"Raise your battle axes!" "For the king!" "Charge!!!"
At their king's call, every dwarf who could still stand rallied behind Thorin, roaring at the top of their lungs. Driven by seething fury, they raised their gleaming battle axes high and charged at the Blue Dragon's vulnerable belly.
Unable to defend both sides at once, the Blue Dragon abandoned his assault on the wall. He kept shifting his massive limbs to evade them, while his flail-like tail swung faster and faster, whipping through the air and smashing into the ants who seemed bent on throwing their lives away.
A cold-drake's belly scales were always weaker than those elsewhere. This was a weakness shared by all dragons. Whether Glaurung, the Father of Dragons, or Smaug, who called himself the King Under the Mountain, all had met their deaths because of it.
Meanwhile, with three crossbow bolts lodged in his head, the Blue Dragon began paying closer attention to the dwarves' weapons. He felt that their coldly gleaming steel might be capable of piercing his scales.
A long-forgotten fear began stirring in his heart. The last time he had felt this way was when he had suffered the flames of the fire-dragon Smaug while fighting over riches in the Grey Mountains.
And this fear was inherited entirely from their creator, for Morgoth was the only one among the Valar who knew fear.
"Serral, Karagung, what are you two waiting for? These creatures' weapons are far stronger than those of the dwarves before them! They pierced the strongest defenses on my head!!! Are you going to wait until I'm dead before slinking away?"
The Blue Dragon's booming voice had lost its initial fury. Instead, it carried fear and pleading. Without reinforcements, he felt he was going to die.
Meanwhile, the dwarves who had regained