Beneath Mount Doom, deep within the underground lava lake. Although Mordor's army had marched out in full force, the defenses here remained tight as ever.
Sauron is on the verge of becoming a god—right now, that's the only thing that matters in all of Mordor. Everything serves this cause, even the military expedition. The folks in Middle-earth might not get all that cosmic destiny stuff, but they do know how the rise and fall of power works. As Mordor expands and Mount Doom's influence grows, Sauron, as the local big boss, reaps more benefits every day.
If Mordor’s army sweeps across the land, and Sauron manages to rule all of Middle-earth as the supreme overlord, the boost to his godhood quest would be off the charts.
But of course, since Sauron’s at a critical moment, defense is even more important. The last thing he needs is the frontlines winning while the backyard catches fire—what a disaster that would be.
And all this planning, deploying, and marching? Sauron’s not doing it himself—it’s his Ringwraiths handling things. The Ringwraiths are kings in their own right, and after hanging around Sauron for ages, they’ve picked up quite a bit of the boss’s management tricks.
Thud, thud, thud—the Balrog strode ahead with giant steps, heading deeper into the earth. It reached the heart of the lava lake, where a swirling vortex of molten rock churned slowly. Thanks to the lava’s crazy thickness, this whirlpool didn’t spin like water—it moved slow and deep. At the center, ten scorching-hot iron chains were pulling at something down below.
“Heave-ho! Heave-ho! Heave-ho!”
Hundreds of little minions worked together with pulleys, hauling something heavy. They were exhausted and overheated; some had already collapsed from dehydration, but nobody cared about the weak ones. Burbling lava surged, and a squared-off corner was dragged out of the molten rock.
Creak, creak—the iron chains strained, nearly snapping, as the thing was slowly dragged out. It was a massive stone coffin, big and blocky. The stone was pitch black, and the coffin was wrapped in rings of magical runes, looking like some kind of seal.
Thud—the coffin was dropped onto the ground, making the earth tremble. Lava slid down its sides, unable to stick at all.
The Balrog strode forward, running its hand across the surface of the stone coffin. As infernal magic surged, ancient runes blazed to life. These were spells inscribed by the elves of old, epic-level forbidden magic. But time spares nothing. And the Balrog had soaked this coffin in molten lava, washing the seal with the hellfire of Mount Doom. After half a year of this treatment, the seal was finally on its last legs.
"We did it."
Crack! Crack! The elvish runes, buckling under the strain, shattered one by one as the light peaked. With the seal broken, the previously silent stone coffin began to radiate a strange aura. The moment it leaked out, the surrounding minions shook in their boots, hearts pounding like crazy.
It was the kind of absolute suppression that snuffs out life itself.
Whoever—or whatever—was inside that coffin, was clearly a heavyweight in the fruit-rank league.
Job done, the Balrog turned and left, knowing its colleagues could handle the rest. It climbed back up the rocky bridge, strode into the mysterious grand hall, and knelt before Sauron, the Dark Lord. Mighty yet obedient, it announced, "My lord, the Great Winged Demon is awakening. Also, all the heavy hitters from the Alliance of Light have been lured to the White City. Once we take the city, nothing in this world will stand in the way of your divine power!"
The Balrog was fired up, its voice booming like war drums.
But what really threw it for a loop was that the big boss on the throne didn’t seem to care. After hearing the report, Sauron sat motionless for ages. The Balrog glanced up and saw the supreme one lost in thought, as if pondering some eternal riddle. His gaze was vacant, distracted—or maybe he was staring into the void, confronting the universe’s ultimate secrets and the deepest questions of the soul.
He didn’t seem to care about the war at all—like a parent who couldn’t care less if their kid wins or loses a round of League of Legends. After a long pause, he finally snapped out of it and said, "Do as you wish."
"Uh..." That was not the response the Balrog was expecting. But then it hit him: "Do as you wish" basically meant the boss had signed off on his war plan—and handed him the reins.