𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐬 ➵︎ [ 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘧 ]

72| Terror

This chapter is dedicated to -artistidor! Thank you for your comments, they mean the world to me. I always appreciate your support and I love interacting with you guys!

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Fear.

Not just the widening of the eyes, or the racing of the heart. Not just the shaking of the hands or the shiver up the spine.

Not just fear.

No. That was putting it mildly.

Terror.

The emotion I hated, now gripping onto my every muscle fibre, my every nerve ending.

Terror was the force that rooted my feet to the ground, the hand that wrapped around my throat, constricting my airway. Terror was the blood-speckled hammer bashing against my brain in a frenzy. Terror was the jagged knife driven deep into my gut, slow but deliberate.

And as I watched the Witch-King loom over Éowyn, as I felt Amarya pulsing rapidly around my finger, the blade slowly twisted.

That...thing had not changed. It was still the same silhouette, the same darkness that had terrorised my nightmares. The same empty pits of darkness that I would see every time I even blinked. The same cruel, piercing screech that echoed throughout the air all those centuries ago. The same cold armour that I just could not forget, and the same wicked blade that cut through all those I loved, and cut down my father.

My mouth ran dry, and I found myself unable to do anything. I couldn't run. I couldn't even open my mouth to cry out. It was as if my mind had lost control over my body.

Éowyn's stance shifted, and even from my distance I could see that clearly, I was not alone in my terror. However, she held her ground, straightening up, her hands tightly gripping the sword and shield.

The Witch-king was silent, simply raising his other hand, producing yet another weapon. A monstrous mace dangled from a thick chain. Menacing, wicked-sharp spikes decorated the weapon, already stained and dripping red with the blood of countless other victims.

And before I could blink, the Nazgul attacked. With another paralysing screech, the Witch-King swung its mace. My entire body flinched as Éowyn only barely leapt out of the way, the spikes embedding into the earth. But he would not let her rest. Swiftly, he swung again, the spiked ball of destruction passing mere inches from the Éowyn, sending her stumbling backwards.

Internally, I cursed myself. I could not just stand here, mouth agape, watching uselessly as she fought against an immortal figment of pure darkness and evil.

Suddenly, I was wrenched from my internal debate by an attacking orc. Reacting instantly, I dodged its swing, before leaping forwards, slashing its throat in one swift motion. Throwing the corpse aside, my breaths fell from my lips in shallow pants as I forced myself to turn my attention back to the Witch-King.

He continued to ruthlessly attack Éowyn, each swing of the mace getting increasingly and dangerously closer as she frantically dove out of the way.

I could not let her face this demon alone.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to suppress any fear bubbling within. All my countless years of meaningless existence...it was for this. To avenge my kingdom. To avenge everyone I had lost to his...no...to its blade.

Opening my eyes, I swallowed, feeling my knuckles whiten as my grip around my golden sword tighten.

All the times I had replayed my father's death in my mind, as I had just watched from the sidelines, too stricken by terror to do anything...I could not let that happen again.