Atop the thick walls of the Black Gate fortress, the clamor of battle tore through Mordor's deathly air.
The nauseating black tide of Orcs surged and crashed against the ancient stone. Crude siege ladders slammed against the battlements with resounding bangs, while foul roars nearly threatened to overturn the ramparts.
Though Tarnes had destroyed the catapults and some siege towers, the Orcs clearly wouldn't abandon their assault on the Black Gate because of this.
They began their all-out attack, heedless of casualties.
Ladder after ladder was hoisted onto Orc shoulders as they charged toward the Black Gate. The rangers defending here began retaliating with wall-mounted ballistae, catapults, and other siege engines.
But as mentioned before, Sauron seemed determined this time to bring the Black Gate back under his control. Therefore, despite the heavy casualties among the attacking Orcs, with corpses strewn everywhere, the Orcs behind continued climbing the ladders hooked firmly to the walls, trampling over their comrades' broken bodies.
Though Orcs died every minute, with each ranger claiming dozens of Orc lives while suffering virtually no casualties themselves, these battle-hardened rangers showed no joy at such favorable casualty ratios. Instead, their expressions grew increasingly grave.
Because there were simply too many Orcs, and their siege weapons were being desperately consumed by Orc lives.
A Dúnedain ranger veteran leaned against the cold battlements, his bow-drawing motions so fast they almost became afterimages. Every time he drew an arrow from his quiver, nock, draw, aim, and release flowed as smoothly as breathing. The bowstring's hum was brief and deadly.
"Thunk! Thunk!"
Arrows precisely struck the eye socket of a howling Orc trying to set up a short ladder below, then pierced the throat of another Orc behind it holding a rusted shield.
In just a few breaths, five Orcs had fallen from ladders in the wall section he guarded, hitting the ground with dull thuds as twisted corpses.
Yet his weathered face showed no satisfaction, only gravity.
The old ranger's left hand reached for his quiver again, and the feel under his fingertips made his heart sink. The once-bulging quiver now felt nearly empty, with only thin, cold fletching remaining.
He glanced at the stack of reserve arrow bundles nearby, which was also diminishing at a visible rate. The young ranger responsible for supplies ran over with the last bundle of arrows, distributing them to other comrades, his face bearing the same weight as the old ranger's.
All the rangers here understood clearly. Though their arrow rain was dense and enemy casualties high, this endless consumption was gradually thinning their deadly rain. Each arrow shot meant their lifeline for maintaining distance advantage shortened by one measure.
Meanwhile, on another battlefield at the wall's midsection, several rangers worked together to push a heavy rolling log over the battlements.
The log crashed down with thunderous force along a siege ladder, instantly breaking the bones of seven or eight Orcs clinging to it like ants. They fell screaming, taking the ladder with them as it twisted and snapped, sending all the Orcs on it tumbling down to crash into those below, causing considerable chaos.
But these rangers couldn't spare time to observe their handiwork below. The ranger squad leader didn't even wipe the foul blood splattered on his face, only urgently shouting to his comrades, "Quick! Over there! Another squad's coming up!"
His fellow rangers immediately rushed to another supply point nearby, but only two rolling logs and a few scattered stones remained. More supplies were being urgently transported from other locations, but material replenishment could no longer keep up with their consumption rate.
A young ranger looked at the Orcs below surging like a tide, trampling over comrades' corpses and log debris to continue setting up ladders and climbing, seemingly knowing no fear. His face was pale, his voice carrying barely detectable tremor. "Captain... only two logs left! Not many stones either! The supply team hasn't arrived yet!"
The squad leader looked at his busy compatriots across the walls, then at the tide-like Orcs below, gritting his teeth.
He had witnessed firsthand how Orcs used heaps of corpses to drain their supplies, but at this moment he could only say, "Don't worry about that now. Help me get this log down there!"
At another more remote section of wall, the rangers there had exhausted their rolling logs, stones, and arrows from their quivers. Some Orcs had already climbed the ladders onto the walls, and fighting had entered white-hot melee combat.
A ranger had just cleanly slit the throat of an Orc that had popped its head up, then backhanded his blade hilt to shatter another Orc's finger bones as it tried to grab the battlements. His movements were swift and deadly, each weapon swing efficiently taking an Orc life, with corpses piling up at his feet, forming a small mound.
But fine beads of sweat continuously seeped from this ranger's temples, sliding down his blood-stained cheeks. His arm muscles began feeling sore and uncontrollably trembling from prolonged high-intensity slashing and parrying. His chest heaved violently, each breath bringing burning pain.
He glanced distractedly around. His fellow rangers were also fighting desperately.
Though the defense line hadn't been breached and Orc bodies kept falling, everyone's face showed the same exhaustion and weight. A young ranger not far from him, after struggling to pierce an Orc's chest, even had to briefly lean on his blade, gasping for breath.
Having survived previous battles with Orcs, each was naturally a battle-tested elite who knew how to properly manage stamina, eliminating Orcs with minimal cost and effort.
Yet no matter how skilled they were, physical strength and spirit weren't infinite.
At this moment, below the walls they defended, the massive Orc army's roaring hadn't diminished at all. They trampled over scorched or still-warm corpses, glaring with bloodthirsty eyes as they surged up endlessly, as if those just eliminated were merely insignificant ripples.
In the distance, shrouded by dark clouds, more catapults and siege towers could be seen steadily moving this way.
Another Orc leaping from a ladder onto the walls brought this ranger back to focus. Without thinking, he immediately struck at its neck while it hadn't yet found its footing.
But his damaged weapon, which should have been firmly gripped, suddenly slipped from his control, falling uselessly against the Orc.
The ranger quickly reacted, trying to kick the Orc to remedy his mistake, but found his body unprecedentedly heavy.
It's over.
The ranger closed his weary eyes as he saw the Orc's rust-stained cleaver swing toward him.
"Leyndell, advance!"
A thunderous war cry rang in his ears like thunder, making the ranger open his eyes to discover his ears weren't playing tricks. That really was thunder.
The next moment, golden lightning filled his vision.