The Land of Isinggreen is located at the very end of the Misty Mountains that cut off Middle-earth, west of the Kingdom of Rohan and the Fagon Forest, and east of the Plains of Yiningwich.

The quiet and peaceful forest of the past fell into a deep silence, and the birds and beasts fled in a hurry, disappearing without a trace, leaving only the spasmodic parts of the earth, and the silent tremors trembled.

The Chosen Apostle, the white-robed wizard Saruman stood atop the blackstone-shaped mage tower, looking down on the ravines of the land below, ugly scars stretching across the land of Eshyngrin, and dark smoke rising from the cracks.

Colony-like black spots toil the woodlands, wielding large, clumsy axes, cutting down trees as thick as several people hug, pushing them with wooden rollers and throwing them deep into the rift.

Strong orcs, Saruman has absorbed the knowledge of life transformation from the forbidden ancient texts, coupled with the genetics of the savage species of half-orcs, and finally incubated by the power of the demon lord Sauron, each strong orc born from the mud can defeat ten human soldiers, or even more!

Sturdy trees were cut down and transported from the border forests, and some were crudely built into fortresses entrenched under cracks in the surface.

The strange and twisted spire of the fortress rises high into the sky, completely unarchitecturally constructed, only molded with the weirdest and most powerful dark energy.

At the bottom of the tower, fanged brownish-gray orc builders brandished their leather whips dipped in salt water at their compatriots, their cruel and tyrannical yellow pupils swept deep underground, and the people who carried iron ore on the wooden scaffolding shouted in a strange voice: "Quick!

The red-hot iron slurry was channeled into molds one by one, and the strong orc craftsman, who was not clad in any protection, silently struck the iron with a sledgehammer, allowing sparks to fly and hit the skin, leaving mottled and conspicuous scars.

Tall, muscular orc soldiers donned ugly and heavy armor and were tightly tied to their limbs with animal tendons.

These savage creatures concocted by witchcraft are painless, their crude tracheas filtering the rich sulfur of the air, and their bodies strong enough to ignore arrows fired at close range.

Each one is immensely powerful, showing no mercy to any enemy who stands in their way, whether it is a prisoner of war who has abandoned his weapons or a woman or child who hugs and weeps, the orcs can tear them to shreds with a sinister smile.

What's even more terrifying is that these perfect war machine creations have now been further enhanced.

The flickering iron furnace fire cast the figures standing in the mire onto the walls, shadows almost obscuring the corridors.

"Giant alien strong orcs, or rather, T-virus first-degree infected, abomination. ”

Armed with his staff, Saruman stepped deep into the earth, wandering idly into the mire, raising his head to look at his creation.

Fang's abomination born from the mud roared in a low voice, and its dark yellow pupils were full of tyranny and cruelty, and the three-meter-tall war machine fell to its knees and bowed its head to its creator.

"Good, good!"

Saruman reached out and brushed the mud-covered shoulders of Abomination, and muttered to himself, "Gandalf has escaped from the cage I have set for him, so what? Even if you exhaust the power of the kingdoms of Rohan, Gondor, and the Elves, it will not be possible to stop me. ”

After a long time, Saruman withdrew his gaze and ordered the orc laborers to fetch weapons for the abomination.

The giant sword, which was as wide as the door panel and had no blades at all, was held in the hand of the giant alien species, and it seemed too short.

The shackles the size of human heads and full of sharp spikes were only playthings in the hands of children in front of them, and only the pure iron battering rams of five or six men were barely a proper weapon.

The aliens followed Saruman as he stepped up the escalator, guarding under the Black Tower, their sturdy armor covered with thorns and thorns, some of them digging deep into their flesh and bones, their muddy green blood dripping onto the dust, slowly accumulating pools of blood.

Countless short, pale orcs climbed up the body of the alien with a hammer, chanting strange and mysterious hymns while talking about iron nails hitting the limbs and bones of the alien.

"Roar!"

The alien twisted his neck, casually dragging an orc laborer in front of him, and with a slight exertion of his swollen muscles, he twisted the miserable howling kind, greedily sucking up the blood that was constantly left behind.

Ignoring the fearful eyes of his fellow orcs, the alien roared in the sky, its ugly and twisted veins tearing its back, standing tall and dancing wildly like an octopus.

The white-robed wizard smiled, and he tapped the scepter, and the endless momentum was as majestic and deep as the abyss.

"I, Saruman, should be under the Demon Lord, above ten thousand!"

The White Bone Scepter slammed down, and the entire Black Tower slowly shook, and the strong orcs dragged the thick chains, pulling the iron cages from the cracks in the abyss to the ground through the cumbersome hinge machinery.

"Prepare for war, O my creatures, and hail the return of the Demon Lord with the wail of the rebels!"

There were 200,000 strong orcs, 10,000 giant alien species, and 50,000 coiled black shadows sealed in steel cages carved with arcane runes.

The sleeping shadows, even the sluggish and irascible abomination, could sense the tyranny and ferocity lurking within, like an eternal fire in a bottomless hell that wanted to burn everything down.

The army of the demon king Sauron is ready to attack at the foot of the Misty Mountains, ready to soak every inch of the ** Middle-earth continent with iron and blood.

The giant burning pupil that hung high above the distant summit of Mount Mordor blinked its eyes towards the west, the prosperous place of abundance and tranquility.

“...... The One Ring, find it. ”

No human could hear the whispers of the Demon Lord, only the hot spurting lava that silently shattered a bubble.

————

Riding a white horse and patrolling the hill, Glover Dale could vouch for his honor as an elf, and he had never seen such a strange sight in his life.

A goblin drove a horseless wagon through a dark bush full of thorns, joking towards him.

Gandalf the Grey-robed Wizard, his good friend Aragorn the Freewalker, and a few hobbits sat in the back seat of the carriage, pale and vomiting on the edge of the carriage.

"Stop!"

Glöfvendale immediately recovered from his momentary distraction, and with a gentle tug of the reins, the white horse under his seat immediately understood, and drove him towards the strange carriage.

The birch arrows with the feathers of the gray eagle were drawn from the quiver behind him, placed on the bow, and aimed slightly, the elves' usual high quality craftsmanship allowed the bow and arrows to maintain a perfect flight curve at a distance of 100 meters, and shoot at the door of the carriage.

Unfortunately, it was not possible to penetrate the armor of the enemy troops.

Double-layer plywood doors from the twentieth century steel industry are not weak flesh or crudely smelted single-layer plate armor, but the kinetic impact of arrows can only cause a faint indentation in the door.

Groffindel's eyes widened in astonishment, as he watched the goblin smash the wagon on a rampage, making a very dashing drift in front of him, sending up a cloud of dust.

"Ahem, ahem. ”

Groffindelle coughed desperately, not so much choking on the dust, but rather the black smoke from the back of the carriage that made him sicken and smell like hell.

Anduin kicked the car door, took off the heavy black sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and said lightly to the elf: "You BMW-ridden people will never understand how good the car exhaust smells." ”