As thunderclouds threaded with silver lightning began to gather in the cavern, a terrifying sense of dread welled up in the Balrog's heart.
Humans might barely manage to wield lightning with the help of magical equipment, but conjuring rain out of thin air-a natural phenomenon of immense complexity-was a power beyond ordinary mortals.
Especially in a cavern with air this dry.
This was the domain of the Vala Ulmo. As one of the mightiest of the Ainur, he governed the flow of all waters, the rise and fall of tides, the course of every river, and the evaporation and condensation of every drop of rain and dew across the world.
No one had ever heard of the Lord of Waters sharing his authority over rainfall with another.
Thus, the moment he saw the dark clouds, this demon who had survived since ancient times immediately thought of fleeing. He had never been particularly brave or fearless; otherwise, he could hardly have survived the War of Wrath, in which Morgoth had suffered utter defeat.
But the rain, glimmering with faint blue light, came too quickly. Before the vast, black, flaming shadow could make a move, it poured down over him in torrents.
In an instant, the icy chill of the rain gripped the Balrog like an enormous hand of frost. His strength, his flames, and the darkest core of his physical form vanished amid the splashing water, leaving only boundless exhaustion and weakness.
Thousands of years later, fear of the Valar once again filled the demon's heart. A soft, pleading whimper escaped him, and beneath the pressure of the rain, his enormous shadow knelt on the narrow bridge, stripped of his former invincible might.
"Loose!!"
With all his power concentrated on a single point, the downpour proved far more effective than Allen