Within the borders of Mordor, day and night have never been distinct. No matter what time it is, everything looks like it’s been dunked in iodine, as if the whole world is a faded movie reel—bathed in a sickly yellow glow. Wherever this gloomy light touches, life is snuffed out, not even a blade of grass survives. It’s the true definition of a dead zone.
But now, what the armies see is different from what’s written in the history books. Thick clouds churn overhead, blotting out every star and moon. The black clouds hang in the sky like an upside-down ocean, rolling out wave after wave. And in the cracks between those surging clouds, blood-red light leaks through, flickering like a haunted aurora—almost as if the heavens themselves are bleeding.
When someone’s strong enough, they can mess with the weather itself. Mordor’s climate is tied directly to Sauron’s mood, and seeing the sky like this makes the wizards look even more worried.
Sauron might actually be about to ascend to godhood, so we’ve got to stop him before he pulls it off!
Charge! Attack! Last time we ransacked Sauron’s place, and this time we’re gonna tear Mount Doom down to its last brick!
The army marches on through the night. Night marches are exhausting enough, but doing it under Mordor’s hellish magic is next-level misery. But time’s running out—every minute we get closer to Sauron’s throne is a minute we might save the world. Luckily, we’ve got some heavy hitters who can tweak the environment just enough to keep us moving.
Jill strides right down the middle of the formation, leading the way. She’s holding up Flame Tide like it’s a battle flag. Flame Tide keeps sucking up hellish energy, shielding everyone just like it did back in Putian with the Divine Life Core, and it’s got that vibe of leveling up, saving up all its power for the next big upgrade.
The army rounds a bend, and up ahead in the valley, a fortress blocks the main road. This stronghold is thick with evil vibes and gloomy mist—it’s the gateway for Mordor’s forces to invade the human world, and the first obstacle we face in our counterattack: Necropolis.
This place used to be packed with troops, with Ringwraiths keeping watch. Over time, it built up a vibe like a tiger crouching or a dragon coiling, always ready to pounce. But now, as Flame Tide gets closer, the black clouds above start to thin out. The elves pray together, and faint moonlight pierces the clouds, shining down on Necropolis.
Bathed in moonlight, Necropolis suddenly looks less like a fortress of nightmares and more like an old, crumbling relic. The tiger-dragon vibe fades, replaced by a sense of decay and age. Even the howling from inside sounds less terrifying now—more like the weak cries of something on its last legs.
"This scattered energy isn't coming directly from Sauron—it's actually the wild stuff pouring out of Mount Doom. Kinda like the forest magic you summoned back in the Elven Woods; we can probably handle it. But you know what they say, a glimpse of the part tells you a lot about the whole—Sauron is no pushover." Jack gazed at the sky, looking all mystical like some fortune-teller, his face serious: "The three of us need to conserve our strength for the journey ahead. For the first half of this battle, we probably can't help much."
"Naturally," Queen Galadriel replied, her face icy and armored for battle. "Rest up, sir. We'll clear the way for you." She raised her hand—creak!—a thousand bows were drawn, and the elves readied themselves to attack.
"Don't worry! If we can't wipe out these small fry, we might as well go home and wait for the end!" The old king of Rohan was full of heroic spirit, his morale sky-high. He drew his sword and shouted, "Boys, let's flatten these punks and send those sons of dogs straight back to hell!"
"Roar!" The army rallied, battle energy swirling, blades and swords drawn from their sheaths.
"Charge!" The natives rushed forward, storming Necropolis.
"Forward!" The Order of the Silver Hand led the way, sharp as arrowheads.
"Watch me go on a killing spree!" The Not-So-Gentleman leapt onto a nearby cliff, tossed aside his baggage, yanked down his pants, and with a mighty thrust, jabbed a giant boulder into the ground. No time for siege engines in a blitz, but with the Not-So-Gentleman around, who needs ten catapults?
"Eat my mega-boulder!"
Whoosh! The giant rock traced a long arc through the air and smashed into Necropolis with a thunderous crash, sending rubble rolling everywhere. That was the first shot of the counterattack. Three boulders later, the decaying city walls of Necropolis had a huge gap. The army poured in like wildfire, chaos erupted inside, and the battle began.
Since Sauron conquered the world, who’s ever dared to act wild here? Since Sauron shrouded all of Middle-earth in darkness, who’s ever come here looking for death?
But today, here comes a bunch of maniacs who aren’t afraid of death or dark magic.
They came, they conquered, they flattened Necropolis, blasted through the obstacles, and after a quick breather, marched right on ahead.
Swift as the wind, quiet as the forest, fierce as fire, steady as a mountain. The anger and hatred of all Middle-earth’s races toward Sauron had reached its peak, but fear had kept it bottled up—until now. Five Ringwraiths have been wiped out in one battle, and seven in total have been slain. Mordor’s army is emptier than ever, while the Alliance is stronger than ever.
The warriors finally saw hope—and found the perfect outlet for all their rage and hatred.
Today’s the day—settle your scores, get your revenge. Let’s put an end to ten thousand years of grudges—kill!
Kill! For our slaughtered kin!
Kill! For our loved ones who died in agony!
Kill! For vengeance and justice!
Kill! For a future worth winning!
Kill! Kill! Kill!