Pressing his advantage, Sylas unleashed the Cloak of Darkness, transforming it into a vast black net that swept toward Morgoth. This cloak, woven by Ungoliant herself, not only shrouded its target from all perception, preventing even Sylas from detecting what lay within, but also served as a powerful binding device. Morgoth had once been trapped by Ungoliant using this very artifact, nearly strangled to death within its folds.
Seeing it again, Morgoth's expression turned grim and wary.
He suppressed the impact on his consciousness, channeling all his strength into sealing off the surrounding space with raw spatial power, preventing the Cloak from fully encircling him. Simultaneously, he unleashed a torrent of terrifying, corrosive flame, burning through the dark fabric.
Morgoth clearly understood the Cloak's weakness. Powerful as it was, the artifact had a fatal vulnerability: it could not withstand fire. When Ungoliant had previously trapped him with this same cloak, it was the Balrogs who had come to his rescue, using their demonic fire to burn through the binding and free their master.
Now, as Morgoth's destructive flames tore into the Cloak of Darkness, the fabric succumbed rapidly. A great hole opened in the weave, and Morgoth burst through it in an instant, shedding the restraint like a serpent casting off old skin.
Seeing Morgoth break free, Sylas abandoned the Cloak without hesitation and summoned the Ungoliant Vase, Naururë.
This black vessel, forged from the body of Ungoliant by Aulë's hand, had been kept within the Subspace for ages, its sole purpose to purify the Sea of Spirits by filtering out the raw consciousness of all beings. But it was also a weapon of terrifying power, an artifact capable of devouring even the Void itself.
Most critically, the vase still contained the impurities it had filtered from the Sea of Spirits across millennia: the accumulated emotions and desires of every sentient being who had ever lived in Arda. Love, hatred, grief, rage, obsession, longing, the full spectrum of mortal feeling, concentrated into a substance of extraordinary danger. Sylas had never dared touch this residue directly. Even the briefest contact could overwhelm any mind with the weight of billions of lives' worth of raw emotion, driving the victim to madness or self-destruction.
Sylas called this substance Soul Poison, also known as Worldly Taint.
He raised the vase, and Naururë transformed into a massive singularity, a black hole generating gravitational force so immense it threatened to drag Morgoth bodily into its maw.
Morgoth sensed the threat instantly. Just as the pull began to close around him, he gritted his teeth and made a desperate, reckless choice.
He detonated the surrounding space.
In an instant, the fabric of reality shattered like a mirror struck by a hammer. Cracks split the air in every direction, and within each fracture yawned an endless, dark void, generating a gravitational force that began devouring the surrounding landscape: mountains, rock, earth, and sea, all drawn screaming into the rifts as though the world itself were being unmade.
The Halls of Mandos were obliterated, reduced to less than rubble. Only the Gate of Sorrow, the threshold leading to the unknown realm beyond, remained standing, illusory as a mirage, completely untouched by the spatial devastation around it.
The vase was blown from Sylas's grasp by the force of the detonation, but he caught it before it could tumble into one of the spatial fractures.
Sylas's expression hardened. He had not expected Morgoth to be this reckless, willing to detonate space itself and put the entire continent of Aman at risk of being consumed by the rifts. This was not strategy. This was scorched-earth madness.
He abandoned the fight immediately. His family and friends were on this continent. Turning his full power to the crisis at hand, Sylas deployed the authority of time, rapidly repairing the spatial rifts one by one, sealing the fractures before they could spread further and devour Aman entirely.
Seeing Sylas occupied with repairs, Morgoth laughed.
Ignoring the spatial destruction he had wrought, the Dark Enemy turned and launched a full-force assault on the Gate of Sorrow, determined to breach this threshold of gathered souls.
"Stop! Morgoth, do not make another mistake!"
Manwë arrived at last, his expression grave and commanding.
"The Gate of Sorrow is a place where souls gather, a sacred threshold of passage for all who die. If you destroy it, you will bring divine punishment upon yourself!"
The other Valar had sensed the crisis as well, arriving from every direction, surrounding Morgoth on all sides.
But Morgoth, facing the assembled Powers of Arda, showed not the slightest sign of panic. Instead, a mocking smile spread across his terrible face, as though he had heard an amusing joke.
"Ha! Divine punishment?" He laughed, his voice dripping with contempt. "My dear brother, even after all this time, you are still so naive."
His gaze swept across the assembled Valar, lingering for a split second on Sylas, before returning to the Gate of Sorrow.
"My dear brothers and sisters," Morgoth said, addressing the Valar with poisonous familiarity, "there is no need to be so hostile toward me."
"This door," Morgoth said, his voice low and resonant, carrying across the devastated landscape to every ear present. "You all surely know what lies behind it?"
His tone was laced with resentment and venom.
"Inside lies the deepest secret of this world, and its greatest treasure. It is the key to creation itself. It is the Flame Imperishable, the fire that gave birth to our free will."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"But this treasure... He gave it to a group of lowly, ephemeral creatures. He let those human souls enjoy it alone, while we, His firstborn, do not even have the right to touch it!"
Morgoth's voice rose, his fury building like a gathering storm.
"We were born from His thought. We are His true children, inheriting His power. We were born mighty, standing at the pinnacle of existence! But what have we gained?"
"We toiled. We labored. We shaped this beautiful world with our own hands. We are the true masters of Arda! Yet we are confined to this corner of creation, while the truly fertile and vast world is given to humans, creatures who contribute nothing, who only quarrel amongst themselves like parasites!"
His expression twisted with rage and bitter indignation.
"What does He consider us? Nobodies? Servants? Lowly slaves who exist only to prepare the world for humanity's enjoyment? We are His children, yet He favors those humans above all, treating us, who loved and believed in Him most, as though we are worthless!"
His voice cracked with the weight of ancient grievance.
"He gives humanity the freedom to choose their own destiny. He gives them the path to reach the Flame Imperishable after death. Yet He forgets us entirely!"
The Valar stood in silence.
Morgoth's words echoed throughout Valinor, reverberating in the ears of Elves and Maiar alike, stirring ripples in hearts that had been calm for ages beyond counting.
He was not finished.
"My brothers and sisters," Morgoth continued, his voice shifting from fury to something almost gentle, almost reasonable. "I do not ask you to stand with me. I ask only that you do not hinder me."
"Once I obtain the Flame Imperishable, I can create a new world for us. A paradise that belongs to us alone."
"Furthermore, I will share the Flame with you. With it, each of you can create something unique to your own nature, a race that belongs to you, crafted by your hand and your will. You will have the sky, the earth, the ocean, the forests, and inhabitants of your own design. We will rule this world completely."
His voice dropped to a fierce, intoxicating whisper.
"No one will ever order us around again."
Morgoth's words were devastatingly persuasive. Even Sylas felt his blood stir.
This man truly knows how to move people, Sylas thought, carefully guarding his expression. Even I feel a pull from his words. No wonder he poisoned so many minds and led them down the path of ruin alongside him.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, Morgoth's gaze found his.
Their eyes met.
"Sylas." Morgoth's voice resonated directly within Sylas's mind, bypassing his ears entirely. A knowing, teasing smile played at the corners of the Dark Enemy's mouth. "Cooperate with me. I know your secret."
A pause.
"You are not from this world, are you?"
Sylas's expression did not change, but something tightened within him.
"If you cooperate with me," Morgoth continued, his telepathic voice smooth and unhurried, "I can tell you how you came to this world. And I can show you how to return to your original one."