Shadow didn't perceive the lashing sting of the whips any longer. Her senses seemed to dull the incessant screams of goblins, silenced by her merciless onslaught. The rhythmic throb of blood pumping in her head became distant, the curses of the dwarves failing to grasp her attention as they slipped away from her protective sphere.

       The grisly sounds of crunching skulls and falling bodies over the rustic rope bridges faded into obscurity. She didn't see, hear or feel any of it. A red haze of fury dominated her senses, single-minded and relentless.

      The pull of the ring echoed in her mind, its seductive power resonating with Bilbo's ordeal. She could almost visualize the unfortunate hobbit wresting it from Gollum's clutches. But her wrath, laser-focused on the tormentors of her beloved companions, left no room for such contemplations.

 The onslaught of her fiery prosecution did not waver, engulfing the malignant goblin society. While the dwarves and Gandalf scattered to safety, she remained behind, a fierce guardian amongst the inferno.

       Her only action was to stand and bear witness to the charred remnants of her adversaries' domain. For now, destruction was the sole language she chose to communicate. She harbored no immediate concern for anything else but revenge, leaving the hobbit's plight for a future devoid of immediate threat.

      Before long, the intensity waned, her dominant radiance losing its luster.

   She could perceive nothing but torment, yet she propelled herself forward with haste, her human silhouette navigating the treacherous, charred remnants of bridges once whole, as the inferno swelled, reaching new heights, fueled by fury.

   In the embrace of the flames, her demise seemed destined.

Vaulting through the fiery barrier, she swiftly trailed her companions, sensing her vitality ebbing away. Transformation had not truly made her dragonkind, reverting to her human form sapped her strength—it was the form of the dragon that sustained her.

Yet, in this pivotal moment, she had to embrace her Alpha essence. Shurley's betrayal exposed her true nature, unlocking something deeper within—a force she could scarcely contain.

But why should she constrain this newfound power? She is the last Shadow of Middle-earth, after all. Why not let the earth quake in her wake?

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

"Where did you take off to?" Thorin asked abruptly, catching their breath after the chaos. Gandalf was in his own world, mentally ticking off the dwarves and Bilbo like he was taking roll call in his head.

"I had to check that the town was toast," she said, cool as a breeze. "We're sprinting not from goblins, but into the freedom the sun promises, the same light that's kept us caged."

Then, with a casual flick of her wrist, Shadow revealed the charred remains of the Goblin King's head. "A souvenir," she said, tossing it to Gandalf, who looked pretty stoked with her accomplishment.

"Seeing you all in one piece is the best news," he said, the pride in his eyes bright as day. Shadow flashed him a grim sort of grin. Gandalf felt a shiver—he knew there was something different about her, something off. But he shrugged it off, a choice he might regret later.

"What's our move now?" Bilbo asked, quicker to his feet than the rest. The Ring at his chest was like a nagging voice, but relief washed over him—they had escaped the tunnels, and he had slipped from Gollum's clutches with his life. Shadow turned, her gaze sweeping from the sun's warmth to the brooding Misty Mountains. A shiver shot down her spine.

"Take to the trees," she hissed, spinning on her heel. Before they could process her words, her bow sang and an arrow flew, dropping a warg that pounced from the shadows—an arrow lodged firmly in its skull.

"To the trees, now!"