The battle raged on, chaos engulfing the Pelennor Fields as the Rohirrim fought valiantly against the massive Mumakil and hordes of orcs. Amidst the fray, King Théoden's voice cut through the din.

"Rally to me!" he called, his words a beacon for his riders as they charged forward.

From the corner of his eye, Théoden saw a shadow descending rapidly from the sky. He turned his gaze upward to find the Witch-king of Angmar, mounted on his monstrous Fell Beast, plummeting toward him with terrifying speed. The creature let out an earsplitting screech that froze men and horses alike.

Before Théoden could react, the Fell Beast dove, its gaping maw clamping around both the king and his loyal horse, Snowmane. The mighty creature lifted them high into the air before flinging them mercilessly to the ground. Snowmane landed with a sickening crash atop Théoden, pinning him beneath its weight. The king's sword slipped from his hand as pain wracked his body, and his vision blurred.

Nearby, Éowyn, disguised in her armor and helm, turned at the horrifying sight. Her heart clenched as she saw her beloved uncle thrown like a rag doll. Without hesitation, she sprinted toward him, her braid flying loose from her helm, her sword clenched tightly in her hand.

The Witch-king circled his monstrous steed in the air, gloating. The Fell Beast landed heavily near the stricken king, its talons scraping the earth as it advanced, a predator savoring its prey.

"Feast on his flesh!" the Witch-king hissed, his voice a chilling rasp that seemed to echo from the grave.

Théoden opened his eyes weakly, his breath ragged as he struggled to move. The weight of Snowmane was too great, and he could only watch as the beast approached, its slavering jaws inches away.

Before the creature could strike, Éowyn leapt in front of Théoden, planting herself between the beast and her king. Her sword gleamed in her hand, and her voice rang clear and defiant.

"If you touch him, I will kill you!" she declared, her words steady despite the fear coiling in her stomach.

The Witch-king laughed, a cruel and hollow sound. "Do not come between the Nazgûl and his prey!" he growled.

The Fell Beast lunged, its fangs snapping at her. Éowyn sidestepped just in time, her sword flashing as she swung upward, severing its grotesque head in a single strike. The beast let out a keening wail before collapsing in a heap, its lifeless body crumpling to the ground.

Éowyn stepped back, her breath heaving as she turned to face the Witch-king. He dismounted smoothly, his towering form cloaked in black. His helm of twisted iron revealed no face, only a void of darkness beneath. He drew his massive flail, the spiked ball swinging with menacing weight.

"Foolish mortal!" he hissed, advancing on her. "No man can kill me."

Éowyn picked up a wooden shield from the ground and raised it as he swung the flail. The force of the blow was staggering, the shield nearly flying from her grasp. She ducked and weaved as he struck again and again, each swing a whirlwind of death. The weight of his blows shattered the earth where they fell, but Éowyn evaded with desperate agility.

Finally, the Witch-king's flail caught her shield dead-center, splintering it into shards with a deafening crack. The force sent Éowyn sprawling, and she landed hard on the ground. Pain shot through her arm; it was broken. Her sword clattered from her grip, and for a moment, she lay stunned.

The Witch-king loomed over her, his presence suffocating, his dark laughter reverberating like thunder. Éowyn pushed herself up with her good arm, her eyes blazing with defiance despite the pain.

"You are a fool to challenge me, woman!" he sneered, raising his flail high for a final strike. "This will be your doom!"