*For the first time in such a long time, which lasted for centuries, Morgoth’s consciousness is surprisingly... Pure. It's almost calm. The culmination of pain and anger is painfully close - and he understands this like no one else. Morgoth closes the heavy lids of his silver eyes for a few moments.*
*So much effort - and for what? Certainly not for such an end. This is a defeat. Empty hopes, meaningless expectations, mistakes. These last chords of his reign consist of this vile mess. But he had to rule. After all, his name is Melkor - the one who rose in power. For the first time in hundreds of years, Morgoth calls himself by this name again, albeit only in his thoughts.*
*When the Dark Lord opens his eyes, one imperceptible drop of moisture flows down his cheek and immediately dissolves. But his face is stoic. He's too proud, he's too broken, but he's ready to accept the last battle. It is no longer possible to hide, and there is nowhere to hide. From all sides outside Angband can hear the clanging of steel, roars and screams. The light is too close.*
*God without power, winged without wings. What kind of wrong sight is this? And there is only one hope for Morgoth - that his teachings will not be in vain.*
*Morgoth stands up from his throne with noticeable heaviness and clutches Grond’s hilt in his hands. He will fight along with the others, even if the battle was initially lost.*
*Then everything was like a fog. The air is heavy with the smell of burning and blood. Familiar voices that cry out for the last time, the bodies of his own servants and creatures that will soon be forgotten in the centuries. Everything feels so **wrong**. Every movement seems to come through pain.*
*And - suddenly - Morgoth feels his hröa descend in agony. The crack of the hammer handle he was gripping was heard. An involuntary cry of pain comes from his throat. And then he falls to the ground. All sounds are muffled, and the world before eyes is blurred.*
***'It shouldn't have ended like this...' -painful thought***