Chapter 36: The Storming Of The Pit

Gandalf (III)

Saruman came at him once more, his staff whirring through the air. Gandalf blocked him, staggering under the blow. Saruman withdrew his staff, spun on the spot, and tried to strike him again, this time from the other side. All of this transpired in a mere split second, but Gandalf was ready for him, blocking again, and then a third time.

Saruman, however, showed no signs of growing either tired or impatient. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying himself, slowly biding his time. He could keep this battle raging until Dagor Dagorath itself. And so it did indeed rage, back and forth across the roof of Orthanc, as the two wizards, powerful beings locked in the mortal bodies, traded blow after blow at each other, glowing sparks and sizzling flames lashing up from whenever their staffs made contact, brilliant pyrotechnics lighting up the duel between these two mighty figures. And all the while, down below them, the battle between Saruman's vile servants and the warriors of the Sky-People raged on in the grounds around the tower. Minutes seemed to drag into hours with no clear victor in sight.

Saruman, it seems, had been quite the busy one these last few months; not only had be been hard at work breeding an army and forging terrifying new weapons to arm them with, but he had also been exploring his own potential, experimenting with the limits of his own power, developing sinister new techniques. And right now, he shown little hesitation in displaying these new techniques, one-by-one, and bringing them out to shine in this duel. At one point, having managed to lock Gandalf's staff in place against his own, he delivered a fierce kick to the chest. Saruman focused all of his power into his foot, and sent Gandalf flying backwards through the air, right into one of the stone spires that formed the crown of Orthanc. He struck the pillar with a thud, and seemed to lay prone for a moment.

Saruman too paused from his attacks. He glared at Gandalf, and then slowly paced back and forth across the tower, studying him, like a hungry wolf circling its prey, sizing it up before preparing to strike. That was when at last a small revelation came to Saruman's senses. "Narya, the Red Ring," he snarled, "so you had it with you all along, Olorin? Is that what continues to sustain you in your weariness? To make you continue to fight back against the inevitable?"

Gandalf, calmly, readied himself to receive the next attack. "The Ring Of Fire is not yours to take. Nor is the One Ring itself," he replied, slowly, "and there are many other forces too at work in this universe, some for ill but just as many for good."

Saruman said nothing, but resumed the battle, charging at him. Gandalf sighed, and decided at last was the time to unleash his full power.

40 meters below Ground Level
Fortress of Isengard
"Misty Mountains" Sector
Continent of "Middle Earth"
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L5

Beneath Isengard there lay a veritable maze of tunnels and passageways connecting dozens of smaller rooms and individual chambers with several larger underground caverns. It was these places, excavated in record time by Saruman's workforce, where the vast majority of the work was done in creating his armies and forging the new weapons that would fight their war. It was almost like a miniature representation of Earth's own Industrial Revolution and the new era of warfare that followed it, all compressed down into a single hellish locale...

Corporal Kyra Lynn was a proud Marine of the United Nations Colonial Defense Force. She'd first enlisted at the age of 18, had participated in the ongoing actions against insurgents and rogue states on Mars, and again at Alpha Centauri when the UN had to intervene because The Company™ and the native cat-people furries over there had run into some "cultural differences" that somehow could only be resolved through bloodshed and regardless of with whom the fault for these lay, the lives of Human citizens of Earth was at risk. But the sight that now greeted her eyes would have disturbed and unsettled even the most hardened fighting men and women of the Corps.

In front of them, stacked some thirty feet high, was a huge pile of disemboweled bodies, bones, and discarded body parts. Human bodies. Men. Women. Little children too. Flies buzzed about the scene in swarms, while small shapes darted quickly among them, which could have been rats or some other disgusting scavenger. Even with their helmet air filters on, Kyra could have sworn she could smell the pungent stink arising from the mass of corpses that lay in front of her eyes.

Scurrying among the bodies were several of the smaller orcs. They seemed to be carrying bloody cloth bags on them and knives too; it seemed their very job was to scour through these human remains, scavenging them for any useful parts they could find. The arrival of the Marines had startled them, and now they could be seen running away like the cowardly little shits they were, making a beeline for the doorway at the far end of the tunnel. Kyra was still reeling from the sight of all those corpses lain there like some mass grave straight outta the Holocaust, but she knew wherever they were heading must have been somewhere important, so she followed them, her Stacker AR at the ready.

The next room held further horrors for the team. It was a fairly large chamber, with about forty or so wooden beds laid out in neat rows. It was fairly well-lit – in addition to the flaming oil-lamps that hung from the ceiling, there were places in the wall where bright glowing crystals had been set into them – these were presumably the creation of the Wizard himself, so that he may have adequate illumination provided to him whilst he conducted his foul experiments.

This was the room where the orcs they had seen earlier had retreated to. As she entered, Kyra could see that the few of them along with several Uruks left here, presumably to stand guard over the Wizard's work, were now taking cover at the far end of the room, putting together a barricade from several of the beds, preparing crossbows and some more of their firearms to put up a defense.

Instinctively, she opened fire at them, launching a single 20mm grenade at them which detonated amongst the group, splintering their makeshift barricade in a mix of body parts, shrapnel, and smoldering wooden shards. There was another brilliant flash as one of the light crystals set into the wall also exploded, searing the two orcs closest to it. Once her helmet HUD motion tracker registered no more moving targets in this room, she took a brief moment to investigate the premises.

Most of the beds were empty, but at least five of them still had bodies lying upon them. The one nearest her was what had caught her attention. Upon the bed there lay a body, inactive and unmoving; it was a vile creation of human and orc and various other body parts too, all stitched together. It looked like one of the Uruks, but upon closer examination, she could see that it was meant to be a new breed altogether, extra strips of muscle and sinews grafted onto its body, like some kind of twisted Uruk on steroids...

"Holy... fuuucckkk..." muttered Pvt. Caldwell, right behind her, aghast at the sight, "shit... this must be... the place where those... half-orc, half-human thingies are created."

Kyra didn't reply. At that moment, she was driven, half by the adrenaline pumping in her veins and her own morbid sense of curiosity, onwards to the door at the far other side of the room. She didn't even bother examining the other bodies left in this room. Instead, she strode forwards, her heart racing, breathing heavily, her Stacker AR ready, dreading just what she might find on the other side. She turned on her flashlight attachment, kicked down the door, and entered...

The final chamber was the largest and by far the worst. It was nearly pitch black, what little illumination there was came from a few oil-lamps hanging from the ceiling, but Kyra could see everything clearly enough thanks to her HUD's thermal vision, and the small but powerful LED light she now shone around the room. It was a large cavern, with hundreds of beds, lain out in rows upon rows much like the last room. But unlike the last room, each of these beds still had an occupant lying upon it. And unlike the last room, each of them were still alive and breathing and moving slightly.

Kyra shone her flashlight at the first bed nearest her. The body that lay upon it was no Orc or Uruk. It was a perfectly normal human girl, perhaps no more than 15 at most. Her blonde hair had been shaved nearly to the scalp by her captors; she must have come from Rohan, perhaps kidnapped, or else from neighboring Dunland, offered perhaps as tribute to Saruman by the tribes there that had aligned themselves with his cause. She was bound, by the shackles on her feet and hands, to the bed upon which she lay, the skin around these rubbed raw by repeated struggles to pull herself free of them. Her clothes were ragged and in tatters, and there was a look of wild terror in her eyes as she turned to look in her direction, unsure of who Kyra was but terrified all the same of what she had been expecting to happen to her. She tried to cry out, but her mouth was gagged.

Kyra was confused and shocked by this, and quickly turned to examine the next bed. There lay another girl, not too different from the first, but she looked far calmer and more forlorn, as if she were resigned to her fate, as if death at that moment would have been a kindness to her. There was an ominous bulge on midsection, betraying the sign of a late-stage pregnancy. That was when it occurred to Kyra just where was it that Saruman had gotten his "half-orc, half-human" hybrids from. She fell to her knees, and cried out in despair.

"Uh... calling Sarge, this is Caldwell here. Over."

"What's going on? What've you found? Where's Corporal Lynn?"

"She's... I... there's no words to... uh... shit... I... I think we should hold off on blowing the dam, sir. I repeat: blowing the dam is a no-go. Over."

"What? Fuck, this doesn't sound good at all. Hang tight, Private, I'm en route to your location. Over and out."

Gandalf (IV)

Saruman stumbled backwards, crying out in pain and shock, wisps of smoke hissing from the stump of where his right hand was seconds ago when he had tried to seize Narya, the Elven Ring Of Fire. He still clutched his staff tightly in his left hand, but it was clear just who had emerged triumphant from their long battle.

"Saruman Of Many Colors! Formerly Of The White!" declared Gandalf as he advanced slowly, his voice unnaturally loud and clear, "for your betrayal of the sacred trust invested in you as the once Head of the White Council, Master of the Istari, I hereby cast you from the order, declare your life forfeit, and your staff broken!"

With that, with a single motion, Gandalf brought his staff around and struck Saruman's staff. There was a blinding white and red light and a sharp CRACK that filled the air as it shattered into a hundred shards. Saruman drew back his left hand in shock, and fell backwards onto the floor. He was perilously near to the edge.

While the battle below was still raging, a handful of Orcs and Uruks and Dunlendings too could be seen who had all gathered around the base of the tower to watch their master fight; no sooner had Gandalf destroyed Saruman's staff, then these spectators had already begun to flee in terror at the sight of their master defeated. Gandalf took a moment to look at all that was happening around them, and then his eyes returned to his former brother of the Order Of The Istari, turned bitter enemy. For a moment, both were motionless and silent, staring into one another's eyes.

At long last, Gandalf spoke: "Curunir, old friend," he sighed, reproachfully, "what has become of you? Look around you! Is this what you wanted? You came to this world to stand for all this is good and orderly within it! To help guide Men to find the strength in their hearts to stand before the rise of the Dark Lord! And instead all you have brought is needless destruction and suffering and death!"

"It is you who are blinded," spat the defeated wizard, "my way is the way forwards, of building a newer and stronger world. It is inevitable, and if we do not change, than the Dark Lord will make us change when his influence sweeps over Middle Earth with the tedious inevitability of an unloved season." He cast a glance at the battlefield below them. "Tell me: what empty promises did you make the Sky-People to bring them to your side? What silver-coated lies did you spin in the ears of Lords Teller and Lynn? Perhaps the same as those you told the Halfling when you set him out on the road to his doom?"

Gandalf paused for a second, shifting uncomfortably, thinking of the Fellowship and whatever had become of them... "Your 'new world' comes at far too high a price," he continued, trying to keep the pressure on his opponent, "and what of the Sky-People? I simply laid before them the truth, told them that the choices they will make in these next few days would forever come to define them."

Saruman laughed, mockingly. "Oh, Olorin, dear friend, you do not know the Sky-People at all, do you? Of the evil that lurks in the hearts of these Men from beyond the stars? Of their society built on excess and depravity? Of their remorseless greed and ambition, that leave millions dead and whole worlds barren, like a swarm of metal locusts scouring the void between worlds? They may hail from the stars themselves, but in flesh they are little more than Númenor arisen again a hundred-fold - petty and weak mortal creatures destined to be consumed by their own arrogance!"

"I know enough of them now to know they are capable of great good and evil both," retorted Gandalf. He paused for a moment before continuing. "And after all that you have done here, can the Istari really claim to be any better?"

"Sky-People or not, Mordor is on the move," replied Saruman, coldly, "as we speak, an army unlike any ever seen since the Fall Of Gondolin now marches upon Gondor, an army I had a hand in the creation thereof." He spoke this last part with a small touch of pride and boastfulness in his voice.

"Curunir," said Gandalf, shaking his head, "whether Sauron triumphs or not, I will make sure you have no further part in whatever world he intends to bring about. But... you may yet help us save many from the ravages of this wasteful war. You were deep in The Enemy's council; tell me what you know."

The formerly White Wizard glared back at him, though it was clear that he was also thinking on how best to answer this question. And then he was just about to speak when...

SHUNK.

Saruman's exploded in a mass of blood and brain and glowing red sparks sizzling and shooting everywhere.

"Great Manwe's beard!" exclaimed Gandalf, taken aback. Pieces of the former Istari's mortal body had splattered themselves all over his face and beard and his robes, while the rest of the body crumbled onto the floor. For a split second, Gandalf sensed Curunir's soul, unseen but very much present, rising from his dismembered mortal remains, powerless and forlorn, looking to The West but ultimately pulled elsewhere like something else were spiriting him away. Gandalf frowned. No, it certainly did not feel like the influence of the Dark Lord, but he could not quite place the feeling of what he was sensing. His focus was broken however a second later as turned to see the source of this commotion.

Standing in the doorway to the staircase, having emerged from below, there stood the Sky-Woman warrior known as Kyra Lynn. In her arms she brandished one of those golden guns he had seen earlier in the hands of Saruman's highest ranking Uruks. The end of this weapon was smoking profusely.

Kyra herself was breathing heavily and shaking all over as she approached, never once taking her eyes off of Saruman. She had removed the helmet and mask she was wearing earlier, and so now Gandalf could see her face clearly. Her hair was wild and unkept, and her eyes were red and swollen and burning with hate; she had been crying profusely in the minutes leading up to this moment.

"Oh dear," muttered Gandalf, "you have seen the breeding pits, haven't you?"

Kyra said nothing, only continued to glare at the now headless body. And then, fueled by her hatred, she kicked it. She kicked it so hard that Saruman's body, already close to the edge of the tower as it was when it had fallen, was pushed over the edge and slowly plummeted down towards the ground. It impaled itself on one of the sharp spires jutting out from the edifice of Orthanc, halfway down.