NationStates Jolt Archive

For this day would come, hundreds upon thousands of scholars had predicted. Since the day of the Azagoth's punishment had passed, peace had reigned upon the Earth. Light, and all things that were good were all taken for granted. And the textbooks of warning were either ignored or written off as Superstition, or Religious Nonsense. Certainly, an eternity had almost passed until this day; but for the dead time never sleeps. Plans were drawn, lain out for critisizm, and thrown out for their worthlessness. And as they sat, enjoying their eternal existance on the dark side of this Luna, whispers were passed back and forth.

"The Day of the Damned was Coming."

Shadows crept back and forth, cackling as the dead grew in numbers. The army had been pre-planned to grow beyond millions, and once set loose they would spread among the masses. It was only unfortunate for the living, that Azagoth and his cronies were of such nature. The darkness had spread among their wretched souls. And hard-pressed into the existance of a slave-army, their will had been lost for sure. Perspective damned for eternity, they were but lost robotic beings. Unable to protest, the evil had consumed them until this day and beyond. Amulets of Light, Fear, and Darkness no longer existed. And what reigns had once been on them were now released.

"Such day would never come," said man.

How wrong he was, indeed.

For the thirst for blood only grew stronger, and the Realm of Tortured Souls would grow in number, one by one.

Shadow World, of Grace; Luna

Unseen by the hearts and eyes of men, such creatures of torment; the dead, had built their cities of darkness. Skyscrapers which cast over all, and the houses, more like barracks than anything. Sure, this was quite the militant society, with citizens being their eternal warriors. Nobody could visit, however. For the portal between light and shadow was closed for eternity. Only Azagoth and his closest, and most high could possibally exist into the world of Light, of Matter.

Pacing back and forth, Lord Azagoth growled at the hint of an intruder; "You disturb me for?"

"Azagoth, my Lord," trembled the wretched soul; Eternal Messenger. "I bring you news from the world of Light. Morgoth, is the one you seek to manifest within."

"Morgoth..." muttered Aza, his whispers echoing through-out the hall. "The name sounds familiar."

"Aye," nodded the messenger. "For he is the climate of Arda. He created it, he was the one who led such vicious battle against the world of Light."

Azagoth stood still now, leaning on his staff. Baring his teeth, he smiled. And the hencecoming news that the regime of Morgoth was now in despair; such a character seemed incompetant, unworthy of his attention.

Still, it was but a matter of fact--Morgoth would be his greatest ally if he ever survived the rebellion. Athalon would tremble, and it would be time to conquer. To be victorious.

"Ready the cronies," growled Azagoth, making haste for his plan of attack.

Soon, they would infiltrate all levels of Arda; more importantly, Melkor Unchained. For once the Red Moon had risen, the world of Light could only despair. Shadows were eternal, and they were coming. And Hades our Lord, was furious.

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