Firelight engulfed the entire district.
Against the flames, Sauron's towering figure advanced at a measured pace. His unbearable presence and the evil that made all tremble plunged the whole of Minas Tirith into terror.
Not only Gondor's defenders, but even the Half-orcs and Trolls serving as his minions dared not approach the Dark Lord in his moment of triumph.
He advanced step by step, forcing the Royal City Imperial Guard, who still retained a little courage, to retreat steadily.
Ecthelion and his son were among them. Though they still shouted for resistance, the warriors who dared stand before Sauron could pose no threat to him at all.
Before that enormous warhammer, fine armor offered these brave men no protection. A single light blow sent a man flying high.
The defenders retreated, spilling their valiant blood along the way.
The gate of the first level was shut tight, but it could not halt Sauron's advance. The second gate followed, with the same result.
The third, the fourth, the fifth... As each gate was torn apart, the ranks of the Royal City Imperial Guard continued to dwindle.
At last, as Sauron strolled onward, they retreated to the White City's Seventh Level, to the Tower of Ecthelion, to Fountain Square, behind the White Tree, and to the edge of the towering cliff.
Young Denethor looked down. The city had become a realm of fire and evil. Countless Half-orcs poured through its streets, indulging their inborn cruelty.
Finally free of Sauron's oppressive presence, the defenders barely managed to fight desperately against their enemies in the streets and houses. Their situation was precarious, and they were on the verge of annihilation.
"Submit!"
The evil tongue spoke a demand that could never be accepted. Ecthelion strained to raise his longsword, the fury on his face like