A terrifying laughter echoed in the sky, as if it came from the clouds themselves. A dark, ghostly wind swept across the wasteland before the Black Gate, swirling and gathering not far from Garrett. It condensed into the form of a tall, black suit of armor bristling with spikes. Within the helmet, two crimson lights flared to life. Even without declaring his identity, everyone knew who it was. The Lord of the Rings, the Master of Mordor, the Dark Lord Sauron.
Indeed, after his defeat in the Second Age, he had been grievously wounded, unable ever again to manifest a physical form, surviving only as spirit and will. But that did not mean he could not control a body that was not his own. The armor standing before them, dreadful and awe-inspiring, was the very armor Sauron had once worn when he still had a body, a masterpiece of Middle-earth craftsmanship made especially for him.
When he infused it with his own dark will and power, it ceased to be a mere object of steel. It became as if alive, a vessel he could move as his own flesh. Yet, in the end, it was not true life. Like the Nazgûl, Sauron was merely bound to the armor, not reborn into the living world.
Thud!
A massive, black iron mace struck the ground, sending dust and grit into the air. Anyone could see that the weapon in Sauron's hand was no ordinary thing. Even resting upon the earth, it exuded a dreadful pressure that froze the heart. Perhaps the blood of many High Kings of Middle-earth still stained that mace.
But instead of fear, it stirred defiance in some, such as Aragorn, who gripped the hilt of Andúril tightly, feeling destiny call his name.
In the tense stillness, Sauron spoke first.
"So, you still choose to stand against me?"
Gandalf was the first to answer. "Twist not the truth, Sauron. It is you who have ever stood against the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, not we who sought your enmity."
"Against me? Have I not already offered the best of terms? It was you, who refused them."
As he spoke, Sauron's gaze turned suddenly to Garrett, clearly trying to shift the blame onto him. He would never pass up a chance to twist things to his advantage.
Garrett replied evenly, "I have told you before. Your oaths and promises, faithless one, are worthless. No one in this world will again suffer you to linger in their midst."
"Hahahahahahaha..."
Sauron burst into harsh laughter.
"Then let us fight!"
"Fight!"
"Fight!"
At his command, the evil creatures behind the Black Gate roared as one, pounding their weapons against the ground in thunderous rhythm, raising their voices to empower their dark lord.
Garrett stepped forward, accepting the challenge. The Free Peoples' army before the gate raised their own cries in answer.
Thus began a battle of legend.
Sauron strode toward Garrett, raising his massive spiked mace. His armored boots struck the ground with heavy, echoing steps, his presence growing more menacing with every pace. Garrett moved as well, neither hurried nor hesitant, meeting Sauron's advance with calm resolve. The two drew ever closer. Everyone held their breath.
Clang!
The moment of history arrived. A tremendous crash of metal rang out over the field. Their weapons met, sparks bursting in showers of light.
The greatsword held firm, blocking the blow of the monstrous mace, absorbing its crushing weight without yielding. Sauron was taken aback. No matter how he pressed forward, no matter how he increased his strength, the sword would not sink an inch. But Garrett was not content to merely defend. He launched a counter, a disarming maneuver, seeking to catch Sauron off guard. Yet Sauron's endurance was beyond all expectation. When Garrett tried to wrench the mace away, it felt as though weapon and armor were fused together. Unless Sauron himself let go, or his body was shattered, there was no taking it from him.
Both warriors felt something strange stirring within, yet nothing could halt their battle.
Thud!
Thud!
The greatsword and the spiked mace clashed again and again. Anyone watching could sense the immense power contained in each weapon. None present could possibly withstand even a fraction of the blows those two exchanged. The sound of their strikes echoed far and wide, like waves crashing upon a shore, sweeping across the desolate plain and ringing in everyone's ears.
Each impact struck directly at the pulse of every listener's heart, tightening their chests with tension. The fierce duel went on for a long time. The stamina of the two combatants seemed endless. But the deadlock did not last. Garrett raised his hand, taking one of Sauron's blows head-on. His runic shield shattered like paper, and the hidden defensive enchantment in his belt released a burst of energy that staggered Sauron for just a moment.
And in that brief opening, Garrett swung.
Clang!
A deafening crash resounded as the greatsword struck Sauron's shoulder. Sauron let out a ghastly, inhuman scream as his black armor ignited in flames. It was clear. That blow had gravely wounded him. Garrett, in contrast, had merely lost his shield. His body was unscathed.
The pain and burning were real. Sauron staggered back several steps in disarray, nearly falling. He realized something chilling. He could afford no more mistakes than Garrett could. Abandoning all thought of single combat, he shouted, "Attack!"
Wooooom.
The horns of Mordor sounded, and the orcs and other foul creatures began their advance.
Garrett too returned to the front line, but unlike Sauron, he didn't order an immediate charge. Instead, he quickly grabbed Aragorn and whispered, "Quick, give a battle speech for me! You know I'm not good at that..."
The sudden request left Aragorn momentarily dumbfounded. He hadn't prepared anything of the sort. But with the legions of Mordor already on the move, there was no time to hesitate. He took a deep breath, strode to the front, raised his sword high, and shouted, "Sons of the Free Cities! Sons of Gondor! Sons of Rohan! Let not fear take root in your hearts, nor be shaken by the enemy's bluster! Perhaps one day the Age of Men shall fall, perhaps one day we shall all face the end, but it is not this day! This day, we fight! This day, we charge against the darkness! Rise! Free Peoples of Middle-earth!"
Perfect! Garrett couldn't help but praise him inwardly.
At Aragorn's signal, he stepped forward, raised his greatsword high, and brought the speech to its climax, and the battle to its beginning.
"In the name of all we love and hold dear, attack!"
"Charge!"
"Charge!" the soldiers roared in unison.
The horns of the Free Cities, of Gondor, and of Rohan answered one after another, each louder than the last. Under the resounding, heart-stirring music of war, the silver-white host surged forward, a shining tide crashing against the darkness.