pride.
And finally, something that made Eric's pulse quicken.
Forbidden.
"Well," he murmured. "That explains a lot."
The Balrog raised its blazing sword high. Eric lifted his own blade—Nemesis—and met the strike head-on.
Clang!
The impact lit the room in a blinding flash, hurling both combatants backward. Neither gave ground. They lunged again, blades meeting in a storm of sparks and thunder.
The floor cracked under Eric's boots as he skidded backward. Even his netherite armor's knockback resistance was struggling to keep him steady.
That armor could deflect arrows, shrug off troll punches, and even endure a giant's club. But a Balrog's strength wasn't something mortal smithing could truly resist.
After all, this was no mere monster. This was a fallen Maia—a being once divine.
Crash!
Their blades clashed again, the runic barrier around Eric flickering under the pressure.
His swordsmanship skill boosted the power of each consecutive strike, stacking with every swing until it reached its limit.
And something else—something ancient and luminous—was helping him. Every time their swords met, a faint white light glimmered along his blade, protecting it from shattering under the Balrog's heat.
"An elven enchantment," the Balrog hissed, disgust curling in its voice.
In its left hand, a whip of fire coalesced.
The air itself crackled as the demon snapped it forward.
Eric parried the flaming sword, but the whip lashed toward him, curling around his weapon.
"Oh, so you want to disarm me?" he said, almost amused.
Skill activated: Parry!
The whip jerked back violently, repelled by some unseen force. Eric didn't stop there—he reached out, grabbed the end of the whip, and yanked.
The Balrog's eyes widened as its arm jerked forward slightly.
For a split second, it almost lost its grip on the weapon.
What kind of strength is this?!
Both of them had the same thought.
Eric's "Parry" skill had a follow-up move: Disarm. If the enemy's weapon wasn't magically bound, he had a chance to knock it loose.
But this time, raw power was on the Balrog's side. No amount of technique could wrest a sword from a being that could crack mountains with a swing.
The demon growled low, finally looking serious.
"Enough. Kill him!" it commanded.
From the shadows, dozens of terrified Orcs flinched. Their faces twisted as invisible power seized their minds.
From the dawn of time, Balrogs had been commanders of Morgoth's legions, second only to their dark master. Even dragons had once yielded before them.
And Orcs… Orcs were nothing more than expendable creations.
The command tore through their souls, replacing Sauron's lingering control with the Balrog's raw domination.
The Orcs' eyes gleamed red in the gloom as they turned toward Eric, trembling yet compelled to obey.
They didn't want to fight. Anyone could see that. But fear, both ancient and immediate, drove them forward.
Eric sighed. "You poor idiots."
He glanced at the Balrog, then at the mob of Orcs surrounding him.
"Well… it's been fun."
He smiled, gave a little salute, and turned on his heel.
"Goodbye."
Then he strode off toward the mountains.