His Corrupted Heart [Witch-King x OC]

Chapter IV : The Danger Arising

"Do not misunderstand me, danger is very real, but fear is a choice." -Will Smith

Isengard

When Sauron had commanded Saruman to turn the hunt against the Wanderer of the Misty Mountains, Saruman indeed knew of creatures that could achieve such results. It had taken him nearly a month to find the book that spoke of those particular creatures and finally after so long he was ready to summon them to this plane of existence. These creatures of shadow and death would certainly provide a far more difficult hunt for the Huntress of the North, were she the hunter instead of the hunted in this.

Saruman knew, in his own way, that Sauron was getting a little desperate the longer his Witch-King was absent from the field. The wizard knew that the Morgul-Lord was integral to his master's plans for the Men of the West, essential for the final and crushing blow against Gondor. The Witch-King's own second, Khamul the Easterling, had been handling his superior's duties well enough as so far but could only do so much. The Witch-King had broken Arnor on his own power, a strength of magic that the Easterling did not possess. There was a reason after all why the Witch-King was chieftain among the Ringwraiths, the deadliest servant of Sauron.

Now that power missing and its wielder hunted by a woman whose ways in the hunt rivaled that of Oromё, the Great Hunter. But with the creatures Saruman was now prepared to rouse from a long dormancy, that was to change quite dramatically. Currently he stood before a magic circle composed of white, red, and black chalk. The symbols representative of ancient evils and it was in the black tongue of Mordor he cast the dark spell.

"Nauk-avurn, ancienav ukhadowuk! Jiak ukummon lat katu now!"

Return, ancient shadows! I summon you here now!

The vast room immediately darkened. So much so that even the light of the many candles throughout were only seen as pinpricks. Saruman continued, unaffected by this display of shadows.

"Nauk-avurn, ancienav beaukavuk! Jiak ukummon lat for gijak!"

Return, ancient beasts! I summon you for blood!

Deep growls infiltrated the darkness, starting off quietly before escalating into ferocious, blood-curdling snarls. The sharp clicks of claws were also heard as two creatures moved across the marble floor, hidden in the shadows. These hunters were circling Saruman, observing, not knowing whether he was master or prey. Saruman felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck but did not dare falter in his spellcasting, because then he would surely become prey.

"Nauk-avurn, ancienav deaavh! Jiak ukummon lat avo hunav!"

Return, ancient death! I summon you to hunt!

Now the shadows faded into a black mist, large creatures beginning to take a proper shape from them. They formed within the boundaries of the circle, seeming to take the bodies of Dire Wolves but that was where the similarities ended. Staring at them, Saruman saw bones as black as ink take solid form. Skin and fur formed in patches, making them as if they were undead creatures conjured of some dark necromancy. Sharp black teeth snapped in the air, promising a painful bite and an even more painful end.

Even after the final pieces of these creatures took corporeal form, the shadows still clung to them like a cloak of mist. Their eyes were a pure white, glowing with intelligence and malice. They were trained on Saruman's smaller form as the creature's shoulders reached the wizards full height and even at the distance that was between them, Saruman still felt like he was being towered over. True fear seeped into his mind as they growled.