Her heart trampled with the hooves of a thousand mares, eyes darted to and fro, breathes came out ragged, shallow in the freezing night like puffs of smoke from a cottage chimney. There was pitch blackness, darkness so smothering that she felt it stealing away her breath and the light from her eyes. She felt like screaming, yet no voice would flow past her lips to cry out within the void, her mouth smothered with no foreign contact, lips bare yet bound.

Ruby felt as though she were falling, her cape billowed, and her limbs were stiffer than stone, her heart filled her ears with its rampant beating, she could not close her eyes. With her body at the mercy of nothingness she felt so alone but the unease of a thousand unseen eyes gazing upon her weighed heavily on her heart, they were there, she could feel them. There was a creeping feeling of icy, boney hands edging towards her scalp, the hairs upon her neck stood erect with terror, eyes frantically flickering side to side as she was powerless to turn her head even in the slightest of directions.

She was frozen with pure terror.

There was a powerful urge to weep, cry her eyes out like a small child, cry for her mother's embrace, her father's, her sister's protection from whatever cold creature brushed past her hair. The silence was maddening if not for her constant beating heart, yet it too wore upon her nerves, the urge to move to scratch itches that sprung up from her solitariness, the need to pop joints, to stretch muscles robbed from her by this unseen invisible force.

Then she heard it, a voice of malice, spite, colder than even the frostiest blizzard, "Nardur sharaniz"

*Little woman*

Ruby's eyes wired shut with trembling terror, the voice was right in her ear, whispering to her in such a proximity that she felt the chill of its breath, no warmth or evidence of true life. Fear unlike any other smothered her being, even if Crescent Rose was by her side there was no way she could coax her muscles into reaching for her weapon, it was like she was left bare naked in front of a Beowulf Alpha.

In a blinding flash a horrific perversion of a man appeared before her in blinding white light, his jaw distended with a crown adorning his head, "WWWRRRRYYYYYYYYY-SCCCCHHHHRREEEEEEE!"

Her eyes trembled in terror, pain consumed her body from the hellish screech of the monster that floated inches from her face, she floated helplessly in its presence, the scream brought back the memories of the festival and the slaughter that happened there. The scream- this was one of those creatures on the Grimm Steeds.

She stared into the black pits where its eyes should've been, seeing nothing to give credence to it ever having a soul, just a husk of a man bound to darkness. His hand cuffed itself near her throat, yet it could not touch her, golden light burned its hand, making the monster recoil with a screech.

"I was once a king of men," He whispered like nails tearing into a chalk board with a widening grin of wrinkled dead skin, "now I am… Nazgûl!

Ruby's ears felt like they were going to bleed, that word, that terrible word coming from the mockery of life in front of her seemed to prick her ears, his wavering form glared at her hatefully as if she had wronged him, "No one comes between the Nazgûl and his prey, prepare yourself, nardur sharaniz, I will come for you."

She was then assailed with terrible visions, the monsters from the town were storming Vale with the Nazgûl riding their monstrous mounts, people were either cut down or placed in chains with whips tearing open their backs with vicious strikes from cruel masters. The tower of Beacon was caved in, the top no longer represented what Ozpin's school once was, instead it was a spiked prong with green fire bellowing from the sides, most of Beacon was a ruin with black metal forming structures within in its corpse.

Suddenly a bright orange fire appeared at the tower's peak, with the armored figure she saw in the apparition's fiery eyes when he had charged her in the town. He stared directly at her, his breast plate had her sigil, Weiss', Blake's Yang's, and her various friends strewn across him like badges, "You will submit before me, or the suffering you shall endure will be legendary, and your screams will echo throughout my realm for all of time."

"Farn!" Came a booming voice unlike the malicious shrieking monsters, it was the voice of a man she determined, warm and thick with fury, "You this assail this youth no longer!"

A bright warm light washed over her from behind, the vision burned away, and the apparition faded back into the form she saw during the Festival of The Returned, clothed in black robes with a metal helm. Fire engulfed the being as its shriek was drowned out and its form vanished from her sight, the brilliant warm light relieved her of her pains, giving her the strength to move.

Ruby awoke with a hard thud, landing on her shoulder hard, she hissed and flailed on the ground in a fury in tangled white sheets. She was drenched in sweat with her head ringing like thunder, she mewled curling up in a fetal position with her forehead against her knees, she heard bells and her thumping heart, for a few minutes she weathered this agony as it slowly subsided. With a shaky hand she gripped the mattress she had been sleeping on and pulled herself up to a kneeling position, panting with exertion, never had she felt this powerless.

'The medical ward.' She observed with stinging eyes, moaning as she covered them with her palms, slowly she formed the will to squint, seeing the beds filled with her teammates and team CFVY, tossing and turned with pain stricken faces, some with looks of terror as they shivered under thick blankets. She worked up the will to crawl back on top of her mattress, panting and wincing as every joint seemed to ache like she had a full body workout and hike, she was wearing plain hospital trousers and a shirt, an uncomfortable shiver ran through her with the knowledge that an orderly had undressed and redressed her. Ruby dared not move now that a wave of nausea washed over her, threatening her with the prospect of projectile vomit, she stared up blankly at the ceiling with the fearful possibility of sleep.

A door opened and she heard several footsteps rapidly approach her bed with the thumping of a pair of heavy boots. Relief washed over her when she saw the concerned faces of headmaster Ozpin and Professor Goodwitch.

"Ruby? Are you alright?" Goodwitch asked, feeling her forehead, she retracted her hand quickly, Ruby was burning up with sweat beads covering her.

Ruby dared not speak with the fear of embarrassing herself by puking over her teachers, her silver eyes did shimmer when the warrior from before came into view with his strange medieval armor, his face obscured by his chainmail, "Have her drink this tea, it is the tea of Athelas, Kingsfoil. It shall help her greatly."

Ozpin gratefully took a cup from the knight and helped Ruby sit up, he brought the sweet-smelling herb water to her lips. She sipped it gently at first, then with a bit of strength in her arm urged the Ozpin to help her drain the cup. Ruby's arm fell back with a soft thud, the taste of strawberries was refreshing to her, yet she still could not find the strength to speak.

"She must rest, the Black Breath of the Riders is a powerful weapon, they use it only in battles against foes they want to suffer, yet this more than that- sorcery assails these youths." She heard the knight say.

Ozpin set Ruby back down against her pillows, covering her in the blankets that had fallen with her, he turned to the knight with dread in his eyes, "How long will they be like this, Haleth?"

The Rohan rider stared down at Ruby's prone form, her silver heads flickered with heavy eyelids that threatened sleep, "For that I cannot tell thee, sorcery is above my means of understanding, despite myself being victim of it, its limits is above mine knowledge. Only time shall tell, we must brew more tea with what I brought, then make plans to grow and harvest more."

Ruby forced her eyes open despite her lethargic terror, resting was the last thing she wanted now, she reached for Ozpin's sleeve, he bent down to hear her whisper, "I saw them- t-those things, they were talking- showing me-"

"Believe not the lies of Dark Lord," Haleth said taking her hand, his heavy leather laden hand could engulf her frail meek hand with ease, "thy body must heal, only by rest and the help of the Kingsfoil shall you be able to bear arms once more. The nightmares shall abide."

She saw Haleth pull out a few more of the sweet-smelling leaves, he placed one near her pillow and despite its small size its friendly odor was strong, her heavy eye lids fell to the allure of sleep and no more was she awake. Ozpin and Glynda watched her for a moment to see if she'd be reverting to nightmarish torment that the others endured, instead she lied there with peaceful motionlessness.

A relieved sigh left the Headmaster, his students had fallen to the Black Breath when the dreadful Black Riders and the monsters they lead fled into the burning forest, Haleth had given only a minor summary of what they dealt with. The Dark Lord as he was referred to as had found Remnant, he fled here and gained tremendous power at a terrifying rate, he reawakened his foul champions from certain oblivion, and now set his sights upon conquest. Haleth himself claimed to have been a victim of the foul champions, survived only by the kindly help of a beings known as Elves, seemingly ageless and wise humanoids enbumed with great magic, yet even they had been able to do so much for him.

The Rohan knight removed his helm and loosened his chainmail, Ozpin stared with morbid fascination at the floating pair of blue eyes, more accurately two blue lights. His blue gazed washed over the other students seemingly with pity, "They shall not be the same as they were, this great darkness will haunt them through their days, Master of Beacon, the Black Riders will seek them for they have been humbled by mere children, this is only a taste of their fury."

"How can we stop them? If what you say is true, then how can we stop these already dead men?" Glynda asked with a touch of horror in her voice, sorrow plagued her heart now that her students lied in agony that she could not relieve them of, her fears for their futures tore at her soul.

"With blade and magic can we hold them back but for how long I do not know." Haleth tore out leaves and let them upon the brows of the bedridden students, the comforting aromas seemingly doing their work by stilling the youths in their beds, but their pain plagued faces still twitched with nightmarish visions, "We must hope that the Maiar take pity upon us, send forth miracles to aid us."

Ozpin stared longingly at the broken moon above them with its radiant light shining down in his students, he silently prayed that they would not be so horrifically traumatized by the terrors that plagued them, for only scant whispers of hope seemed to be for them.

Across the countryside there was an expedition undertaken by the Alesian cruiser known as Shining Sun, the task of tracking down the Nine Black Riders was put upon the shoulders of Colonel Wallace Grey and the Atlesian Marines. He monitored a platoon of Atlesin Marines pursing three of the Riders upon their Grimm Stallions, the Atlesian APCs and jeeps struggled to keep pace with the monsters in the thick forest that they hunted them through.

From the call of one Ensign he knew that there was an abandoned town nearby by the name of Bloom's Moor, forgotten and abandoned after its crushing by a Grimm attack years ago, and it seemed like they were being lured there for a potential ambush. His forces were to take great caution with where they followed the Black Riders in the event that they were to be ambushed by the still missing horde that they had led.

Dark clouds obscured the ship's readings and communications, they struggled to maintain contact with their ground forces and with General Ironwood to whom they updated on the situation. Their radar was no longer functioning correctly, all sensors were now haywire, and a creeping feeling of dread clawed at the Colonel, "Status report."

"Sir, we've trapped the Black Riders in Bloom's Moor's cemetery, they haven't left from the other side and we're pursing-" Static cut into the feed, blocking out the transmission from the Captain on the ground.

"NO! Don't pursue them, wait for back- someone get Captain Mako back on the line, he's walking into a trap!"

Captain Mako Bonzewood marched quietly with his fellow Atlesians through the somber fogged graveyard of Bloom's Moor, overgrown vegetation obscured the names carved with the stones and tombs that covered the small field, black gates kept them enclosed with their quarries wandering throughout the deathly patch of land. They more than outnumbered their foes with Fire Dust guns, they cautiously swept through the maze of deathmarkers and knee-high grass, waist deep in misty fog.

He eyed every shadow with caution, there was this prickling feeling of anxiety that they were being watched by the shadows, moment from the corner of his eyes made his looming sense of paranoia seep further into his mind. When he reached the edge of the graveyard with no sign of his quarry, there was an overwhelming sense that he had walked right into a trap.

From behind the Atlesian Captain there was a statue of an angel with its hands covered over its eyes, between its wings crawled a shadow with metal claws creeping over the stone with supernatural silence, its hooded head creeped over the angel's weeping face, The Shadow Lord reversed his sword grip and raised it over the Atlesian before him.

A terrible dreadful feeling swept of the Atlesian Captain, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled fiercely, he turned with his eyes raised just as a sword pierced through his Aura and into his breast. He could not scream, frigid coldness held is body firmly and the shriek from his killer filled his ears before nothingness overtook him.

The Atlesians soon froze with terror with the cruel shrieks of the Nazgûl, unable to brave the terror struck their hearts with an icy chill. The Shadow Lord leapt from his perch and sundered the head from a doe eyed trooper, his comrade screamed with stark terror but was unable to utilize his weapon, his death was brought swiftly a thrust into his heart.

From the shadow of a grave, The Dwimmerlaik erupted, slashing a man across his breast blade, stomping on the back of his neck to finish the work his blade could not pierce. Bullets riddled his back, yet they simply fell like pellets, he turned to face a brave Atlesian rapidly pulling the trigger of his empty gun, bravery now drowning in horror. Behind two graves three Atlesians wielding their blades of a queer design momentarily intrigued The Dwimmerlaik, but like the sons of Eorl they shattered when he batted them away, the flesh of their masters rending for the Morgul blade.

With his comrades dispatched the lone Atlesian dropped his weapon and ran, only to The Dark Marshall pierce his chest with a wicked axe, the foul servant crawled low and quickly like a spider, taking away legs with faint swipes from his villainous weapon.

As the platoon struggled to combat the three foes slaughtering them in this field of death, a horde of Burz-urk descended upon them from the rear, their vehicles were no match from the teeming horde that tore doors from their hinges and crushed men like cans, feasting on their innards even as they faded from this world.

In the dark forest that surrounded the town stood The Undying raised his staff with his arms spread, whispering doom and terror into the air, the sky was now consumed with a thick cloudy storm, flashes of lightning struck the Atlesian cruiser with wicked winding bolts. Through the matter of a minute did the shields surrounding the ship die, long stretches of the hull were blacked now, fires raged from the points pierced by lightening.

Upon black furled wings did the Witch King lead the rest of his ghoulish riders, blackened flesh with bone armor, fanged teeth longer than the leg of a man, upon the backs of Grimmish Fell Beasts did they ride.

"Ready the fighter-craft! Get our Sky Hawks in the air!" Colonel Grey demanded, in all his years he had never seen such Grimm monsters, nor had he seen these beings that resembled men, the fact that rode upon the beasts sent an uneasy sense of terror through his soul.

The Witch King sent his beast low against the sky ship, its terrible talons tore deep gashes into the metal flesh, Buruz-Uruk spawned from the underbelly of his great beast, they found easy entry from the clawed ship. Though unarmed they were, their strength, claws, and ferocity outmatched the terror-stricken Humans that stumbled for their footing. Men were tossed about like broken dolls, bones snapped like dry twigs under the raw strength that their otherworldly foes possessed, though they managed to fell a dozen of the Grimmish Orcs, their magazines simply didn't have enough bullets and the gunmen no time to reload them.

The Witch King and his thrall took to the darkened clouds, forcing the screaming metal birds that their Human foes rode to follow them through darkness. His beast swooped down on one such machination with swift wings, its claws and unnatural strength tore the metal kite in two before its pieces exploded into flames, he raised a lightening Dust crystal in his claws and willed it to fire. Three bolts of purple lightening stretched across the sky and struck four aircraft, their pilots getting fried internally before their engines overloaded in a fiery plume of debris.

Khamûl cackled with bloodlust where his eyes once were, his winged beast dove low and caught one of the screaming kites in its massive claws, squeezing slightly to crush the wings but not enough to destroy it. He phased into his monster and came out through its underbelly, taking pleasure in seeing the frantic screaming human behind his glass cask. Khamûl leapt down and smashed the glass with dark magic infused in his metal fist, patiently he allowed his feeble prey to expend every little missile from his contraption that his master was now keenly intrigued with.

"W-what are you!?" The human mewled with a whimper as Khamûl gripped him by his collar.

"I am… Nazgûl- WRRRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYY-" Khamûl through his scream watched with perverse sadistic glee, the pilot's eyes had rolled, his mouth foaming, ears and nose streaming blood. Unknown to the Easternling king however, the pilot's comm was on an open mic and the scream was heard by every Atlesian pilot, they were seized with pain and fear, unable to fly their lifeless mounts away from the fast approaching earth far below.

Colonel Grey smashed his fists on the commslink that gave them live coverage over the pilot's chatter, he slumped slightly feeling the terror in his soul abide but forced himself to stand, accepting a rifle from one of his Marines on deck. The enemy was now on his ship, those feral humanoids were slaughtering the crew faster than anyone on board could react, they were making their way to the bridge.

With what men on the bridge was who he'd make his stand with, they had been sending constant messages for aid, but it was unknown if any mad it through, the ship was unable to move without lightening carving through it. There was no hope for them here. They steadied their arms, the Buruz-Urks were pounding on the door with furious murderous appetites, Colonel Grey just hoped they'd appreciate a spicy mouthful of 8.95 SDC Fire Dust rounds to quench their cravings.

When it seemed, the door was ready to give, they suddenly stopped their racket, with a heavy procession they shuffled away from the door, snarling and hooting wildly. Colonel Grey felt no relief, instead there was the slithering tendrils of dread caressing his heart, he turned just in time to see great black claws tear open the bridge's viewport, leaving them bare to rain and rushing chilling winds.

The Colonel ducted, witnessing a winged Grimm monster scoop up three men between its claws and toss them to the merciless storm, their cries smothered deafly by thunderous roars from beast and sorcery induced nature. A beast latched itself to the ship and picked off a man between its long swordlike teeth, it snatched up another and smashed two others with a swing of its head before taking off once more.

His bullets were lost to the torrent weather, veering off randomly to the streams of wind that toyed with him and his remaining handful of Atlesians. He reloaded a magazine hastily with numbed fingers, he shivered from cold and soul crushing terror, the largest beast loomed over head with its claws digging into his once proud ship.

The Witch King descended from his mount with the weight of destiny upon him, he was the end, the unavoidable one, the crusher of these men's dreams and lives. His sword unsheathed burned with ethereal flames, his mace being unwieldly to a lowly man was leaning upon his shoulder with wicked impatience for use. Their meek storm of metal wreathed in flames served not even as inconvenience for him, it was almost pitiful to see these dead men struggle so fruitlessly against his undeniable will. With a wide swing he swatted away some hapless fool that charged him with his meek battle cry, his flaming sword skewered through the follow up attacker and incinerated him.

Colonel Grey attempted with unsteady hands to reload his rifle, his remaining men hadn't even laid a hand on the shrouded demon they faced, its mace struck away Petty Officer Brook into a crumpled mess of ichor, with a backhand swing of his flaming sword, Lance-Corporal Amethyst lost his sword and took the mace against his ribs. Aura like his bones snapped swiftly.

"DIE DAMN YOU!" The Colonel roared desperately as his bullets fell uselessly to the ground, whatever protected this creature, its power was beyond Grey's capabilities, though he by nature refused to die without a fight.

The Colonel transformed his rifle into its blade configuration, he thrusted forward with a primal cry of rage, but his foe was as unfazed as a funeral procession, he watched with fearful horror as his blade pierced through the shadowy man, only to immediately shatter to bits. Blood sprayed from Colonel Grey's mouth, he gasped from the terrible chilling sting that forced his muscles to tense with otherworldly pain originating through his chest.

A cruel grin played itself across the Witch King's twisted sightless ghoulish lips, "Go forth into the void, where all your Kingsmen shall descend, greet your wailing kin when they fall, and suffer endless nothingness together."

With fettered dying breaths he clung to the blade, his hands being cut along the steel as it slid from his breast, Grey spat a defiant dying spray of blood onto his foes' iron mask, "Atlas… will never fall…f-fff-fuck you!"

Colonel Grey collapsed with empty eyes, his expression at rest within his pooling blood that stayed his once crisp uniform. In the wailing wind did the Witch King unleash a triumphant screech of victory, his fellow fallen kings rejoiced all the same in the glory of their master, Sauron. With eldritch energy wreathing his iron fingers, he waved his hand over the room, forcing the bonds of the immaterial and material plane, capturing the spirits of the recently dead as they lamented their ill begotten fates. Weaving chains of spells he forced the fallen workers of the ship that sailed the skies to man their former posts and set a course from beyond these lands of Men.

From beyond these bloodied fields more of Sauron's evil had spread much like an evil plague, no town nor village was safe from his sights and that of the ravenous hunger for violence. They ravaged all that had been touched by the wisdom of Man, desecrating solemn sites, tearing down statues of the long dead, and setting aflame the histories scrapped together from the elders who had compiled tome after tome for lifetimes.

In one such village did this evil rear its terrible gaze.

Buruz-Urks were going home to home, twisted blades dripping with the lifelines of many kin, yet their bloodlust was not sated so much as one man, woman, or child drew breath. They found a paltry patchwork of overturned cars and hastily constructed iron fence bars reinforcing their barricade, fear drenched Humans and Faunus huddled together with rapidly whispering lips to their gods, sobbing children wrapped up in the fearful arms of their mothers. Men and brave women who had armed themselves with measly guns and swords readied themselves for destiny, they were going to give their loved ones as much time as they could buy them to run for the hills, however fruitless such an endeavor might be.

Through this chaos of fear none had the hope of tomorrow's dawn, as the horns and roars of the Buruz-Urks signaled death, the men and women prepared themselves to fall this night, but not without giving the demon bastards a challenge for their meal.

From over the barricade came a Bezerker, his daunting height and deafening roar stumbled the defenders with shaky arms and weakened legs. He raised his great sword fashioned in the likes Isengard's blades, poised to strike down a trembling Monkey Faunus using herself as a shield for her child.

His blade did come down, but not with slash, but with a clatter. With trepidation the Faunus woman looked up with bloodshot and tear-stricken eyes, the beast stood with the wooden shaft of an arrow impaled between its dumbstruck glowing red eyes, falling backwards with smoke tearing his form asunder. More of the Grimmish Goblinoids scrambled over the wall of makeshift metals, only to be struck down by more unseen arrows.

From the rooftops above two archers leapt from their perch, gracefully meeting the ground with soft thuds despite their armor. One stood tallest, his face obscured with a cloth mask with shimmering green eyes poised with deadly intent, his armor of the Mirkwood Elves, notching another arrow to slay the spawn of Sauron. Beside the Elf, a man, a Dúnedain Ranger with his dark green cloak billowing, his hood revealing a youthful furious gaze, "Spawn of the Dark Lord, villainous cowards! You will plague these free folk no longer!"

The Elf with the typical gracefulness of his race was the first to cross the distance and vault over the patchwork barricade, in the air he fired three of his steel tipped missiles into charging Buruz-Urk Hai, their squeals sounding their death rattles. He avoided the clumsy swings of the beasts as they tried to surround him, but the Dúnedain Ranger pelted a few from atop the barricade, he crouched low to avoid a black arrow before landing killing the offending archer with one of his own.

"A son of Mirkwood shouldn't be made to combat such unworthy foes," He spun on his heel with two notched arrows, sending both screaming missiles through the heads of an Urk and its Grimmish counterpart, the Elf parried a sword slash with the bladed end of its bow, "Dwarven work this may be, but not Elven."

Thunderous bellowing laughter broke through the chaos, a stout armored being barreled through three Buruz-Urks, dense muscles propelled axe and hammer, rending limbs and crushing chests. The armored Dwarf was merry in his madness, bringing terror to the monochrome beasts as they were repelled with his tenacity, "Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul! Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu! I swear by Durin that your heads will adorn my belt! HAHAHA! Bhalgok Faen takes no prisoners!"

The Elf rolled his eyes, his next steel tipped missile stealing an urk from the dwarf.

Bhalgok gasped, "Hadrion Suilon! Bastard elf! That one was mine!"

"It hadn't your name on it!" Hardion ducked a swing from one Buruzum-Urk, kicking off another to smash his armored knee into its face. The bladed edges of his bow parried a coming sword and took the head from the monster.

The Dúnedain Ranger bisected an Orc by the torso with one swing of his bastard sword, he pierced the breast of bezerker, twisted the blade and kicked the beast from his blade. He ducted under a clawed swing, countering with his sword, felling the offending arm and cleaving a head clean from broad shoulders clad in black armor.

With three fierce fighters holding the dark horde at bay, townsfolk could only lament that there was nowhere else to flee, with trepidation they took up arms in an attempt to assist the strangers, who were now their heroes. That momentary courage fled their hearts, some of that courage went down their pantlegs when a mass of darkness and white bone crushed their measly barricade.

"Great," Muttered the Dúnedain Ranger, "they've got themselves an armored troll."

Hadrion reached towards his quiver, only to find he was now sparse on missiles, "I've no arrows, but blades. May we trim this beast down to size?"

Bhalgok roared with his giddy laugh, as though in a party rife with gayety, "Now this is a challenge! Bring forth your worst you gutless worms!"

The Buruz-olog-hai snarled with spittle dropping like pales of well water, it ground its gnarled teeth, large as sheers they were. Red pitless eyes of hatred glared at the three warriors before it, Buruz-Urks and Beowulves flanked its sides, "Wot's dis? Puny man-thing, elf-thing, and an appetizer? Dis iz stopping my terror-party?"

"Oi!" Bhalgok shouted, pointing with his axe, "Who're you calling appetizer ya mountain of goat shite!? I'll kick yer teeth out with me IRON FOCKIN' FEET YA GIT!"

The Buruz-olog-hai roared angrily its club, its minions prepared for their assault, long claws reflecting fire and moonlight. Blades crude and sharp with killing intent, teeth wet with hunger as maws hung wide with anticipation of flesh dripping with blood.

"You cannot pass." Came a voice.

With calm temperament a man clad in grey robe and with a long wide brimmed hat stepped forth, accompanied with a walking stick in hand. Villagers looked on in bewilderment, much as the Buruz-olog-hai, whose gapping maw shrunk, raised arms slowly lower, as its limited cognitive mind started to become clouded. Even is folk of darkness stared on with their unwise crimson eyes, their instincts muddled.

A villager called out, "What are you doing grandpa!? You're going to get yourself-"

"Silence fool!" The old man called back, his shark gaze like a razor's edge, silencing the well meaning yet rude man, he turned his gaze back to the monsters at hand, "You cannot pass, fly, fly back to your master in his darkness, let you plague these people no longer."

The daunting monster seemed at a loss for words.

"Turn back and never return, or you shall never leave here to bask in your beloved shadows."

"Who…who dares to-"

"I am a servant of The Secret Fire," the old man said, tipping up his hat, "And I shall not warn thee again foul creature."

There was momentary silence between the sides of good and evil, the beasts of Sauron's hordes regarded the old man with caution, confused on how this meek elder could speak so bravely to threaten them. The villagers were at a loss, unable to recall this strange old man, unable to comprehend the timidness of these merciless monsters.

In sacrilege of this calm came the Buruz-olog-hai's chortle, its hand placed upon his bone white armored breast, the goblinoids be the buruz or flesh, laughed. With his arrogance covering his unease, the lumbering beast hefted his club and charged with a roar, followed by his monstrous kin.

A frown crossed the old man's lips, he raised his staff high as he spoke, "YOU! SHALL NOT! PASS!"

The staff came down with a thunderous boom, light of brilliance so blinding that naught even the men or Faunus-folk could bear witness, averting their eyes as the torrent of illumination and thunderous roars filled the air.

Blindness encompassed the creatures of darkness, their all but gone, fiery pain wreathed their bodies as flesh became mist, claw became dust, bone burst into smoke, and swords clattered to the ground. The Buruz-olog-hai was no more, a cloud of mist was its fleeting form, along with the pursuing horde, their remaining kinfolk fled back with once proud tails now tucked with humiliation between fleeing legs.

No longer clad in grey was the old man, instead now his robes were white as his flowing hair and beard, his eyes were ever keen as his gaze was sharp. The three accompanying warriors unshielded their eyes, though they were too proud to admit it, they were glad Gandalf The White had put an end to the seemingly hopeless battle.

"Come now, fellows," The wizard called back to them, he whistled into the wind, "we must not bide our time any longer, Haleth Mund shall require our aid. This was only a taste of the coming darkness."

Steeds burdened with saddles came, followed by a stout hog with tusks long as scimitars with a saddle of its own. The members of the small party would depart without so much as a goodbye, nor thanks, nor congratulations.

Time was not on their side, the darkness grew evermore, black sails with the red eye set sail. Upon these barges were swarthy men, clad in armor gilded of a golden color, helmets shaped as that of a dragon's face, alongside them were men wrapped in turbans with scimitars at their hilts. The Easterlings of the Golden Dragon Horde of Rhûn and their Southron comrades of Harad answered the call of Sauron to traverse through worlds.

For war.

/

Dun-dun-dun!

Well would you look at that, a year has passed and now that ole bastard Doomsdayguy12345 updates it, its not like he left a cliffhanger or anything. Or has anything special to say, save for rambling that no one cares for. Hope you enjoyed.