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The last time he had gathered their ranks they had carried torches, the flames casting grim shadows onto their features. Today they did not depend on these. Neither did they depend on their coverings, despite Adar having chosen an hour in the middle of the day. Likewise, he had selected the spot he had summoned them to with care.

The whole lot of them was within his view and they all could see him.

With no more dancing specks of grey muddying it, the orange tint of the air had gained a lambent brightness. The scent of a burnt world lingered unabatedly, but no ash was falling on their heads and the few helmets some still wore. Unburdened from the bite of the sun they stood before him, all their faces visible and illuminated without the fickle licks of a flame.

Dwindled had their numbers and Adar counted a pang in his heart for every face that was missing in this crowd, pain that had him treasure each pair of eyes which still shone with the light of life all the more. Intensely did he feel, seeing them with the awakened Orodruin on the fiery horizon behind them.

“You are not my children anymore, …”

Displeased murmurs and unsure gazes spread through the crowd at Adar´s first words.

“… you´ve grown. Between Ered Mithrin and the Ephel Arnen, you have made me proud, as you have afore and after. The iron fist of the Uruk has closed around these lands tightly and by the end of this day you will have given me a new name.“

The rumble had quieted throughout their ranks, each of them listening and looking up to Adar, where he stood higher on the hill.

“We cast off our shackles and we shall let no lord put them back around our wrists and ankles.”

Adar pulled the gauntlet off his left and let it drop, raising a cloud of ash. He started to work on the fastening of his chest plate.

“You´ve long fledged. Leave behind your cruel cradle.”

The armour joined the gauntlet on the ground, chain mail soon pooling in a heap next to it. Scattered gasps ran through the crowd when Adar shed his tunic as well, a roar sounding here and there.

“Embrace this new home.

You have created this land, let Mordor serve you well.”

Stripped of his boots and remaining cloth, Adar had bared his whole form. Hair black as the scorched woods, skin pallid as the ash smothering them, he stood in front of the crowd.

 “Let me be nadar, one among you. Take me, not as your Adar, not as your Lord, but as one of you.”

Adar turned and made two steps toward one of the mighty branches that had fallen to the ground. Bending over the charred wood, his cock twitched when his hands gripped onto the rough bark.

Crackling calm and sizzling murmur stretched the seconds until the first movement validated Adar´s certitude.

He had anticipated it to be Fabio. The one that stepped forward, his feet steady, while he walked up the shallow hill. Always one of the first, always on the frontlines, Fabio had proven himself countless times. Often starting their chants, his voice was familiar and reassurance alike to Adar. Always one to reject the safety of a helm, this day was no exception and strands of brittle hair tickled his back, when Fabio leaned over him. Adar heard the rustle of a hand shoving away cloth and leather to reach his groin. While it moved, stroking the freed cock to hardness, the other hand gripped Adar´s shoulder with strength.

“We have created this land.” 

Fabio´s words innervated Adar, corroborating all he had sought.

There was no haste to the movement when Fabio spread his cheeks and lined up his cock. He used no spit, but pressed with temperance. Craving the intrusion, Adar willed his body to relax and accept it. Looking back he saw Fabio´s gaze focused on him, but the uruk also preened, well taking notice of the lauding and inciting bellowing that started to rise. His thrusts long and methodical, he cut a fine figure, all the more so with his head falling back far when he spilled himself. Fabio´s hand lingered on Adar even after the uruk had pulled out, but eventually, its warmth was gone. The crowd had moved closer and Fabio spurred the next that stepped forward with a hearty pat on his back. 

Already stretched, this uruk met less resistance shoving into Adar. He wasted no time rutting into his loosening hole. Getting used to the new pace Adar let his eyes wander. They had not closed in all the way, still leaving some distance so more of them would be able to see. Plenty were palming their crotches, some had already taken their cock out, a few arms were almost flittering, surely soon spilling liquid onto the ashen ground. They´d be long ready to go again when it would be their turn, and then they would likely last longer, Adar noted with a pleased hum, which faded to a low moan with how the cock in him reached deeper and deeper.

The next had him gasp for air. Always a force like a bolt of lightning, Fury´s sinewy body pressed against him, his cock moving with the kind of explosive energy Adar knew no one else possessed. The snarl reaching his ears was quite different from when something aroused the uruk´s rage but no less intense. Ire could shake his whole lithe and lissom form, his muscles flexed and ready to spring to action any second. Now there was another kind of exertion permeating his figure. To Adar´s surprise Fury´s hands were not all impatient, eager grabs, but brushed over his flesh with near tenderness. Once he was close one hand held his hip in place with a harsh grip, but the other lingered lightly, fingertips tirelessly trailing soft circles over his skin, only stopping when Fury´s whole body tensed, shuddering in tune with his fierce shout. 

Another had already moved forward and there was little pause between Fury´s cock slipping out and Adar being filled again. He was not the only one, some more had stepped closer to his sides. Cock in hand but with unsure posture, they lingered, shifting from one foot to the other. While those a bit further were unabashed in their stares, most of those closest barely dared to look up. Their heads were lowered, quite similar to when they bowed for him. Bent knees and gestures of honour had often surrounded Adar. He welcomed the moment when they would have broken that habit. 
Adar beckoned them and they followed his invite. Turning his torso and bracing himself on the charred wood he parted his lips. Bitter taste coated his tongue when Adar swallowed the cock that was offered to him. Sweet were the noises his licks caused.
Some just enjoyed how Adar´s mouth closed around them, how his throat sucked in all their length, or how his lips would nuzzle their tips, but others were rough. Fucking his mouth with force and gripping his hair, some barely allowed him to catch air. Not all fed him their seed, but spilled onto his face where he could lick only part of it away. Over time more and more cum dried on his cheeks and brow and chin while his ass was being kept full. 

When his mouth was not occupied Adar let his head hang, resting his forehead against the bark. Eyes closed, he wished he could hear Bazur´s voice rumble somewhere behind him. His roar could pierce marrow and bone, his strong arms would have held him in place with ease. Echoing over the battlefield Bazur´s deep voice had put fear in the enemy, no less mighty had it been when it relayed his orders, but instead of engulfing his backside with a broad palm, Bazur lay silenced under the rubble of Ostirith.

Magrot would have surprised him, one way or another. Often had Adar witnessed the sparkle in his keen red eyes when he had caught someone off guard, dear as starlight it was to him. Unpredictable nature had never kept Magrot from being reliable. Adar´s curiosity about how this astute mind would have shaped their new home would invariably and regrettably remain unsatisfied. Watching his last smile fading from his features, Adar has had to let him go, leaving him with only memory. 

One memory among too many of that kind.

Bright had the mesmerizing blue in Vrath´s eyes been when he had whispered to Adar conspiratorially about the new whip he carried. Once he had knotted thorns of considerable size into his whip, he found the need to administer a lashing decreased. On purpose, he had bragged loudly about the state he left some backs in, gleeful about finding fresh and increasingly gruesome wording for his descriptions. Adar was sworn to secrecy about Vrath having added already spilled blood onto the thorns, never having used what many feared on either ururk or captive. Their sharp tips never having bitten into flesh and torn it to shreds had by no means meant that Vrath´s bragging about his skills with a whip had no merit. He carried another one. One less intimidating, but one that got use. In various ways. Had he disciplined one he was bonded to by a mutual fondness, he´d take his time licking and kissing the wounds. Adar wondered if Vrath would have done so with his long healed scars as well could he partake today. Perhaps he would have patiently delayed his turn until Adar´s skin would have eventually broken open.

The way his knees scraped over the rough ground, while one after the other pounded into him, the first tears might already be opening up. Adar could not quite tell from feeling alone. It would be tiny fissures compared to what Vrath could carve into someone´s flesh with ease, if he didn´t temper his wrist.

Vrath´s whip was on Glazhauk´s belt since he had retrieved it from the fallen. Subconsciously arching his back further, Adar toyed with the thought that, after today, he could ask to get a taste of it. It would not have been the same as their Lord Father, but within their shared new home this was feasible. If only, he then could compare it to Vrath´s handwriting, but this memory he lacked.  

They all had their distinct signatures, each with a heart and a name of their own. Those that carried beating hearts would keep the names of the others on their tongues. It pleased Adar how, with every grab, all their unique fingerprints were being spread. By now there might be no spot left on his hull that was untouched. Fleeting soft caresses or a more persistent impact, Adar savoured them all. Some liked to start with a hefty slap on his ass, these imprints would stay dark on his skin for a good satisfying while and he looked forward to how they would make their presence known with all his future movements.

Well aware not even Adar could spill with each of them, they refrained from handling his cock or kept their fondling brief. The first time his seed hit the ashy dirt, it didn´t take long for Adar to regain full hardness, the howl that had surged throughout the ranks spurring him on, but with time, each climax took more out of his body.

Each had him wait longer, each weakening his flesh but nourishing his spirit, wearing down his constitution while steadying his resolve.  

Tendons and veins still on fire, lust flickering through them unbridled, kindled and stoked by every thrust and touch anew, Adar´s cock was now hanging soft and spent, while more seed was spilled into and on him.

Almost as limp as his body had been.

Lying under the sole of his boot, one eye swollen shut but the other wide open, it had been as if Mairon could still see him. Despite the gaping wound, Adar worried this gaze might tear him apart just the same. 

The flame of being had been extinguished. But Adar needed to be certain.

Motionless the body was losing heat, save for the spots where Adar´s limbs pressed against it. No blood rushed through these veins and no air filled these lungs. He had witnessed the last contractions of the heart and now the beating had fully ceased. Neither put Adar at ease, as he would have expected it to.

A vibrant intensity in its deadened gaze, this eye still burnt his skin, piercing deeper than the sun ever had eaten through his children´s flesh. One perilous moment, Adar was at risk of plunging into the pit this pupil opened, black and abyssal. Appalling allure steeped in enticing horridness tore open a glimpse into a maelstrom that would crush all lost in its clutches, quashing it to nothing. Verily there was no more, but not quite as desired. This violently hewn path to nothingness lacked anything salvaging. Adar dared not to look away from this taut eye. Fearing the flames would flash around its rim all anew a novel shadow of terror had befallen the victorious. The grip around his sword loosening, it landed on the ground with a reverberating clatter. What more could he possibly do with it, if splitting him open had not been enough? 

It seemed the echo of this clatter lingered infinitely longer than the last scream had.

Adar had not known for how many minutes or hours he had stared. The cold had long crept into his fingertips when he finally dared to move them.

He needed to know that Mairon would not cast this gaze onto his children anymore.

Dragging his fingers through drying blood, Adar waited for it to corrode his flesh, or for Mairon to wake and demand it back. Neither happened, neither soothed him. The blood not eating away at his skin was not enough, the body staying limp and cold could be but a cruel deception. Adar sought a more clarion assurance.

A desecration he´d never tolerate, least by the one that vanquished him. 

Adar needed to feel the lack of reaction, when he shoved aside the fallen one´s garments.

Rich cloth, tightly woven soaked up the blood that had collected under the corpse. Adar had been surprised about how bright it had flown. His left hand on his cock, the right dragged through what still wet the ground around the dropped fabric. Glistening against his pallid skin the red captured Adar´s attention once more.
He spread it onto his hardening cock, tinging the paleness of it. A very different shade than the dastardly fire in Mairon´s eye, the sight held intrigue, instead of something unsettling. Long past were the times when Adar had seen this kind of red flow. The colour of victory, this blood spilled on the battlefields had never been a sight of perturbance, but all Adar had gotten to see within these days were seas of darkness, rivers of pitch black that had once been in the veins of his children. Though this had been the merciful fate, blood flowing, not being wrenched between two worlds, torn and crushed at once. Features so fair and gracious words like healing on his nimble tongue, Mairon´s hands wrought anguish out of them, Adar had not known existed. Though Utumno and Angband alike had him be intimately familiar with pain, he would not have deemed such agony possible.

Adar needed to feel the lack of retaliation, when he shoved his cock into the cold hole.

The little blood barely lessening the abrasive friction, Adar snapped his hips.

It was entirely unlike to when the dark one had forced him.

In between his punishing thrusts, a new seed took root in Adar´s chest. What had begun a necessity sprouted vanity, steadily it grew. 

He had done this.

No one else but him and his own hand. This gaping wound had been hewn by none other. Adar dug into it, seizing what was his.

Adar wanted to feel this accretion of pride, when he shoved his hand deeper, nails clawing through tissue.

How could this pulp cause so much pain? There was something bizarre to how it felt no different from all the innards spilled in battle or the dungeons. Squashing some between his fingertips he shook his head. What otiose ponderings, when finally its reign of terror was over.

Adar had ended it.

He looked at his fully reddened hand with surging conceit, but what were his own hands worth without all those hands that had reached out to him? What did his deeds matter, if it weren´t for all their beating hearts? He had done it for them. Not for glory, or pride, or even vengeance.

They had lead him to this moment.

Alone in his cell, barely uruk yet, Adar hadn´t dared as much as to dream of slaying his tormentors, and be it just for the fraction of an eyelid´s blink, no more but a fleeting portion of an unwitting thought. Then, when his blood had fully blackened, there had been moments where even the mere idea of his lords’ mortality seemed a wholly nightmarish thing and he would have protected what now lay limp beneath him with his life, bar of any hesitation, not scrutinising the merit of such a sacrifice.

Nothing but witnessing their waking nightmare had him see the faults. Only his children had him loathe the undue prize of his lord´s futile aspirations. The battlefield was no less a butcher but it promised a prospect, a victorious return for those that fought well. There was no fighting and certainly no fighting chance, once wrested into Mairon´s ambitious clutch. Squandered lives, that was all, but that, Mairon accomplished in abundance. Observing these countless preposterous deaths had changed Adar.

Blinded, voiceless, deaf to reason, incapable of feeling anything but what his lords bestowed upon him and wholly impartial to the taste of freedom, Adar has had existed a twisted hollow shell for aeons.

But he had come to his senses.

And now he was honing them all.

Drinking in their groans, flaring his nostrils to imbibe their scents and savouring the bitterness on his tongue, Adar revelled in the company of his fellow uruks. He looked for the shine in their eyes, watched how their lips curled to smiles, tongues running over them leaving a glistening trail, pleasure shaping their features into an even more beautiful sight. A heady amalgamation, that turned each touch into revelation, gentle embraces and harsh handling alike encompassed his whole being.   

Some bit his shoulder, some raked their nails over his chest and Adar shivered with the sting of each scratch. Shivers blended with the tingling of where eager tongues and mouths had licked off sweat, drying seed or the little drops of blood that seeped out of his minor wounds.

Gâzhkrov dug his fingers into a wound of his own and painted Adar´s lips black. The injury suffered in battle had been deep. Not fully closed, it could provide more. With freshly coated fingers Gâzhkrov´s hand returned, pushing into Adar´s mouth. He kept it there all while his cock was buried deep in the other end of Adar, the glint in his eye as potent as any star Adar had seen. Eyelids promptly hid it from his view when Gâzhkrov reached his peak.

Adar´s tongue still wallowing in the lingering blood, his nose already chased the scent of the next uruk approaching. A musk he immediately recognized. Never would Adar forget how it had smelled intertwined with the scent of burning flesh. An arm freely given to him, staying still all while skin turned crimson and blisters rose. Nothing but a hiss betraying his discomfort, Grugzûk had shown not even the faintest impulse to withdraw his scorched flesh from Adar´s grasp.
Part of Adar wondered if Grugzûk sometimes longed for it, if it had been more to the uruk than an exercise in endurance, as it had been for him in some of his darkest moments. Isolation and deprivation stretching so far they thinned and hollowed his mind, Adar had longed even for the pain, longed for anything, even if it was excruciating anguish. Lorn pleas for his lords to return, echoing through either his head, his cell or both, he hadn´t been able to tell, Adar had come to deeply regret these wishes when they were fulfilled. Though later, after the blood he saw flowing and seeping out of his wounds had darkened, he had acquired somewhat of a taste for it. What had him deem his life just clinging on by a thin thread in the early years, barely fazed him by the time the first fully blackened drops had hit the ground. Taking him to his limits had become something that could not be reached without some elaborate measures and even within the deepest agony, Adar could not deny a spark of reverence for the attentiveness, for his lords bothering with all this effort, for his lords attending to him.

Grugzûk was kind in his touch, he was one of those that hesitated still. A hand was roaming his back, its touch fleeting and unsure until it found a shoulder to grip. Despite the caution, Adar sensed the ardent eagerness in him and such was confirmed when the hand tightened, pulling him closer to Grugzûk´s groin. Once the hardness had settled in his body all restraint was discarded.

Pleasant had the warmth of the now quelled sun been on his skin, even tinged in the bittersweet farewell, but the touch of its rays was nothing compared to the sensations Adar was gifted in this moment. He wanted to reach out to brush over the faint spot that was still visible on Grugzûk´s arm, but did not trust to keep himself off the ground just relying on one hand to hold him up. As much as Adar missed the sun, he cherished the memory of feeling it in these woods for more than its unique warmth. Not only had this being one of his last moments with it meant that they neared the completion of their goal, but having Grugzûk on his side, giving himself so willingly had sweetened this imminent triumph immensely.

Now that the task had been fulfilled, Adar was keen to savour it, giving himself to all of them.

Surrounded by an abundance of things he could savour, he relished in each cock that entered him, each finger that touched, each nail that scratched and each tongue that licked his skin.

These sensations mingled, flowing into each other effortlessly overwhelming his senses. Only the dark lords had reached every fibre of his being. Each particle of his body croaking ever varying tunes of pain, some singing them, Adar had wanted to hide just one, a single piece of his and be it tiny as a speck of dust, but they had touched all. Nothing had been beyond their reach. Some bits they must have replaced with burning coal. With only few of them having chilled over the years, they still aggravated what surrounded them.

For his fellow uruks Adar wished to lay it all bare, longed for each their touch on every grain. 

Hand after hand got him closer, completion seemingly within reach. Each that stepped forward contributed. One after and aside the other.

Exhausted limbs calling for a break from holding up his body, worn out flesh requiring rest, Adar denied them, unwilling to suspend his pleasure and eager for the next to enter him.
The one approaching towered over all the others, scarred eye adorning his features like a rare gem. Lurka was still wearing bone on his head, only the dragon skin that had often been draped over it was missing. It made his tall frame look like it reached even closer to the sky. Not only by height did he often stand above it all. Aside his determined but judicious temper he also walked among them as a memento for resilience. Such recovery was not to be taken for granted and had demanded intensive care. Over time, Lurka had come up with countless stories of how he had acquired his facial scar. Various scenarios on the battlefield, each more heroic than the previous, a scuffle with a warg, whatever story the uruk made up, he told all with mirth. Never did the glimmer in his unharmed eye provide any hint about the veracity of his words, and, like a jewel wrested from the bowels of the earth, the clouded eye suggested there was bountiful mystery left to delve into. Either there were no witnesses, or Lurka had them conspire with him and stay entirely quiet about the matter. Not even to Adar had it been disclosed which story held the truth. Perhaps he preferred it that way. Ignorance certainly added suspense to each new tale. The one about how a disarmed elf kissed Lurka´s cheek and it split open, a crack running up and downwards from it was undoubtedly yarn, but it made Adar wonder what would happen, if the leant upward and kissed the very spot.
Lacking confidence he could do so without collapsing to the ground and attempting to conserve some strength, he refrained from indulging this curiosity, content to focus on the touch of Lurka´s palm on his thigh. With a long thumb stroking up and down, in a way that was far more languid than the pace of his brisk pounding, Lurka had his skin tingling.

It was quite unlike the sensation the following uruk bestowed him with. A relentless grip, nails digging into Adar´s skin, his hips moved with less gruffness. Shallow but intense thrusts, he took his time until he spilled his seed. The next set the marks of his claws right next to the ones just left.

Strength dwindling, Adar had not paid attention to who had been awaiting his turn. Dulghath´s thick cock took him by surprise and the stretch drew a strained moan deep out of his chest. So often had the line between endurance and enjoyment faded, that Adar had grown doubtful whether there was one. To endure had been to enjoy. Enduring meant living and life had been what his former lords shaped it into.
Though now, Adar recognized how he never had welcomed any of it, like he welcomed this piercing burn that even the slick of all the spilled seed could barely dampen, or the unbridled, throbbing heat this incinerated in his groin. Dulghath would halt, and spare him, if Adar asked him to, he was certain of that, but nothing was further from his mind. The sharpness of the pain making way for a dull encompassing fullness, Adar gave himself completely to this sensation and finally the ground.
Limbs having reached their limits, his chest sunk down, head half propped on his arm and half nestled into the ash, which only a few breaths later, clung to his lips, forming a grey paste with the saliva and drying semen.

Adar had been forced to take many to a point far beyond that. Some had never recovered.

Weakened, the whole of the land seemed to reduce to this small spot of dirt Adar was lying in and those that pressed him into it. Instead of being ashamed of his faltering, the others´ strength imbued Adar with pride.

Plenty of the ash was getting shoved past his lips while some fucked him with his face in the burnt earth. Others thrust into him holding up his chest, fingertips brushing over the fresh abrasions, they gave another one better access to Adar´s mouth. The ashen taste never lasted long.

When he got turned on his back, the reddish tint of the sky against the black of the charred branches had more allure than the light of any star before.

Exhaustion just heightening his senses, each overwhelming sensation fusing into one delightful state of elation, Adar relished in what the others granted him. Not even seeing Orodruin erupt and witnessing the accomplishment of their goal compared to how this made every fibre of his being sing. The only fault in it being, that all song would reach an end. While a tune could be carried to the end of time, one way or another, every singer would fall silent one day. Or another.

Adar knew this one had been the last, when a group of them emerged from the quieting crowd. His flesh ached, insistently demanding rest, but too exquisite was this ache for Adar not to bemoan that there wouldn´t be more. Always had he wished he could have brought more of them to Mordor and lamented every loss, but now each one was missed in a new way.  

Lurka and Fury had stepped to his side, while Fabio´s hand trailed up his inner thigh, picking up what had run down it. Digging into his cleft he gathered more. Palm open, three fingers were pressed against his forehead, smearing the substance onto it. The rest, Fabio licked off his hand. 

Grugzûk leant closer when Lurka and Fury aided Adar in sitting up. His breath ghosting against his ear sent a shiver down Adar´s spine. Another followed promptly upon hearing the tender voice.

“Ârash-Armu.”

Barely more than a whisper he had heard it, but must have missed the signal that one of them had given, because in this moment the whole crowd chanted his new name. He accepted it into his heart. The day had been bestowed to them, no longer would they need to fear it. While missing the light of the sun, Adar had welcomed this loss knowing that all hours would fully belong to the uruks without the threat of pain. Ârash-Armu embraced the darkened firmament, lacking nothing.

Night and day alike, they´d walk these lands as equals, unshackled from light or lordship.

Something only the gods can do, and now he was one of them.

The first row parted, letting through two that carried carafes. Coughing more than drinking, Ârash-Armu gulped the water that was brought to his lips. Cherishing the care, he let them clean his fatigued body.