DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters or happenings of middle earth. They belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and sometimes Peter Jackson's stuff might fall in too. I only any OC that happen to fall in. Please, feel free to leave any comments and questions. Follow the story in which ever way you would like, but make your thoughts known. Thank you!

CHAPTER 4

Raining blow after blow on the dwarf's recoiling form, Azog aims to carry out his death oath. The tired dwarf offers little resistance against the battering of his enemy's mace. Thorin lifts his shield to block the first blow only for it to be knocked from his grasp. Tucking into a roll, he raises his sword as a means of forcing the blood thirsty creature back but the weapon quickly follows the fate of its counterpart. The force of the blow flings the dwarrow down a slope and Azog leaps after him, ready to continue the battle. Slamming his mac in a downward arch, the orc barely misses the dwarf as he rolls out of the way. Dirt and grime cling to the pair but neither make the effort to wipe it from their faces. Azog grins as Thorin lifts a small branch of oak against his melee, knowing it cannot hold out under the onslaught for long. It only takes a few strikes before the orc's rival is revealed once more. Standing over his heavily breathing opponent, the defiler's chest fills with dark glee at what is coming. He stares down into eyes he has met many times before. Even in death's wake, the eyes of those descended from Durin always blaze with a fighting spirit. The originator must have been afierce opponent. The sheer elation of having met, and ended, such a passionate people is enough to make the orc's black heart sing.

"Each of my scars are deliberate. Trophies of the lines I have ended." He runs a hand across the long tally marks, gaining satisfaction as the dwarf's eyes flicker to the mutilations and widen at the sheer number of them "I only count the dwarvish lineages. I have decided that your line is next."

"So many lives…" Thorin's gaze lingers on the evidence of the death of so many of his people before snapping his scrutiny to face the orc "May your loins shrivel and never bare the fruit of life!"

"My son scattered your brother's brains over the valley." He replies with a toothy smirk. Azog, spinning in a circular motion to gain momentum to crush the dwarf, bellows "Die!"

A roar sounds followed by a blood chilling howl from the orc chieftain. Clutching the bleeding stump where his left arm used to be, he gurgles in rage. During his spin, Thorin had just enough time to lift a discarded sword and use it to slice off his adversary's arm. The defiler falls to his knees as the prince rises to his feet. The young monarch's body protests from continuous use but he faces his grandfather's killer with a straightened spine.

"You first." He grinds out

The tale of Azog the defiler would have ended there if it weren't for the intervention of his men. Three orcs grasp the arms and torso of their leader, dragging him out of harm's way as two others begin to battle the risen dwarf prince. A pained snarl escapes the pale mutation as his prey becomes further and further but his wound causes weakness to seep into his limbs. His snarls grow louder at this knowledge, refusing to accept his handicap even as the dwarves rally together too follow their new leader. Another army filters onto the battlefield, turning the tides in favor of the dwarves. Azog can only watch as the leader of the new additions lowly swings his war hammer, as if it were an iron foot, knocking the orcs clear across the turf.

"AZOG!" Thorin roars, drawing the attention of defiler as he tries to reach the retreating chieftain "Coward!"

"I've something for ye!" the new dwarf calls suddenly before an arrow with a small pouch thunks into the large orc's chest "A return to sender from me da. Sorry it's late!"

The arrow sits in Azog's chest as a ringing fills his ears and the world darkens around the edges of his sight. Everything slows down and blinking becomes nearly too much for the orc. Dwarves roar and orcs shriek as they do battle; neither side giving an inch. They step over the corpses of their fallen comrades, saving their grief for a safer point in time. Each dragging step away from the surreal moment is punctuated with the clinking of the coin pouch embedded above his heart. Had the Iron hammered dwarf been any better at wielding a bow, his aim would have been true. As it was not, Azog is forced to watch his army fall and he with it. He struggles against the arms pulling him inside to yell a parting remarking.

"I will not forgive this, Durin! I will never forget!" his voice is thick as he roars violently in black speech "Be prepared, for I will find you again and I shall kill you!"

Time seems to flash by and Azog is aware that he is being moved. To where, he is unable to ask but the searing pain in his arm tells him that he is alive. It is a welcome pain compared to the empty feeling he had been floating in. He had met death, but death could not hold him. He awakens many times, the first is to crush the skull of the orc who shoved a spiked weapon into his gaping wound. The second time it is to keep the wargs from devouring him. The third and last time he awakens is because of the darkness. Azog's eyes open, pupils dilating to capture as much light as possible but it still isn't enough. Orcs are naturally equip to thrive where the light lacks but this darkness is deep and more than visual. This is a darkness that can be felt, like a heavy cloak cutting off all sunlight.

"Why have I been brought here?" he questions into the inky blackness when he feels a presence approaching "Speak!"

"I have need of you." A bodiless voice answers, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once "So I brought you and your men here."

"I've no need of you!" the orc growls in return, only to have his chest nearly burst open as the darkness batters against his ribs. It would not have been so painful if the beating hadn't been coming from WITHIN his own body "What… What have you done to me?"

"I have saved you life, Azog the defiler." The voice all but coos in happiness "Now it belongs to me."

"Who are you?" the orc demands, though makes no further move of violence

"I have many names but you…" even without a face, the face grins coldly "you can call me master."

I'm sooooo sorry this took so long. I wrote the chapter, by hand, and then I lost my notebook and had to just wing it. I tried to incorporate everything I could remember. Anyway, I've started writing the sequel to my other story, though I won't be posting it for a while now. Take comfort in knowing that it's getting done! Blackhreat, Laura, and Jesusfreak are the best people out there! See you soon. :)