Author: Hey there. So I finally started uploading this story.

Originally, I wanted to wait until I'm at Chapter 15 of the rewrite, but I learned after I needed like two months for one chapter that I basically have no more motivation left as work and school are a creativity-murdering experience that leaves me tired and cranky the few hours I'm actually at home.
So the updates will be highly irregular, but you'll have them.

So here it is: My [PROTOTYPE]/Lord of the Rings crossover, only reworked and a lot more in character!

The sky was gray, with only a few stars still lingering in the face of upcoming dawn. Icy autumn winds whipped through a copse of trees, brushing across the surface of a small puddle so dark it looked black.

Branches snapped then when massive beasts hesitantly slid into the open, their beady eyes watching the area for threats. The stiff breeze only rustled the leaves for a moment before they settled back into complete silence.
The leader growled and started moving, satisfied that there was no threat to its pack. A few feet away from the treeline it stepped through the puddle.

The surface didn't splash but smacked and stuck to the sole of its paw for a brief moment before it snapped back. Light glittered of its surface that was rippling like tar. The leader didn't pay it any mind, but one of the following beasts stopped near the puddle and lowered its head to sniff at it-

A single black spear suddenly shot from its surface, impaling its skull like an arrow. The other beasts jumped back, fur bristling and teeth bared when the puddle yanked the carcass closer as it started growing to wrap around it.
At the very moment it broke the body in halves with a hollow crack, more spears shot from its core and slammed into the other beasts to rip them apart within moments. The slurry thrashed as it swallowed bones, blood and tissues into itself, then suddenly turned into a mass of squirming worms that thrashed and squirmed against each other as they struggled to lift themselves off the ground.

The slick motions died quickly when its surface started flattening into planes of a solid dark shell. It finally rose from the bloodied ground as it formed limbs to stand upright.

It wasn't breathing, just stood there with its faceless head tilted back to stare at the sky, with the faint light reflecting off its insect-like armor.

Suddenly it spun around and jumped, crossing a distance of several yards in a single bound so fast it was on the armed men that had been watching before any of them could react.

For several days the group had been following the trail of a pack of Wargs. Apparently, the beasts originated from the North, but hadn't alerted the Rangers to themselves until they reached the lands surrounding the fallen city of Fornost. More worrisome was that they were moving towards Bree fast, so the Rangers had to scramble to catch up to them and stop them from entering inhabited areas.

They'd split up into smaller groups, spread across the fields and employed scouts on fast horses to carry messages between them should any of them find tracks. But their hunt was drawing to a close- the Wargs had slowed down after the last storm to take shelter. The paw prints they've found were fresh.

"My Lord", one of his men called out in a hushed voice that was barely louder than the rustle of grass. Their chieftain turned to face him. "You found them." It wasn't a question.

"They won't be escaping."

"Stay vigilant, no matter what", he told the men, "Wargs are stronger beasts than most. And I'm afraid these beasts are even more cunning than their kin usually is." They wouldn't have managed to evade the Rangers as long as they did otherwise.

The men didn't need to be told that, however, they knew. They've all be trained by the Elven Hunters of Rivendell. Which was why they fell into flawless motion without any outside command, all of them dropping low to the ground to climb up a small crest that lay at the other end of a large depression. They could see the first of the Wargs carefully leave the cover of a small copse of trees, its head moving from side to side as it searched the area.

It didn't notice them, for their gray cloaks and the tall grass hid the men, and they were downwind of the beasts. The chieftain nodded at them and they readied their bows. Once the entire pack was out of the trees they would fell the last one and drive the others into the open that way.

Or, at least, that had been the strategy they agreed upon when they first learned of the threat. But no plan survived enemy contact and this one reeled off the path faster than any of the men could react.

The puddle he'd noticed before had made his skin crawl. It was black like tar, but there was no reason for it to be here at all.
He'd held his breath when the first Warg stepped through it. He relaxed slightly when it continued its way without having noticed the puddle-

But the next wasn't as lucky.

A single arrow-like spear shot out of the tar-like substance on the ground, slamming through the warg's skull with little resistance and making the others jump back startled. For a brief moment the chief feared this would scatter the pack, but even as the puddle flayed skin off flesh and snapped bones like twigs while it dragged the carcass into its middle, it sent out more lances that ripped through every last beast of the pack and killed them instantly, only to pull them in and melt them in ways flesh was not supposed to melt.

"What is that?" One of the men breathed, too stunned to do anything else, really. The other men muttered curses under their breaths, bows lowering and hands twitching towards their blades, and freezing again when suddenly the tar heaved. Its surface started thrashing, writhing like living things as small limbs rose from its depths only to curl at nothing and collapse again. Black turned into black and red and gray, as it started growing, quickly multiplying its mass.

The tremors suddenly died when thick plates grew across the slick mass, only to rise up and turn into something...human.

It was an arm, covered in a dark shell, that rose towards the sky as if trying to grab the few remaining stars- only to tilt downwards and slam its palm flat against the soil.

Clawed fingers curled into a fist as it pulled, and more of the tar started hardening into twisted planes. A shoulder there, parts of a chest, hips and a second arm. Armor crept over the back and formed a head atop a thick neck. One leg grew, then the second and it staggered upright like a newborn foal.

Only to cease all movement at once with its head tilted upwards as if it was staring at the sky-

Then it spun around and suddenly flew, leaping the distance between its place of birth and the Rangers in a single bound and crashing into the floor with so much force it sent the men stumbling.

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, yanked his sword free and stared in naked terror at the faceless skull of the thing.

Fear didn't stop him from shoving his second-in-command backwards the same second the wraith's clawed hand shot out and snatched his jaw and throat, yanking him off his feet in one smooth motion to pull him closer, just as several tiny limbs rose from its shoulders and arms. His breathing hitched, fresh memories from the slaughter of the wargs demanding a place at the front of his mind as he lashed out and his blade shrieked when he tried to stab it through the armor plates, only for it to bounce off a lot more jagged than it had been before.

The small limbs froze in mid-air, before curling in on themselves, then sinking back beneath the armor plates and the thing inclined its head almost in confusion, staring at the sword he was still holding clenched in his hand. Then it twisted its upper body to watch his men, who'd drawn their blades in an attempt to try and take it down, but were now frozen when they realized its attention was on them.

It didn't move either. It didn't leap at them, not like it had done before, and the claw it had around his throat loosened its hold slightly. Then, its head snapped to the side, and it froze.

Sunlight spilled over a hill to the East, turning murky grays to gold.

The wraith inclined its head curiously, dropping the chieftain on his behind without much fanfare, and turned to face the rising sun. When it raised its hand, he flinched back, almost expecting the light to be blotted out- yet it only shielded its face from the glow, turning its fingers as it observed the shade it threw across its shell.

The Rangers closed in on it again- it was distracted, and Aragorn had seen the openings at its back, two soft-looking gaps at the base of its shoulder blades, a chink in its armor.

Suddenly it snorted, and the men froze as it turned to glance at them over its shoulder. A sound rose from its chest, rumbling like an earth slide, and it took the chieftain a long moment to realize it was speaking. To them or something else, he couldn't tell, because he's never heard that tongue before.

It huffed out, muttering something else.

Then its armor peeled off. Thousands of tiny limbs flipped the shell bit by bit at a nauseating speed, replacing dark plates for dark leather and gray cloth. A red symbol, like a pair of wings, lit up on its back as it clenched its long fingers and a gray hood slid over its head on its own.

It looked like a man now, shorter than the chieftain, but wrong. It appeared more like the corpse of someone who died of consumption, with waxy pale skin stretching across an emaciated body.
The eyes were like shards of ice, pale blue and unblinking.

Awareness hit like a lightning, bright and blinding, and so, so painful with the sudden sensory input. There was cold soil beneath, and frigid air above, and everything was so dark. But there was still the lingering heat across its surface where something living had touched, and it craved more of it. Wanted to bury itself inside, drown in the warmth because it was so cold.

The air changed, hot gusts washing over its body, and it realized instantly that there was a living thing. A warm thing and it lashed out, slamming its tendrils through the glorious warmth.

It wasn't enough. The moment it sank into the body, it knew there were more bodies. Living bodies, warm bodies, bodies that would close the hole inside of it.

So it took them too, ripped them apart to cover itself, to fuel its growth.

Because...because something was not right. It realized it wasn't supposed to be cold or hungry, knew it wasn't supposed to be on the ground.
Knew it wasn't like this, knew it was supposed to be different-

Something it knew it could change. So it used the bodies it took to fashion its own. It used to be different, it remembered. Standing upright, and...it couldn't remember the next part.

Its body shivered briefly when it remembered something else. Pain? Danger?
Its skin hardened, turning into armor and it snorted as it pulled itself upright. There, it was safe now, even if it didn't know what from.

It must have been something violent, it remembered, just what it was eluded it. As did the question why the surrounding area was so...wrong...for the lack of a better word. The ground, perhaps? The trees around? The sky above? Something was seriously off with the whole situation.

...Voices.

Fuck. Find it. Kill it.

All points! Priority target! Priority target!

Shoot anything that moves.

It were...memories? Fragments of them, anyways- and it somehow knew that these voices were the precursors of pain.

It wouldn't let the voices hurt it. It kicked off and lunged over, noticing the figures on the ground seconds before it impacted in a cloud of dust and dirt. They were upright, with two arms and two legs, and another set of memories forced themselves to the front of its mind.

Memories of bodies that were rushing at it- screaming, biting, clawing...
Roaring, hurting with fire.

Its claw shot out and it snatched the closest body to lift it off the ground and yank it closer and its own body began yearning for the warmth again-

Something hard impacted with its stomach, and it stopped, glancing down.

Those...those weren't what they used to attack it before, weren't they? And, come to think of it...It twisted around, glaring at the others that tried sneaking up on it. They had the same weapons, and they...didn't smell like it remembered they did. The ones that came before had a sharp smell, something that burned its nose, and something that smelled like ash. The ones here smelled...like mud. Like ground, and dirt, sweat, and animals.

This wasn't right.

It couldn't remember why it wasn't right, just that it was supposed to be different. It irked it that it didn't know.

But...it could know, couldn't it? The bodies it's stolen before- they had some memories. So it could be possible it would gain more knowledge by taking these ones here?

Something took its attention, and it turned. The horizon- it was bright.

It dropped the body it was holding, and turned to watch the brightness. It remembered the light.

It fought back a shudder- the light had been so bright and it had hurt so bad, and then everything had been dark and cold.

Burning and pain. The giant dome of light ripping the darkness apart. The splash as the warhead hit the water. The sound the hook made as it disengaged. The starless sky, the dark and choppy water beneath. The thrumming of the rotor blades above. The frantic battle atop the ship, clawing and leaping and hurting.

"I won't let you erase New York like you erased Hope."

It was like a broken dam. Memories upon memories crashed into each other, filling pits where nothing had been before. There was a whole life- hundreds of them, in fact- that coalesced in front of him.

It was a he, he realized. Not in the traditional sense of the word, since the definition fell apart the second his true nature became obvious, but he's been him ever since he woke up.

He knew who he was, who he became.

He knew there were men behind him, with their swords poised to attack his Armor's weak spots- he really needed to figure out how to shield his air intake somehow- and he snorted. Angling his head slightly over his shoulder, he growled at them, "You should really rethink your next course of action."

The men paused in their approach, the air smelling of confusion.

They...didn't attack him, didn't shout, didn't call for reinforcements. And, come to think of it- he let his gaze wander the area. His armor was perfectly suited to protect him, but it came at the cost that he couldn't see like he could with his normal eyes. It were heat signatures, infected signatures, and rough outlines- but only in an surrounding area of maybe four hundred feet.

It was enough to guide him through Manhattan, but this place here-

This wasn't Manhattan. The ground was too soft, the air too clean- the men around him had swords, for God's sake.

"I'm going to regret this", he grumbled under his breath, but he really needed to see. So he let his body consume his Armor and reassembled his normal appearance.

The excess of colors and shapes and distance startled him slightly, as it always did when he removed his shell, but he was so used to it he could shake it off easily.

His eyes found the obvious leader of the small group, and his brows furrowed slightly. The man looked and smelled like he hadn't even seen a bathtub for the last decade or so. The other men were similar and- was that a horse over there?

He'd never seen a horse himself except for in memories that weren't his. When the Outbreak had been in full swing, the police horses had already been eaten by the time he came around. But seeing one here- it made his stomach turn into knots.

The horizon was unfamiliar to him. His head snapped upwards, eyes searching for the weak light of the stars.
The few he could see where in no constellation he recognized either. The realization was sharp like an RPG missile to the face, because even outshone by the early morning sun there should be at least some distinct shapes, like the Big Dipper.

He didn't see any.

His brows came down, and he turned to face the men fully. The men froze and some of them actually stepped back. He bared his teeth and clenched his fists, and they backed off another few steps. "Where am I?" He snarled, "What is this place?"

Something was wrong here, fundamentally wrong. For a moment he thought it could be an hallucination, or a dream-like state inside the Hive Mind, maybe.

Except that he was incapable of having hallucinations, and the Hive Mind created settings that were a mixture from every memory it consumed- it never created something completely new.

Which meant he was...displaced. Maybe to the Southern Hemisphere? Would explain the lacking familiar constellations. Didn't explain why these guys were dressed up like extras of some historical drama.

He did recognize that they were scared. Tried to hide it, but he'd faced down Blackwatch who masked their fear with rage. These guys tried to appear brave, but he could see the terror in their eyes, smell it in their blood.

They weren't Blackwatch.

They weren't targets even if they attacked him, just like the Marines or the cops.

So he simply dropped his hands and stepped back himself, his shoes scuffing over the soft ground. He had no intention to hurt them, except to consume knowledge perhaps, but that plan left a bitter taste in his mouth.
So many people, just at the wrong place in the wrong time. He'd sworn to try and stay away from civilians as long as possible.

He'd promised it to...

Her.

His sister.

His sister, who'd been taken by a monster, who'd been dragged to Mother's Hive, who was in a coma and defenseless-

And he wasn't there. Didn't know where he was, or even what day it was-

He could know, but her words were firm inside his head. 'As long you're not actively dying, you won't eat anyone who didn't deserve it.' These men here definitely fell into that category, so he just couldn't consume them to learn what he needed to know.

He really wanted to tear his own hair out, because it was an (interesting) problem. He needed knowledge to figure out where he was, yet the way he could gain knowledge was the one way she told him not to pursue.

...There were other ways, weren't there? Humans couldn't simply consume someone's brain to learn what they needed to know, after all.

Great. Conversation. Last time he tried, he ended up getting bullets to the chest. Though, to be fair, these guys didn't look like they even knew what bullets were, meaning it was a risk he could take.
His shoulder slumped and he let out a sigh of resignation, then cleared his throat and glanced at the men.

"Where am I?" he repeated with a hopefully civil tone, "What is this place?"

The men didn't reply, but they also didn't approach or even seem aggressive. The looked at each other in confusion. They flinched slightly when he gestured loosely into their direction. "Who are you?"

Then the leader stepped to the front, the one he'd grabbed before. He was a tall man, taller than him, with long greasy hair and an unkempt beard. He had both hands lifted up to his hips and was speaking to him, but he'd never heard this kind of language before- and he knew a lot of languages. He recognized the tone however- soft and soothing- even if if he didn't recognize what he was trying to say.

It must have shown on his face, because the man swallowed briefly and switched languages, this one sounding melodious, almost like singing, though it was even more incomprehensible to his ears than the previous one.

The man grimaced the moment he noticed he didn't understand either, and tried a third. It sounded rough, scratchy, and haltingly.

He still didn't recognize it, and already considered charades when the men opposite of him suddenly tensed, their attention snapping to some place over his shoulder. Movement out of the corner of his eye, his head immediately turning around to locate the reason. The leader of the men was yelling something, with his hand stretched towards him and his eyes wide.

A warning, he realized, but too late when something thudded into his back. It would have sent a normal man stumbling.

Him? Not so much.

He merely craned his neck slightly, glaring at the wooden shaft poking out from his shoulder, then towards the group of...creatures(?) that stood at the crest of a small hill.

Armored, armed, with crooked bodies. Not human.

Not in the do-not-attack-category.

His lips peeled away in a cruel smile.

The Wraith hadn't acted like he expected it to act- come to think of it, he wasn't too sure what he expected at all, just that this wasn't it- it had just looked around, its brows furrowing further and further. He could read the confusion plainly, so he wasn't too surprised when it growled words in its unfamiliar tongue at them.
After all, most men, Halflings, Elves, even Orcs, reacted to confusion either with panic, curiosity, or with anger.

Same went for wraith, obviously.

Its blue eyes flashed briefly and its anger melted away. Its shoulders dropped, and the tension left its body. It repeated its words, this time in a more subdued voice. Aragorn didn't know what it said, but he could guess, at least judging by the way it had looked around first. It asked about where it was.

He could sympathize with it- its birth must have left it disoriented.

So its next question didn't come as a surprise either. He still flinched slightly when it waved its hand towards them, asking something that reminded him a little of an owl's call that probably translated to 'Who are you?'

And, before his mind could catch up to him, Aragorn stepped to the front, hands up and voice in a soothing tone to not trigger an attack. His men were startled by his boldness, but he figured it was a risk worth taking- the wraith hadn't menaced them any further, after all. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand your tongue. Do you understand mine?"

It eyed him, not a spark of comprehension on its face. The chieftain clicked his tongue and repeated his question, this time speaking the language of the Elves. It was a tongue many old creatures in Middle-earth understood-

The Wraith not being among their number seemingly.

Oh well. He grimaced, and repeated his words once more, this time in the few words of Orcish he knew. He probably asked "No understand speech?" and it left a foul taste in his mouth.

The Wraith didn't react to his bad rendition of the Black Speech either, just furrowed its brows further. It inclined its head curiously-

Movement and the warning squawk of his scout yanked his attention away from the Wraith and onto the group of Orcs that appeared at the crest of a small hill without any of them noticing. For a short moment he wondered just why they were out during the morning if they couldn't stand the sun, when he realized that they had their bows ready-

He yelled a warning at the Wraith, but too late as the first arrow slammed into its back.

The effects were...underwhelming.

The Wraith just glanced at the projectile in its shoulder, then towards the Orcs. Then it smiled, and it sent shivers running up and down his back because that smile was like shattered glass- all edges and teeth and full of the promise of hurt.

From there on, things happened fast and violent.

The Wraith whirled on its heel and kicked off the ground with so much force, it sent the Rangers stumbling and luckily out of the trajectory of the other arrows. Like before, it leapt the distance towards the Orcs in a single bound and frighteningly fast, so fast neither of the dark creatures had any time to react- and once they did, the first one already ceased to exist.

The Wraith was unarmed, but strong. Its punch went right through the Orc's armor and body like it didn't exist in the first place, but before the body dropped those awful black vines wrapped around its limbs and tore it apart in a spray of black blood.

It didn't stop moving the entire time. Even as its first victim's leg was still folded into its back, the Wraith already seized and ripped apart another Orc. Then another, and another, ignoring all their attempts to free themselves, like it ignored all their attempts to kill it.

Before any of the Rangers managed to gather their wits, half of the horde was slain. The remaining pack tried to flee instead, which only increased the Wraith's blood lust.

None of them managed to run for more than fifteen yards before it was upon them.

In the end, all that remained were broken weapons, shattered armor, and spatters of blood on ripped open soil. All flesh and bones and most of the blood had been consumed by the Wraith-

The scout's horse suddenly started screaming, kicking and pawing until its harness ripped and it sprinted off.

They didn't need any more confirmation and the men immediately scattered. The chieftain was the last to turn and run, trying to keep the heat off his men-
And witnessing the Wraith erupt into darkness with an inhuman shriek.

Giant black spears ripped from the soil, shredding earth and stone. Huge black limbs seized boulders and crushed them to dust.

He didn't want to see anything more, just focused on getting away instead- the men ran until they hit a collection of boulders to dive behind and try to regroup. Despite the warming rays of the morning sun, none of them could fight back the icy dread that tried to grab hold of them as they waited for it to follow after them and-

It didn't chase them down.

Aragorn's heart slowed down its frantic beating, as realization slowly trickled in.

The Wraith had been aware of them, but it didn't chase them down now- even though it had done so when the Orcs attempted to flee.
More even, the cacophony was...gone, making the silence unsettling.

He carefully peeked out of their makeshift hideout, ignoring the startled voices of his men. The Wraith was nowhere to be seen and it made him a little bolder. Among his people and his adoptive father's court, he was known for brash and reckless ideas that still somehow worked.

He hoped it remained that way as he got up and carefully left the cover of the boulders, ignoring the alarmed hisses of his men. Then he jogged the way back he'd come, and the Rangers followed somewhat reluctant.

The Wraith was still there, surrounded by destruction. No plant life remained within a roughly circular area of several feet. The ground itself resembled a badly plowed field, with bits of stone and shards of armor peeking out of the soil. The blood was gone, dug into the ruined floor.
The Wraith was on its back, one arm flat against the floor, the other draped over its face. It didn't react when he approached the battle field, though once he came closer than a yard, it spoke without looking at him. "Bug off"

He blinked, mouth working without his conscious thought. "No bug?" Then he wanted to hit himself that he conversed with a Wraith, and in Orcish, too. (It hadn't reacted to his rendition of Orcish before, had it?)

Its lips thinned. "Can't even swear like I want." Then it snorted. "Gotta be some kind of record. I'm here not even half an hour, and I am already sick of this place."

The chieftain instantly latched onto this small piece of gossip. He knew the Wraith was unfamiliar with the area- but its phrasing 'sick of this place' was interesting. He tried his tongue, trying to piece together a sentence that consisted of more than a few broken words. "You- not from here?"

It hesitated for a second before relenting with a shift of its leg. "You could say that."

"And..." He trailed off, unsure what to say. "You don't...want here?"

The Wraith scoffed, waving its free hand. "Give that man a medal. No. I don't want to-" It altered its tongues, spitting a sharp word that, for all its emphasis and purpose was a swearword, before switching back. "-be in this place."

Swearing men were honest. Swearing Elves even more so, so he figured the same went for Wraith, too, and it was enlightening what it just said. It didn't want to be here. It had searched for anything familiar because it wasn't born here.

He cleared his throat. "You lost."

Its body tensed, and he knew he was right, so he decided to push it a little. "You no go home", he added.

Immediately, he was rewarded with the Wraith giving a full-body shiver (tiny black limbs skipping across its surface, twisting in the air and coiling back on themselves). He swallowed once to focus his thoughts, and tried to keep his face neutral as he waited for its response.

"I...don't know how", it admitted, its entire form slumping. The chieftain had rarely seen any creature- man, Elf, Orc, Hobbit, or else- look this defeated. This lost. This alone.

His men had arrived by now, hesitant, but with their weapons ready. The Wraith huffed out. "Go on. Try and kill me. You won't manage to, not when men better armed and trained have already tried and failed."

"I no harm you", the chieftain cut in sharply.

The Wraith slowly moved its arm out of its face, blue eyes narrow in suspicion. "No?"

"No harm me, no harm my men", the man added. Then, much to the horror of his men, approached the wraith and offered his hand. "I help? Maybe?"

Its icy gaze raked slowly over his form, long enough he was starting to feel a little silly, until it scoffed, muttering something under its breath. Then it rose to its feet smoothly. It was shorter than him by half a foot, but it still managed to tower over him.

Its teeth flashed under its hood, too many and too sharp to belong to a man's face, and he fought back the shudder running down his back. "I don't see why not. At least it'll give me something to do."

The chieftain cleared his throat and dropped his hand when the wraith ignored it. "I Strider, chieftain of Northern Rangers." He tilted his head. "You name?"

The Wraith snorted again. "Alex."

And off we go!