Two months later...
Deep in the heart of Moria, in the vast chasm where the Dwarves of old had delved for mithril, a new darkness was at work.
There, upon the very brink of the abyss, the Orcs had raised a great altar. Twisted runes crawled across its surface, each stroke steeped in rot and malice, and from it seeped a stench of ancient corruption.
Upon that altar stood Launovar, Orc-king of Moria. He looked around at the black-cloaked priests that ringed him and asked, "That thing has been here for nearly a thousand years. Can it truly be bound to my will? How certain are you?"
"Great king of Moria," the dark priests replied together, their six voices mingling into one eerie, genderless tone, laced with a subtle enchantment, "trust in the power of the Dark God. Orcs, dragons, Balrogs, all are but his creations. Now that you have received the dark power, you are his heir, the new Dark God. The Balrog must bow at your feet."
The doubt in Launovar's face faded. His eyes hardened.
He raised his hand. A cloud of black vapour burst forth from his palm, streaked with a faint, bloody glow.
Staring into that red light, he said, "If that is so, then let us begin. Today I will bind the Balrog, and afterward... I will wipe out every invading Dwarf and slay the kings of Durin."
At his words the six priests bowed low, then spread their hands. From beneath their dark hoods came a low, rapid chanting.
The evil runes upon the altar flared to life, gathering the power of Morgoth into a single torrent. That dark might flowed together and then poured over the cliff's edge like a black waterfall, plunging down into the depths below.
Launovar flung his arms wide and shouted into the chasm, "Spirit of flame, shadow of darkness, Bane of Durin, mighty Balrog who once followed Morgoth to war, stand before me!"
A thunderous roar answered him.
From the abyss rose a surge of fire.
Out of the deeps climbed a towering form, more than ten meters high. Sulfur and shadow wrapped its vast body. Its shape was like molten stone cast into the semblance of armor of black obsidian.
Its burning eyes glowed like furnaces of molten gold. A mane of fire streamed from its head, stinking of char and ash, and from its brow curled great horns, sharp and crooked like a demon's fangs stabbing toward the roof of the cavern.
It dug its adamant talons into the rock and hauled itself free of the pit. Wherever it climbed the stone blackened and cracked, the very ground shrinking from the heat that rolled off its limbs.
When it had climbed high enough, the Balrog leapt. It rose like a blazing meteor, and with a thunderclap of flame the wings upon its back unfurled, wings made not of flesh but of fire. Searing heat flooded the vast hollow.
From its mouth came a sound like the beating of war-drums in a tomb, a voice that made the heart quake.
"The scent of my master... has my master returned?"
Upon the altar Launovar looked up at that terrible being. Though fear crawled through him, he could not hide the wild joy in his eyes.
He spread his hands and cried, "The Dark God is dead. I am the new god of shadows. You will kneel to me and obey my commands!"
The Balrog's gaze settled upon the tiny figure before it, weighing him. For a moment it seemed almost puzzled.
Through long ages it had slept, but its memories of the First Age had not faded. In those days, vermin like the creature before it might at best have been a chieftain of the early Orcs, hardly worth a glance. And now such a worm dared speak to it in this fashion?
Had time truly passed so cruelly that Orcish minds had decayed into such feeble foolishness?
While the Balrog wondered and Launovar swelled with pride, the darkness itself moved.
The six priests suddenly raised their left hands. From the altar shot six chains of shadow, and in an instant they wrapped around Launovar, binding him fast.
"You dare... what are you doing?"
For a heartbeat Launovar could only stare. When he understood, fury broke from him. "Release me! I am the king of Moria, heir of the Dark God. Release me or I will have you all slain!"
The priests paid no heed to his rage. They stepped forward and knelt before the Balrog.
"Lord Sauron bids us," they said, "offer this vessel, Launovar, filled with the power of Morgoth, as a gift to the great Balrog, Tulukhastāz."
"Sauron?"
The Balrog spoke the name in a low rumble, then gave a soft, grim laugh. "So he still lives. Of course. He alone would remember my true name."
In this later age many ancient beings had been forgotten. Their names were lost to all but themselves. Tulukhastāz was one such.
He beat his wings once and dropped heavily upon the altar. One great hand reached out and closed around Launovar.
"You, heir of the Dark God?" he sneered. "You are nothing but a pitiful toy in Sauron's game."
"How... how can this be..." Launovar stammered. The swagger had drained from his face, leaving only disbelief and terror.
The Orc-king of Moria was crushed to death in the Balrog's grip and then tossed into its blazing maw.
All the power of Morgoth that had been gathered within him the Balrog devoured.
Flame roared higher around Tulukhastāz. The heat of his body grew fiercer still. He threw back his head and let out a bellow that shook the stone, a roar so loud it seemed it might crack the mountain.
The sound rang through all of Moria. Ancient evils heard it and shrank back into their holes.
Such was the strength of a fighting Maia, the might of one who had once been counted among the spirits of the Valar.
Compared to the Dwarves, he was the true master here, invincible and irresistible. Orcs and all dark creatures alike regarded him now as a god and bowed in dread before him.
After a time Tulukhastāz looked down at the black priests. "What does Sauron ask of me?" he said.
"Slay Eowenríel," they answered.
"Who?"
"The King of Men in the North," they said, "whose power rivals that of the Elven lords of Beleriand of old. He has brought hope to the Elves of Middle-earth. He is our enemy and the greatest obstacle in our path to claiming the crown of Middle-earth."
When he had heard their tale, Tulukhastāz did not hesitate. "I will kill him," he said.
...
That day the Orcs and dark creatures in the western deeps of Moria fell under a single overwhelming will.
They gathered in the west in a seething host. Leaving aside the weak, the sickly, and the very young.
At the Balrog's roar they marched, a black tide pouring through every corridor and passage, all of them flowing toward the Dimrill Gate in the east.
Meanwhile, in the eastern halls, Kaen Eowenríel and his allies felt that something in Moria had changed. The enemy's movements had become strange, wrong in weight and direction.
They knew they could not meet such a force within the narrow ways of the mines. So they withdrew from Moria and fell back upon their camp in Dimrill Dale, and there they waited while reinforcements from every quarter came hurrying to their aid...
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