There's an old saying: "A weak soldier is just one weakling, but a weak general dooms the whole army." The general is the soul of the troops—without a competent and brave leader, no army will have the will or courage to fight. Sauron never had to worry about this; his lineup of commanders was downright luxurious. Every one of the nine Ringwraiths was once a mighty king, and now, each has returned from the realm of the dead by possessing the remains of legendary creatures.
As the world's dimensions shrank, this place could never again reach the glory of the ancient gods. Nowadays, with magic fading, Sauron pulling together a squad like this is basically the equivalent of a Pokémon trainer with three legendary beasts—it's Middle-earth's dream team, every bit as legendary as Morgoth's era.
But, unfortunately, seven of the nine Ringwraiths have bitten the dust one after another. It's like taking out the enemy general before the battle—huge boost for your own side, and a massive blow to the enemy's morale. Riding this wave, the Alliance of Light pushed all the way to the foot of Mount Doom.
But when the last Ringwraith showed up on the battlefield, that unstoppable charge came to a screeching halt.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Heavy footsteps echoed from the pitch-black Sauron's Tower, rolling across the battlefield. The newcomer might not be as massive as a giant troll, but the sheer weight and pressure—like a mountain on the move—was something no troll could match. Hearing those footsteps, the fleeing monsters stopped in their tracks, and the Alliance of Light, riding high, froze as well.
No need for any special roar or wild threats. The soldiers of the Alliance of Light were like stampeding horses suddenly facing a cliff—they weren't about to charge ahead blindly. Instinctively, they slowed down, stopped attacking, and stared forward with a mix of shock and uncertainty.
Thud. Thud. Thud. The pressure hit like an earthquake, each footstep pounding on everyone's heart. The newcomer hadn't even appeared yet, but those heavy steps already hit the Alliance of Light with a serious show of force.
Huff, huff—heavy breathing roared like a storm. That sound gave the monsters a huge boost of confidence and courage, letting them regroup and start taunting the other side with claws bared. Their nerve was back. Meanwhile, the Alliance of Light soldiers couldn't help but exchange nervous glances, legs shaking with fear.
"Is that... could it be—!" Gandalf, riding his white horse, galloped to the front of the army, eyes wide as he stared ahead. Those strange footsteps and that furnace-like breathing—every detail felt hauntingly familiar to him.
The strongest among the Alliance of Light stared ahead, watching as a deep red glow slowly lit up inside the shadowy doorway of Sauron's Tower. It looked like the glow of burning coals in a furnace, or the shine of molten lava, mixing with the colors erupting from Mount Doom. The breathing and footsteps blended together, hitting everyone with a surreal, almost hallucinatory wave.
For a moment, everyone felt like they were standing in the wilderness under the night sky, with a bonfire blazing ahead. The wind carried sparks that drifted by, some brushing past, some landing on their bodies, creating an illusion of burning pain. The strong smell of sulfur filled the air. Buzz—Gandalf's Ring of Fire hummed in his hand, its holy flames reacting to the ancient enemy.
"It's really him..." Gandalf's face was a mix of emotions. "It's the ancient Balrog..."
Thud, thud, thud, thud—the footsteps kept coming, and the dark red firelight grew brighter. With a heavy breath, the Balrog Wraith finally appeared, stepping out of Sauron's Tower. Its arrival sent monster morale through the roof, and hordes of creatures swarmed in from all directions, forming a force to be reckoned with in no time.
More and more monsters gathered, ready for battle. But from kings to soldiers, no one paid much attention to the lesser creatures anymore—every eye was locked on the Balrog.
Its towering body radiated a terrifying aura, and the downward-curving horns screamed brutality. Every breath it took spat out sparks. Dark red and black markings twisted around its head and chest, forming eerie patterns. Those blazing black eyes—anyone it looked at instantly felt like they'd be burned up by its fire.
Nope, not just an illusion. The Balrog's gaze actually triggered hellish magic—a real curse and attack. Even elite elven soldiers couldn't handle its stare. Anyone caught by those eyes couldn't help but groan in pain, as if suffering cruel torture.
"Still causing trouble? I'm a servant of the Holy Flame—evil fire will be banished!" Gandalf shouted, casting a spell as he raised his staff, shielding the soldiers from harm.
But his feelings were complicated—his face showed relief and lingering fear. He was glad he'd once killed a Balrog one-on-one and used the opportunity to level up to White Robe Wizard. That odd experience gave him strong resistance to the Balrog's pressure. But the scary part? Not all Balrogs are created equal. If he'd faced this one back then, he'd have been toast.
—Actually, forget back then—even now, if he had to face this one alone, he'd have zero chance.
And the Balrog didn't come alone. Since its arrival, it had been carrying a massive Obsidian Sarcophagus on its shoulder. The sarcophagus looked plain and unremarkable, just a big block of ordinary obsidian. But when the Balrog strode into the perception range of the strongest heroes, their faces grew serious—the weight of that sarcophagus was even more intimidating than the living Balrog itself.
Thud—the Balrog set the giant Obsidian Sarcophagus upright on the ground, shaking the earth. Clang, clang—it yanked off the iron chains wrapped around the sarcophagus, like undoing layers of seals. Sss—ominous black vapor spewed from the cracks around the lid. Crunch—the lid shifted, scraping with a rocky sound.
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"What... what is that?!" Gandalf's brow furrowed deeply. His instincts screamed that whatever was inside was a major threat. He tried to figure out the enemy's origins, hoping to call out a strategy and prepare a counter.
A moment later—crack! The lid was blasted open from within, flying straight toward the Alliance of Light's army.
"Dominance!" Li Yuncong leaped into the air, his aura exploding as he slapped at the incoming stone: "Lingyang Dominance Art—Heaven Shifter!"
Whoosh—the shockingly heavy lid defied the laws of physics, spinning back exactly as it came. It hit just as hard on the return, like a catapulted siege stone, crashing onto the upright sarcophagus. Boom—the impact sent dust and rubble flying everywhere.
But whatever was inside the sarcophagus was clearly unharmed. Suddenly, two glowing black lights flared up in the swirling dust—the being inside had awakened from an eternal sleep. Thunder rumbled overhead, and an unimaginable pressure burst out, making every living thing, monsters included, tremble with fear.
"This is—!" Gandalf's eyes widened instantly as he remembered a terrifying legend. "Could it be... one of those killed and sealed away since the age of the gods...?"
Whoosh—a pair of enormous wings stretched out from the dust. They looked a bit like the Blackgold Dreadwing's, but more devilish in style. With a single flap, a strong wind swept the dust away, revealing a humanoid figure.
It was clad head-to-toe in pitch-black armor, old and austere. Not a bit of skin was exposed—its iron gauntlets had razor-sharp claws. The helmet's forehead jutted out into a crown of sharp horns, ringed like a warlord's diadem. Its face was completely hidden behind a black mask, with only blazing black eyes visible, sucking in everyone's attention like a pair of black holes.
This armored figure stood about six-foot-three—short by Mordor monster standards. But when it flexed its wrists and started moving, the terrifying aura it unleashed was enough to make anyone's skin crawl.
"It's really him—!" Gandalf's mouth twitched, his voice caught between a cry and a wail as he named the newcomer: "The ultimate taboo under the heavens—Great Winged Demon!"
There was nothing more to say. Strategy? Forget it—the Great Winged Demon barely had any weaknesses! All those terrifying legends flashed through Gandalf's mind, and he realized that sometimes knowing too much was a curse—when facing a legendary foe, knowledge only crushed your confidence and fighting spirit.
"This one's seriously tough." Someone spoke up beside Gandalf, snapping him out of his daze—it was Teacher Yang. Somehow, he'd made his way to the front. As he strode forward, he tossed back over his shoulder, "Just borrowing it for now. I'll give it back later."
On his right hand, the Ring of Water sparkled.
"Looks like these two gatekeepers are the biggest obstacles. Good—just had some blood, time to work it off." Jasper Xiao strode past Gandalf's right side, hefting his warhammer in his left hand, Celestial Ring gleaming on his finger. Knowing he couldn't join a fight at this level, Lord Elrond had lent Jasper the light-powered Celestial Ring to help him unleash its full strength.
"Don't be reckless—get back here!" Gandalf called out in a panic, reaching to stop them. "An ancient Balrog Lord, a Great Winged Demon—outside the age of the gods, nothing can stand against them! Do you hear me? Fall back—"
Smack—before he could finish, a hand landed on his shoulder. "Retreat? Don't be silly—let's get to work." He spun around to see a platinum-haired woman grinning at him. The hand on his shoulder flipped over, beckoning: "Hand it over."