It was terrible. Everyone saw his defeat. This was the most disgusting defeat of his existence. Just the thought of this filled Mairon with irresistible anger and anger. And fear. Having lost power over Tol Sirion, he damaged the sacred - his Master's trust in him.

Damn Huan, damn Luthien.

After the defeat, Mairon was forced to forcibly retreat to Angband - the Dark Stronghold of Morgoth. Mairon's gaze frantically glides along the corridors of Angband, and anger, mixed with fear, turns into a dark mess inside Maia. He quickly rushes into his own office and is in an almost hysterical cough that is mixed with pain. His hands in plate gloves dig into his head painfully. Mairon then quickly walks over to the work table and leans on it.

No... He must find a way to improve, he must...

He presses one hand tightly to his own throat, while the other involuntarily clenches into a fist, a quiet guttural growl comes out of his throat.

Hearing the sound of the door opening, Mairon turns around sharply to see who it is.