Marvel's Master of Heavenly Magic

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"Aiwen George, this is the ring my father gave me when I left Valinor. Today, I am giving it to you. 

From now on, if you ever need help—no matter how difficult the situation—I will be there for you. This is my oath to you." 

Finrod removed a ring from his hand and solemnly placed it in George's palm. 

The ring was crafted in the form of two serpents entwined, their eyes set with emeralds. Their heads met at the top—one rising, one lowering—together supporting a golden crown, the emblem of the House of Finarfin. 

"Seems fitting for someone from Slytherin," George mused. "Looks like there won't be a Ring of Barahir in the future—only the Ring of George." 

He did not refuse the gift, slipping the ring onto his finger. 

The moment it touched his skin, George immediately realized it was no ordinary ring—it was enchanted. Infused with the power of the Blessed Tree, it could even function as a substitute for a wand. 

Its effectiveness was likely far superior to that of an elven longsword. 

As for the oath Finrod made upon giving the ring, George had no doubts about its sincerity. 

If he remembered correctly, Barahir's son, Beren, had once sought out Finrod with the Ring of Barahir when he wished to marry Lúthien, the daughter of Thingol. Finrod, despite knowing it was a doomed endeavor, had upheld his vow. He abandoned his throne, gathered ten elven warriors, and accompanied Beren to Angband in an attempt to steal a Silmaril from Morgoth—only to be slain by Sauron along the way. 

"The Second and Third Princes probably won't be able to hold out for much longer. We need to hurry back and support them." 

George accepted the ring, picked up Sauron's black blade, and turned to Finrod. 

The elven stone colossus he had created with his transfiguration spell was, after all, just stone. It could never truly match the might of a dragon and would likely crumble before long. 

If they delayed, the central defensive line could collapse. 

"Baradûr, take a small squad to Hithlum and inform the High King of the situation here. Tell him to dispatch reinforcements to secure this gorge as soon as possible. Ideally, Fingon should lead the troops to support the central front. The rest of you, follow me to Gosonia!" 

Finrod nodded, quickly issuing his orders. 

Fingon, his cousin, was the strongest warrior of their generation. 

Finrod believed that if it came down to a duel between Fingon and Sauron, Fingon would have a high chance of winning. 

The western army of Sauron had already been severely weakened by their forces, so it no longer required heavy defenses. A small force stationed at the gorge would be sufficient to block the advance. 

The most critical task now was to gather all available troops to reinforce the central and eastern fronts. Morgoth's forces must not be allowed to break through the three-layered encirclement they had painstakingly maintained. 

"There's no time to waste, Crown Prince. I can use spatial magic to take you there immediately." 

It had taken him half an hour to fly here, and even on horseback, the elves would need at least an hour and a half to reach the battlefield. 

To be safe, it was best for him to take Finrod—the strongest warrior present—directly to the elven city using multiple Apparitions. 

"Alright, let's go!" 

Finrod had no objections. He was deeply concerned about the safety of his two younger brothers. 

After giving a few more instructions to his troops, he and George vanished from sight. 

— 

After several Apparitions, they arrived in the skies above Gosonia, the elven city. 

The city was now engulfed in flames. Compared to when George had left, the situation had deteriorated drastically—less than a third of the High Elves remained, and the human warriors had dwindled to fewer than two hundred. 

The once-majestic elven statues, carved from white stone, had been shattered. 

In the heart of the battlefield, Angrod and Aegnor, the two brothers, were locked in a brutal struggle against the dragon. 

Meanwhile, Baragund and Barahir led the remaining human warriors in a desperate defense alongside the surviving elves. They clung to what little remained of the city walls, holding the line against the relentless assault of Balrogs and Morgoth's monstrous horde.

"If we kill the dragon, the central army will collapse! Once it dies, the entire force is bound to retreat!" 

With Finrod at his side, George charged straight toward the dragon. 

Sauron had already fled, but this dragon was not getting away. George had plans for its corpse—if he could extract a dragon crystal from it, perhaps he could become a true Dragon Slayer Mage in this world. 

Angrod and Aegnor were clearly no match for their elder brother, Finrod. Even together, they were struggling to fight the dragon, their armor shattered almost beyond repair. 

Had George and Finrod arrived just thirty minutes later, they might have only been in time to collect their bodies. 

"Dragon, face your death!" 

With a mighty swing, George flung Finrod straight toward the beast from above. Wielding his Elven longsword, Finrod aimed to cleave the dragon's head from its body in a single strike. 

Sensing imminent danger, the dragon immediately abandoned its assault on Angrod and Aegnor. It unleashed a torrent of black fire at Finrod, then turned tail and fled without hesitation. 

It could feel that this awakened High Elf was powerful—perhaps too powerful. Though the dragon believed it still had the upper hand, caution prevailed. It opted to retreat, leaving the Balrogs and orc hordes to cover its escape. 

"You've got to be kidding me," George muttered as he watched the dragon bolt. "What a coward." 

Of course, it made sense. Dragons, despite their formidable strength, were ultimately no different from orcs—creations of Morgoth. If they died, they were gone for good. 

Balrogs, on the other hand, would eventually return to the Eternal Void. 

"Apparition!" 

There was no way George was letting this one slip away. 

He instantly teleported above the dragon and, without hesitation, expanded his form. 

"Titan Magic!" 

His body swelled to a towering thirty meters, and he crashed down, straddling the dragon's neck. Lightning surged through his limbs, enhancing his raw strength. Clasping both hands together, he hammered his fists down onto the dragon's skull—slamming its head straight into the ground. 

The dragon was dazed by the sudden impact. Its vision blurred as it pulled its head from the earth, shaking off the shock before preparing to unleash another blast of dragonfire—this time aimed at the human clinging to its neck. 

But George refused to give it the chance. 

He gripped the dragon's head tightly, forcing it down and preventing it from turning to face him. 

Glaurung's magical resistance was likely even higher than Sauron's. If George relied solely on spells, he doubted he'd do much damage. And the last thing he wanted was for the dragon to escape. 

So instead of magic, he resorted to sheer brute force—Titan Magic enhanced with electrical energy—engaging the dragon in close-quarters combat. 

Even so, against a two-hundred-meter-long dragon, victory in a direct fight was far from guaranteed. 

But that didn't matter. 

George wasn't the main attacker—he was the support. 

This was not a one-on-one battle. Three Elven princes were charging forward, their sacred blades gleaming with divine radiance. 

His job? Hold the dragon down and keep it from escaping. 

Against Sauron, he had used spells to restrain him. 

Against the dragon? Pure, physical domination. 

"You wretched human!" 

Realizing it couldn't shake off George and that the Elven princes were nearly upon it, the dragon made a desperate decision—it would ignore George and try to flee with him still clinging to its neck. 

"You're not going anywhere!" 

George suddenly flipped over the dragon's head, landing in front of it. 

He grabbed its massive snout and drove his knee straight into its jaw, slamming its mouth shut just as it was about to spew fire. 

Then, twisting his body, he wrapped his legs around its thick neck in a crushing lock—securing his grip like an unbreakable shackle. 

"For the glory of the Elves!" 

Before the dragon could recover, the three Elven princes struck. 

Their sacred blades shimmered with golden light, merging into one colossal blade of radiance—a single, devastating slash cleaving through the dragon's thick-scaled throat. 

At the last moment, George shrank back to normal size and leaped away to avoid the toxic dragon blood. 

Three swords. One strike. One kill. 

The first dragon Morgoth had ever created—the mighty Glaurung—had met its end. 

It had barely lasted a day on the battlefield before its story came to a close. 

(End of Chapter)