The lightning Saruman summoned raged like the end of the world. Mountainside boulders shattered, ancient trees burned to ash, and the earth itself blackened beneath the storm.
This was the White Wizard unleashing his full fury.
From within the protective barrier, Sylas felt his blood run cold. He knew that if Saruman had attacked him with such strength from the very start, without overconfidence, without the intent to capture, he would likely already be dead.
Yet here, against Galadriel, even that power faltered.
Calm as the sea before dawn, she raised her hand. Nenya, the Ring of Water, glimmered faintly, and a vast dome of liquid light shimmered into being. Lightning, wild and merciless, struck the barrier again and again, but every bolt bent and slid aside as if meeting a tide too deep to fathom.
She stood unmoved, like a star fixed against the turning heavens.
Saruman's gaze fell upon the Elven Ring with dread, and envy.
It was envy that had poisoned him from the beginning.
He had come willingly to Middle-earth, chosen among the five Istari to aid its peoples against Sauron's return. Yet when Círdan the Shipwright gave Narya, the Ring of Fire, into Gandalf's hand instead of his, bitterness took root.
When Galadriel later summoned the great and wise to form the White Council, and Gandalf humbly declined its leadership, naming Saruman instead, the White Wizard felt no gratitude. He saw hypocrisy. He saw mockery.
And as Gandalf, Galadriel, and Elrond, each bearing an Elven Ring, grew in trust and fellowship, Saruman's jealousy curdled into resentment. His pride, long unchallenged, festered into treachery.
His fall had not been sudden, it was years of envy, pride, and bitterness calcifying into betrayal.
"Saruman, your Isengard has been breached. You are surrounded. Cease this resistance and face judgment!"
Elrond's voice rang across the plain, clear as steel drawn from its sheath. Vilya, the Ring of Air, glowed on his hand as he summoned a cleansing storm, breaking apart Saruman's thunderclouds.
Gandalf's staff burned with white fire as he poured the strength of Narya into his allies, steadying their spirits and pressing against Saruman's will like a tide.
For the first time in history, the three Elven Rings blazed together, their united light arrayed against the corrupted White Wizard.
But Saruman only sneered.
"You flaunt your Elven Rings, but do not think I am outmatched!"
From the folds of his robe he drew forth a golden ring, sliding it onto his finger.
At first sight, it looked so like the One Ring that Sylas and Gandalf both started, their hearts clenching in dread. For a heartbeat, even Galadriel's gaze flickered.
But then Gandalf remembered: the One Ring lay safe under Tom Bombadil's watchful care. He himself had checked upon it not long past.
Even so, the power that burst from Saruman now made the air tremble.
Thunderclouds, which Elrond's storm had driven back, came roaring together once more, thicker and blacker than before. The land for leagues darkened beneath them, and thunderheads could be seen as far away as the coasts of Gondor.
Saruman raised his staff, his voice triumphant, his form haloed in storm.
"Behold my masterpiece! Forged by my own hand, with craft greater than yours! This ring is not weaker than your Elven trinkets, it is perfection, greater than them all. Together, you cannot overcome me!"
Gandalf's eyes hardened, and Elrond's hand tightened upon his sword. Even Galadriel's serene face grew grave.
They all understood: Saruman's creation was a Ring of Power driven not by healing, not by beauty, not by knowledge, but by ambition alone. His craft pursued one aim only: dominion.
And that made it all the more dangerous.
The power of Saruman's counterfeit Ring of Power flared like a storm, its strength pressing even the Elven Rings to their limits.
He unleashed a thunderous shockwave that tore at the earth, while bolts of lightning hammered down from the sky, each strike threatening to incinerate all before it.
Galadriel's shimmering water-barrier strained under the onslaught, shrinking with each impact. Gandalf braced beside her, Narya burning bright, conjuring a second shield to reinforce her defense.
Meanwhile, Elrond and Sylas pressed the attack.
Elrond's Elven blade cleaved through Saruman's rippling magic.
Sylas flickered from shadow to shadow, Apparating in bursts of light, loosing hexes and strikes to parry Saruman's defenses.
But the White Wizard was no frail old man. His staff spun with deadly precision, parrying Elrond's blade with shocking strength, while bursts of raw power from its tip forced the Elf-lord back step by step. Each time Sylas appeared, Saruman was ready, countering with uncanny reflexes.
"Crucio!"
Sylas barked, Apparating behind Saruman and flinging a curse at him, just as Elrond lunged from the front with his sword.
For a heartbeat, Saruman was caught between two blades.
But with a roar, the golden ring on his finger flared. A fiery shield erupted around him, swallowing both attacks in a wall of living flame.
"Hahaha!" Saruman bellowed, eyes wild with triumph. "You waste yourselves in vain! I am Saruman the White, the greatest of all! None can defeat me!"
The shield suddenly surged outward, expanding like a fiery dome and rushing toward Elrond and Sylas, searing the ground black in its wake.
But before it could consume them, a massive shadow blotted out the fire.
Smaug descended with a thunderous roar, jaws gaping wide. He clamped his teeth around Saruman and his shield, crushing down with earth-shaking force. Scorching dragonfire poured from his maw, seeking to swallow wizard and ring alike.
Saruman was caught off guard, his body writhing inside the dragon's jaws.
"You dare!" he spat, fury vibrating in his voice. With a heave of desperate strength, he wedged his staff against Smaug's fangs and unleashed a torrent of lightning.
The bolt detonated inside Smaug's mouth. The dragon howled in agony, his wings faltering as smoke and blood spewed from his throat. His massive body staggered, crashing against the earth.
Saruman tore free, staggering into the open once more. His robes and beard were scorched black, his hair wild and singed.
"Smaug!" Sylas shouted, horror flashing across his face.
But there was no time to tend to the dragon. He Apparated directly behind Saruman, wand raised, voice laced with venom.
"Crucio!"
Saruman quickly tried to resist, but Crucio was not merely a magical destructive force; it was a torment of both mind and body.
Crucio had pierced through Saruman, wracking his body with torment and twisting his face into a grotesque mask of agony. Yet his mind, tempered by centuries as a Maia, proved formidable. Even beneath such pain, he clung to consciousness, forcing his staff alight with raw power. A dazzling shockwave erupted from its tip, hurling both Sylas and Elrond backwards.
Twin bolts of lightning followed, lashing through the air like a spear.
Sylas, spinning through the void, Apparated mid-fall and reappeared beside Elrond, pulling him back within Galadriel's protective barrier where Gandalf awaited.
"With that counterfeit Ring feeding him, Saruman is stronger than any of us," Elrond said grimly, breathing hard. "So long as the thunderclouds remain, he wields the storm as his weapon. We must strip it from him, or he cannot be checked."
Galadriel inclined her head, eyes glimmering with calm resolve. "Then let me hold the shield. Elrond, only the Ring of Air can disperse the storm. It must be you."
"And I will lend you my strength," Gandalf added, placing his hand upon Elrond's arm. Power from Narya flowed into the Elf-lord, fortifying his spirit.
Sylas, though unable to aid directly, tightened his grip on his staff and nodded. "Then I will distract him. He won't have the chance to interfere."
He vanished with a crack, reappearing at Saruman's flank, then again at his back, sending hexes and flame, forcing the White Wizard to split his attention.
Elrond raised his left hand, Vilya gleaming like a star, and began to chant in Quenya. His voice rolled like distant thunder, solemn and commanding.
The air stirred. The wind answered.
First a whisper, then a gale, until a roaring tornado coiled skyward. Trees tore from their roots, boulders were ripped from the earth, and the sky itself bent beneath the spiraling column.
Within Galadriel's translucent barrier, the companions clung firm though their robes whipped violently and the ground trembled. Outside, Saruman alone bore the brunt.
Snarling, he drove his staff into the ground like the root of a great oak. The storm lashed at him mercilessly, his robe and hair whipping, yet still he stood, stubborn and unyielding, locked at the tornado's heart.
The cyclone grew monstrous, like a serpent of wind clawing into the heavens. Its spiraling maw devoured the thunderclouds, ripping them apart and drawing them into its funnel.
Bolts of lightning flickered within its spinning depths, only to vanish into nothingness. Slowly, the sky cleared, first a patch, then a vast rift, until the storm was swallowed whole. Sunlight broke through at last, pouring golden light upon the land.
The tornado itself shuddered, groaned like a dying beast, and then unraveled. Its remnants scattered as dust, trees, and stone fragments that rained harmlessly to the ground.
The heavens stood clear. Saruman's storm was gone.
Galadriel let her hand fall, her silver-gold hair gleaming in the sunlight. "Saruman," she called, her voice calm yet irresistible, like a queen upon her throne. "You are spent. No clouds remain to shield you. Surrender now, for your strength is broken."
...
Stones Plzzz
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