"You may leave now, Halfman." He did not want the thing here to see the ecstasy overcome him. The ecstasy, and the pain. Shaidar Haran did not move.
Demandred opened his mouth - and a voice exploded in his head.

DEMANDRED.

To call it a voice was to call a mountain a pebble. It nearly crushed him against the inside of his own skull; it filled him with rapture. He sank to his
knees. The Myrddraal stood watching impassively, merely raising his four-fingered hand, but only a small part of him could even notice the thing with that voice filling his brain.

DEMANDRED. HOW FARES THIS WORLD?

He was never sure how much the Great Lord knew of the world. He had been as startled by ignorance as by knowledge. But he had no doubt what the Great Lord wanted to hear.
"Rahvin is dead, Great Lord. Yesterday." There was pain. Euphoria too strong became pain quickly. His arms and legs twitched. He was sweating,
now. "Lanfear has vanished without a trace, just as Asmodean did. And Graendal says Moghedien failed to meet her as they had agreed. Also yesterday, Great Lord. I do not believe in coincidence."

THE CHOSEN DWINDLE, DEMANDRED. THE WEAK FALL AWAY. WHO BETRAYS ME SHALL DIE THE FINAL DEATH. ASMODEAN, TWISTED BY HIS WEAKNESS. RAHVIN DEAD IN HIS PRIDE. HE
SERVED WELL, YET EVEN I CANNOT SAVE HIM FROM BALEFIRE. EVEN I CANNOT STEP OUTSIDE OF TIME.

For an instant terrible anger filled that awful voice, and - could it be frustration? An instant only.

DONE BY MY ANCIENT ENEMY, THE ONE CALLED DRAGON. WOULD YOU UNLEASH THE BALEFIRE IN MY SERVICE, DEMANDRED?

Demandred hesitated. A bead of sweat slid half an inch on his cheek; it seemed to take an hour. For a year during the War of Power, both sides had used balefire. Until they learned the consequences. Without agreement, or truce - there had never been a truce any more than there had been quarter - each side simply stopped. Entire cities died in balefire that year, hundreds of thousands of threads burned from the Pattern; reality itself almost unraveled, world and universe evaporating like mist. If balefire was unleashed once more, there might be no world to rule.

Another point pricked him. The Great Lord already knew how Rahvin had died. And seemed to know more of Asmodean than he. "As you command, Great Lord, so shall I obey." His muscles might be jerking, but his voice was rock steady. His knees began to blister from the hot stone, yet the flesh might as well have been someone else's.

SO YOU SHALL.

"Great Lord, the Dragon can be destroyed." A dead man could not wield balefire again, and perhaps then the Great Lord would see no need for it. "He
is ignorant and weak, scattering his attentions in a dozen directions. Rahvin was a vain fool. I—"

WOULD YOU BE NAE'BLIS?

Demandred's tongue froze. Nae'blis. The one who would stand only a step below the Great Lord, commanding all others. "I wish only to serve you,
Great Lord, however I may." Nae'blis.

THEN LISTEN, AND SERVE. HEAR WHO WILL DIE AND WHO LIVE.

Demandred screamed as the voice crashed home. Tears of joy rolled down his face.
Unmoving, the Myrddraal watched him. Until something changed. "What is this?" Shaidar Haran hissed. "Something...I feel it."

YES. I FEEL IT TOO.

Demandred remained on his knees. What was it? Did the Great Lord feel something in him? "Great Lord, I..."

SILENCE!

The voice exploded. Louder in his skull than ever before. Even louder than the first time he came to Shayol Ghul.

LEAVE, DEMANDRED.

He blinked in confusion. "What? But...Great Lord, the other Chosen..."

"They are no longer your business." Shaidar Haran said, looking down at him. The Myrddraal did not move or threaten. Just stared down. "Leave this place now, Demandred."

He looked back at the Bore, but feering that the Great Lord will speak again, he rushed out of the tunnel. But the Myrddraal did not come with him.

He smiled as the man left, running like a deer. "Not stupid like the others. He knows his place."

JUST LESS OF A FOOL. BUT NOT WISE AT ALL.

Shaidar Haran did not move or twitch in the way Demandred did in the presence of the Great Lord. Like anyone did. "I felt it, my lord. Or...maybe I was wrong?"

NO, I FELT IT TOO. THE GATES OF NIGHT ARE BROKEN. FOREVER.

He could already feel other voices breaking out of the Bore with the Great Lord. They were all laughing hysterically, which would to mortal ears sound like strikes of lightning against the ground. The two of them, however stood still for a while.

THEY HAVE LOST DOMINION. THEY CANNOT DO ANYTHING NOW. MANWË AND VARDA FAILED.

NOW, MY TIME HAS COME.

The Servant raised his right hand that was missing a finger. "Well, I suppose that means this was not in vain."

And Sauron laughed, and his master Melkor laughed together.

"Thus spake Mandos in prophecy, when the Gods sat in judgement in Valinor, and the rumour of his word was whispered among all the Elves of the West. When the world is old and the Powers grow weary, then Morgoth, the Black Foe of the World, shall break the Door of Night and return out of the Timeless Void..."

- spoken by Mandos, before all Ages of the World.