As the One Ring sunk into Mt. Doom, the endless battle between the wraith of an ancient elf and the diminished soul of a god finally came to a close. The great eye above Barad-dur turned a brilliant blue, and all was still for a moment. The superimposed silence engulfed all, from the hordes of orcs below, to the armies of men, to even the winged fellbeasts and their spectral riders high in the sky.
Such was the eerie feeling that the whole of Middle-Earth paused and held its breath.
Then all hell broke loose.
Terrifying screams ripped from all directions of the ashen wasteland, accosting all with working ears. Mt. Doom erupted, spewing molten rocks everywhere. Chaotic winds of magic brutally swept in, savoring the freedom they had finally gained.
Sauron's chokehold on Mordor had been tight and inflexible. The magicks of the region had always been somewhat enriched by the presence of gods, whether it had been him or his old master, Morgoth. But all the magic had been suppressed or harnessed for the sake of military production and order, and now there was nothing holding those winds back. They surged with a never-before-seen ferocity, and though the world could normally handle such things, the pressure built up from the magic being bound so long proved too much.
Tears began forming in the world, and even more potent, foreign magicks flowed in from beyond.
It was a scene of terror to those mortals who could only helplessly look up.
Man and orc alike were crushed, burned, ripped apart by wild magicks, or simply gone through the new wounds on the world. Worse off were the ringwraiths and the ghosts of Gondor's army, for they had no physical anchor with which to resist the winds.
Still though, it was an end to the previous order and the world would eventually heal.
The realms of men would recover.
The elves would return to the east, and their diminishment would reverse.
The dwarves and hobbits would continue on as they always had.
The orcs would finally have a chance to be anything other than the weapons they had been twisted into so long ago, if they made that choice.
Altogether, it was a victory for all that was light and good in the world. Pyrrhic, perhaps, but a victory, nonetheless.
Only one being was not satisfied with the result of the battle. He screamed and raged but was far too powerless to do anything to change anything now.
It was a foreign feeling, bleeding out.
He wasn't physically bleeding out. His last physical form was long since gone, and at any rate, physical wounds were easy to deal with for beings as great as he was.
Nay, this bleeding was spiritual. It wasn't supposed to happen. In any other case, the destruction of his ring would've only meant his banishment from Arda. An annoying fate, but an ultimately survivable one. Now though, thanks to that accursed, foolish little elf lordling who had dared to cross him, he was actually dying.
He could feel his insides unraveling. He could feel his essence bleeding out into the world. All because of that repulsive elf playing at being a threat, he was suffering this humiliation.
When I find Celebrimbor again, I'll rip him apart with my BARE HANDS!
Now, he was fleeing. His ring had come undone mere moments ago, and at the same time, Celebrimbor had been able to successfully strike him within their battle. Unfortunately, the failsafe he had built into the rings failed. Instead of drawing all the power of the other rings to preserve his ring, Celebrimbor's influence had caused the opposite to happen, weakening him even further.
Now he was lesser than even that foolish elf. He couldn't even make any sort of form, and the winds of magic were damaging him as they did the mortal creatures.
If I do nothing, I will die.
There was only one option.
He'd need a body. With a physical form to hold him, he could buy enough time to mend.
Not any would do, though. Diminished though he was, a Maiar he remained. He refused to use an orc. That would be an even greater humiliation than oblivion. A disgusting little hobbit wouldn't do either, but more as a result of there not being any in the vicinity than physical inability. An elf would be preferable, but none nearby were dead and intact enough for possession.
He'd have to use a human, unfortunately.
With spectral eyes, he surveyed the battlefield. Corpses and chaos were plentiful. The rampant, brilliant magicks were pleasing, beautiful even, but knowing the scene before him, as well as Middle-Earth entirely, would fade to mundanity sickened him beyond reason.
All because Ilúvatar deemed entropy to be important.
I don't care. I won't let this be the end!
Still, it was difficult to find any usable bodies. Most of the dead ones were in pieces because of the chaos and falling rocks. All of the living were fleeing, and none of them would be likely to willingly work with him anyway, and he lacked the power to dominate.
Then a larger body drew his attention.
One of his creations, a fellbeast, lay on the ground near a few large tears in reality. Its long neck and bald, leathery skin were slick with blood. The legs had been crushed by falling debris, and there were several holes in the wings, likely the cause of its fall. Originally intended to be a recreation of dragons based on twisted birds, mostly to mock those annoying eagles, they were incomplete and ugly. They served their purpose, but he wasn't too happy with them. They were still in development and would've taken on a fairer form eventually.
What lay under it was of more interest though.
A nazgûl.
His newest nazgûl, once the man named Talion, now a mere corpse. In life that man had been a thorn in his side, mostly due to being partnered with Celebrimbor and an adept hand with the elf's wraith magic.
It gave him great amusement when Celebrimbor threw Talion away. It gave him more amusement when Talion took up the ring of a slain nazgûl to stay alive.
It amused him less when Talion refused to become a nazgûl for many years.
Talion eventually fell, as all men did. He became one of the most useful nazgûl for the fact that he still had a physical body.
Now, it was clear Talion's soul was gone, flown off to Valinor or wherever the souls of men went after death. The ring Talion bore had been overwhelmed by the sudden supercharge of Sauron's magic earlier and melted into a puddle. Just the body remained, and a good third of it had been crushed by the fellbeast's weight, but it was still in one piece.
It'll have to do.
It took a few moments to take over the body, and a few minutes more to repair the damage to a usable state.
Now clad in flesh, Sauron crawled out from under the winged creature. The familiar smell of ash and magma made itself known, as well as the exotic smell of foreign magicks.
He grimaced and heaved to his feet with shaky steps.
This body's stiff and heavy. Accursed mortal flesh.
With a shaky movement, he shifted to the side to dodge a molten rock hurtling by his head.
I've much work to do here. The orc spawning pits will need to be reestablished, and I'll need to make new fortifications.
Not to mention, Celebrimbor is probably still here somewhere. That little piece of scrap he passes for a ring of power still exists, and so he must too.
He took several more steps forward before cursing and falling to his side. The chaotic winds had knocked him over.
I'll need to get Mordor under full control again.
He struggled to his feet once more, and then stumbled forward a few steps, catching his foot on a small tear in reality and just barely managing to stay upright.
Damn it all.
Preoccupied as he was, he wasn't able to avoid another molten rock whistling towards him.
It passed by his side, knocking into his head and taking off his left ear.
The pain wasn't difficult to bear, as he had felt much worse. The greater effect was him being pushed to the side.
Right into a large tear.
The void outside of the world was not a place he had been to in a long time. He did belong there, as all Maiar and Valar did. Injured and diminished as he was now, it would tear his soul apart if he was without a body.
Being in a physical form as he was, he couldn't really control his movements in the void. He couldn't see anything either through his physical eyes. Anything except for that bastard.
Ilúvatar.
The bright light, his creator, smiled at him, as much as a formless thing could smile. It wasn't any sort of triumphant or smug smile. Still, all that thing offered was that infuriating, warm smile.
And then Sauron felt a push, and his body moved quickly.
Sometime later, he felt several other divinities nearby, ones easily greater than all of the Ainur, yet still lesser than Ilúvatar.
One of them in particular, one that glowed a rich gold, stared at him as he passed.
Then, he noticed a different light. A world was below him. He eventually felt air on his skin. It was cold.
Then, he felt snow.
A/N
Alright, here we go. I had originally intended to post this last night to round off the year, but I didn't get around to it. We'll just pretend I got an extension.
Anyway, happy new year!
The next update will be for A Lost Relation.