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He who arises in might. The Black Foe of the World.
In the depths of the void, behind the Doors of Night, he waited.
The chain – now twice tied to him – was heavy, the ache of his long burned hands – a terrible reminder of what putted him there – was greater than before, and yet, patiently, he waited.
Anger, hate, wrath, envy… Those once burning feelings that lead him to do what he did were now a quiet beast. Patience was a needed virtue to accomplish his goal.
He would break free and lay siege to Valinor. He would bend the Valar to his will and crown himself as the King of Arda. It would take time, but would be worth it. He could already see his utmost reign.
In fact, he indeed could feel his name being spelt. Not even those doors could muffle the calling, the claiming, the worshipping. And… Ah, yes… His most faithful was involved, how could he not.
The Admirable, the Abhorred, the Lieutenant of Angband was there, and he too awaited the freedom of the fallen Vala.
It would take years, centuries, ages of insufferable waiting. But, yet again, time…
Time was their greatest ally.