Hundreds of orcs fled deep beneath the mountains of Angband, screeching and shoving one another in their haste to get away from the single bright and shining figure at the gate. His sword glittered like ice and his eyes were brighter than fire, and his challenge echoed through the twisting mazes, down to the deep and dark throne room of Morgoth.
It was not until the screeching turned to murmurs of doubt and cowardice that Morgoth stirred. His great knees creaked as he rose. Grond dragged over the floor as he drew it up, sending sparks flying.
The gate opened.