Sauron swiftly suppressed the dark fury churning within him and turned to one of his spies waiting nearby, asking.
"Have they made their move?"
The spy, cowering behind a ruined wall, cautiously peeked his head out. He was trembling violently, stricken with terror by the crushing pressure his master exuded.
"Y-y-y-yes, m-m-my L-Lord..."
Sauron raised his hand and waved it with a graceful flick, signaling him to leave. The moment the spy received this silent command, he bowed his head and scurried away, immensely relieved to have escaped with his life. Wasting no time, Sauron shifted his gaze to another spy waiting in the shadows.
"Have you carried out my order?"
A female spy cloaked in black immediately stepped forward and knelt with deep reverence. A fanatical devotion to her master gleamed in her eyes.
"Yes, my Lord. We hunted down a few of the Silvan Elves, stripped them of their gear, and delivered it to the Dark Elves. Soon, they will orchestrate a massacre in the Iron Hills. Furthermore, your Dwarven servants in the east have successfully replicated the armaments of the Iron Hills down to the finest detail. Before long, they will attack a group of Silvan Elves, sacrificing themselves for you."
Sauron was highly satisfied with what he heard. He spoke calmly.
"Excellent. You have done well. Give the Dwarves their rewards and tell them they have my blessing."
Receiving this rare praise from her master, the female spy's cheeks flushed deeply with excitement. Filled with overwhelming pride, she pressed herself even closer to the ground, offering a profound bow.
"Thank you for your praise, Great Tar-Mairon!"
Sauron waved his hand dismissively. Without breaking her reverent posture for a single second, the woman kept her head bowed and swiftly retreated, melding back into the shadows. Sauron then turned to his next spy.
"What did those blood-sucking pests say?"
Fearing that the news he brought might enrage his master, the spy replied in a highly cautious tone.
"They responded favorably, but they demand Galadriel, her biological daughter, and 6,000 elves alive."
Faced with such an insolent demand, Sauron fell silent for a moment, sinking into deep thought.
'These vile creatures have been peculiar ever since they arrived in this world... they have an insatiable thirst for blood and prefer to linger in the north... when the time comes, I must eradicate them... Their demands are quite troublesome. It would have been trivial had I possessed my former strength, but I still need to gather my power.'
The Dark Lord pondered to himself. In truth, he had absolutely no intention of fulfilling this absurd proposal. If he ever truly managed to capture Galadriel alive, and if he forcefully slipped Nenya onto her finger while the One Ring rested on his own, he would possess the most magnificent puppet history had ever seen. Under such circumstances, Galadriel would transform into a flawless Nazgûl, exponentially more powerful than even the Witch-king. However, through his own cold, logical analysis, Sauron knew the chances of such a perfect scenario unfolding were one in a billion. After all, Galadriel was an exceptionally brilliant and utterly stubborn elf who had been a thorn in his side and disrupted his plans even back in the days when he wandered about in the guise of Annatar. Let alone capturing her alive, even killing her was an exceedingly difficult task. Having no intention of altering his current schemes, Sauron issued his command with absolute composure, not even deigning to look at the spy.
"Tell them I accept. Ensure they honor the agreement when the time comes."
Receiving his instructions, the spy bowed respectfully.
"As you command, my great Lord."
As the spy slowly backed away and vanished from sight, Sauron continued his interrogations.
"What did that lizard say?"
A hulking Orc stepped forward uneasily and bowed before his master.
"My Lord, I could not enter or speak with Smaug. The moment I approached the mountain, I felt a crushing pressure. As I advanced, the pressure intensified. By the time I passed Dale, I felt as though I was going to die. I have come to request your assistance; I cannot get near the mountain."
Sauron sank into deep contemplation upon hearing this unforeseen development.
'What is this lizard up to? It has been a long time since we lost contact with him... Does he wish to break our pact? No... that is not logical.'
After weighing the possibilities in his mind and making a brief assessment of the situation, he called out into the void with an authoritative voice.
"Sernar!"
Immediately following the summons, the heavy thud of footsteps striking the stone floor began to echo. Clad from head to toe in pitch-black, dismal armor, a towering and demonic figure emerged from the shadows, approaching his master. The aura of despair and sickness he exuded filled the room slightly, no matter how hard he tried to restrain it. Upon one of his fingers, the sinister ring that chained his soul to the darkness glowed faintly. The Orc who had just reported to Sauron regarding Smaug stood frozen like a statue, tense to the very marrow of his bones in the presence of this entity. The arrival was the Third of the Ringwraiths, one of Sauron's most formidable warriors. Sernar positioned himself directly in front of the Dark Lord, dropped slowly to one knee, and spoke in the Black Speech, his voice muffled, sickly, and grating like rusted metal.
"What is your command, my Lord?"
Without breaking his composure in the slightest, Sauron delivered his order in the same cold and imperious tone.
"Go to the mountain and find out what has happened to that reptile."
Sernar nodded silently, acknowledging the command. Rising to his feet, he turned toward the trembling Orc and hissed in a soulless, frigid voice.
"Walk."
As the Orc scrambled up in a desperate panic and began to scurry ahead, Sernar followed him with heavy, deliberate steps, vanishing into the darkness. Once the area grew quiet again, Sauron moved on to his next gambit, continuing to issue his commands. He spoke with a mocking edge to his voice.
"What did the so-called immortal emperor of the south say?"
Another assigned spy immediately interjected.
"My Lord, the Emperor rejected your proposal, but the Empress accepted it on one condition."
This response piqued Sauron's interest; he looked at the spy with mild curiosity.
"Continue."
Feeling the tense weight of having his master's undivided attention, the spy continued his report respectfully.
"My Lord, the Empress is aware of your craftsmanship and the process by which you forged the Rings of Power."
Hearing this sentence, Sauron chuckled mockingly. Although he had lost a vast portion of his once-glorious crafting abilities, he was genuinely curious about what this so-called empress could possibly want from him.
"Go on."
Given the approval, the spy calmly concluded his words.
"The Empress requests that you forge something that will allow her to feel human again, to taste food once more. In return, she offers her armies as payment."
Sauron remained completely silent for a moment. Confronted with such a bizarre demand amid a massive, strategic negotiation of power, he was briefly at a loss for words, simply because such mundane human desires were entirely alien to him.
'Feelings? Taste? Why would she desire such trivial things? These insects are utterly incomprehensible beings... utter fools.'
Pushing aside this request that defied his logic, Sauron called out once more toward the dark corners of the room.
"Lilith!"
A dense darkness began to rise from the shadows in the corner. From within this swirling obscurity, an extraordinarily captivating woman with purple hair, dressed entirely in black, glided into view. Her skin was as pale as porcelain, yet the faint purple veins tracing just beneath the surface lent a dangerous allure to her beauty. As the woman bowed respectfully before her master, a sensual smile playing on her lips, her voice carried the cadence of a fanatic admirer and a morbidly obsessed lover.
"Speak~ the sole possessor of my heart~"
Faced with this brazen form of address, Sauron once again opted merely to stay silent.
'...This woman... stirs a strange sensation within me...'
It was, in fact, what mortals colloquially called a "shiver"—a sensation profoundly alien to Sauron. Devoid of emotion and obsessed solely with absolute control and dominion, he was reacting instinctively simply because he was confronting such a phenomenon for the very first time. As a supreme entity who always operated on the axis of absolute power and pure logic, Sauron had never truly experienced such a bizarre feeling until he took this woman under his wing. Lilith was the head of the Black Circle sorcerers, an order Sauron had personally established. She was an exceptionally dangerous mage who had mastered pure mana and dark mana; furthermore, she had succeeded in harvesting human souls and converting them into her own personal energy source. Naturally, the invaluable guidance she had received from Sauron in these dark arts played a massive role; thus, calling her the Dark Lord's apprentice would not be an exaggeration. Yet, the bond between them was far removed from a conventional master-apprentice relationship. To Sauron, Lilith was nothing more than a highly useful pawn with immense potential and exceptional talent, one to be utilized to the very end. He had invested in her, and now this beautiful woman had evolved into one of the most lethal pieces on the chessboard—perhaps a knight, or even a queen.
However, there was one minor complication that even the meticulously calculating Sauron had failed to foresee: Over time, Lilith had warped her absolute loyalty to her master into a wholly obsessive, morbid infatuation. The woman's greatest desire in life was to become Sauron's bride, to rule the world seated upon a throne right beside him. But what a profound tragedy it was for the wretched woman that Sauron's mind did not possess a single cell dedicated to such romantic fantasies. Understanding absolutely nothing of love, affection, or affairs of the heart, the Dark Lord operated with a rigidly literal mind, completely devoid of emotional intelligence; his one and only goal was to become the absolute, uncontested ruler of this world. Nevertheless, in Sauron's eyes, Lilith's value was immeasurable, for her loyalty and obedience were unshakable. In fact, Sauron secretly took pride in the fact that, even without the Rings of Power, he could bind mortals to himself so blindly through the sheer charisma of his presence alone. Ignoring the woman's demeanor, Sauron calmly cut to the chase.
"You know what I want."
Lilith gracefully rose from her bow. A wide smile adorned her face, molded by the immense pleasure of receiving a task from her master. She clasped her hands together excitedly at chest level and tilted her head slightly to the side in a sweet, endearing manner.
"Do not worry in the slightest~ I will begin working on a ring immediately~ Even if it is not as powerful as the magnificent rings you forged~ I can craft something that grants the immortal the effect she desires, while simultaneously binding her as your slave~"
Then, pressing her index finger to her lip, she adopted a thoughtful posture, as if she had just remembered some trivial detail.
"But~ I will require a multitude of sacrifices~ my Lord~"
To Sauron, the lives of sacrifices held zero value; hence, his voice remained completely placid, as if discussing the most mundane of matters.
"That is not a problem. Use as many Orcs and Men as you desire. I expect a one hundred percent success rate from you."
Smiling with perverse delight at her master's generosity, Lilith performed another deep curtsy.
"This slave of yours will not disappoint you, my Lord~"
As the woman's body dissolved into a thick, dark smoke and completely vanished from the room within seconds, Sauron stared after her, sinking into a momentary silence once more.
'...I felt that strange sensation again...'
Swiftly banishing this bizarre discomfort from his mind, he refocused his attention entirely on his plans for conquest.
"What is the situation in Rohan?"
Emerging from the shadows in the room, another spy quickly stepped forward and presented his report.
"Everything is proceeding exactly as you planned, my Lord."
Highly pleased by this flawless execution, Sauron posed his next question.
"And Gondor?"
The spy replied, maintaining the confident tone in his voice.
"The same, my Lord. Gondor has lost many of its great minds; aside from a few capable commanders and administrators, it is now nothing more than its army."
Sauron appeared satisfied, though he did not dwell on it; after all, to him, this was the natural progression of events, as he was the very architect of the plan.
"Good."
While all these grand strategies were being deliberated within the Dark Lord's headquarters, at that exact moment, in a remote and impoverished corner of Middle-earth scarcely found on maps, Sauron's agents were setting another insidious facet of his scheme into motion. Inside a dilapidated, dimly lit dwelling in an isolated village, a large crowd of people had gathered. All eyes were fixed on a bald man seated squarely in the center, clad in simple yet commanding religious vestments, sporting a warm, reassuring smile. The bald man was recounting his tale in a profoundly genial and soothing voice that instantly captivated his listeners.
"...Then, the Great and wise Tar-Mairon declared that mankind would live safely amidst abundance and prosperity; he promised them wealth, welfare, and peace. The people wished to follow this extraordinary and compassionate deity appointed by Eru Ilúvatar, for in doing so, they would live in harmony and bliss."
Allowing the effect he had created to steep over his audience, the man fell silent calmly and took a small sip from the wooden cup resting before him. At that moment, a young boy sitting at the front of the crowd couldn't hold back his overwhelming curiosity and asked.
"But what happened to Tar-Mairon?"
Hearing this innocent question, the warm smile on the bald man's face vanished instantly. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a deeply sorrowful sigh, as if he were bearing all the anguish of the world upon his back.
"Tragically, Tar-Mairon was betrayed... Those of his kind, and those above him, grew envious of his magnificence; they did not want him to elevate mankind... Therefore, they conspired against him... They used the Elves in an attempt to murder him. Men—your ancestors—fought heroically against the Elves and the traitors within their own ranks, the ancestors of the Gondorians... Yet it was not enough. Unable to bear watching his people suffer, Tar-Mairon turned himself into a shield, ensuring their escape... But he was gravely wounded in that battle; he sacrificed himself for the sake of mankind..."
As the bald man's throat tightened and his words trembled, the curious atmosphere in the room gave way to a heavy, suffocating sorrow. While some of the listeners bowed their heads, the man wiped the pooling tears from the corners of his eyes and continued in a shaky voice.
"The Great Tar-Mairon gave himself up for us. He managed to survive and go into hiding, but he was severely wounded—wounded beyond all healing. He lost his former, glorious countenance... The other beings had cursed him! He was reduced to a mere dark and shadowy silhouette, all so that we would come to despise him!"
The man began to weep mournfully, rubbing his eyes with his fingers as if in sheer agony. The impoverished and desperate villagers in the room were instantly swayed by his successful emotional manipulation and theatrical performance, adopting similarly sorrowful states with profound sympathy in their hearts. From within the crowd, an elderly man, his face wrinkled from life's hardships, blurted out in a mix of fury and bewilderment.
"Why did Eru not help him?"
Sniffling, the man replied without breaking the victimized tone in his voice.
"No one knows. Perhaps Eru wishes to test him? Perhaps the others convinced Eru otherwise... But he is preparing to return now, and he wishes to elevate his beloved humanity once more, to let them live in peace and prosperity. However, his greatest enemies are the Elves and the other entities that support them. He is gathering his army in secret, seeking out humans who will join him and pledge their loyalty."
While the man playing the role of the priest took a sorrowful sip of his water, the people before him reflected on their own demoralizing lives. They had already been drowning in misery and starvation for years, regularly facing Orc raids and bands of bloodthirsty bandits. But the bizarre and miraculous part was this: ever since this bald man had stepped foot in their village six months ago, neither bandits nor Orcs had harmed a single hair on their heads. Approaching threats seemed to strike an invisible wall; the creatures made it glaringly obvious that they feared this emissary of Tar-Mairon, leaving the village untouched. Through meticulous, painstaking work over six solid months, this false priest was successfully converting these desperate people to a new, dark faith. And the most terrifying truth of all was that these brainwashing sessions were not confined solely to this corner of Middle-earth; they were being conducted simultaneously, hidden away from prying eyes, across countless different settlements.
History was, in fact, repeating itself perfectly. Once before, Sauron had employed this exact tactic of religious manipulation to corrupt humanity. Although his moves back then had led to catastrophes outside his initial designs, he had experienced firsthand just how easily weak-minded mortals could be swayed by such spiritual promises and false messianic figures. Now, all he had to do was orchestrate the very same game with far more subtlety, patience, and from within the shadows.
While these dark seeds were being sown in all four corners of Middle-earth, and while Sauron gloated, believing everything was proceeding like clockwork according to his perfect calculations; Igris—the chaotic variable acting independently on the game board, the one anomaly the Dark Lord could never fit into his equations—was currently busy in peaceful Rivendell, slyly preparing to subject the bedridden Elladan to a little blackmail...