Transmigration in Mordor

Victory against the skeletal spider had not brought peace. It had left a void, a silence that his new soul could not bear. In this silence, Morngul sang. A silent melody, a vibration in his hand and in his mind, a hunger for destruction that had become his own. Zac and his blade thirsted for battle, an unhealthy, addictive thirst that could only be quenched by violence. He felt it. It was not his own will driving him, but a pact of blood and shadow sealed with the cursed metal.

His mind inevitably turned to the fiery hell he had fled. To the Balrog. He did not think of terror, of death. He thought of the carcass. Of the deposit of Echoes that a being of such power represented. A fortune of corruption that could bring him closer to his goal of paradoxical purification.

But the thought was easier than the deed. He shivered as he recalled the encounter. The Balrogs were not stupid beasts. They were Maiar, ancient spirits, endowed with an intelligence and power that surpassed understanding. The cunning that had worked against the spider, the surprise attack, would not be enough this time. His strength, even magnified by the `Forge of Brutality`, was but a whisper against the storm of fire and shadow that was the demon.

Only one asset remained. The most terrible and reliable of all. His resurrection. He could not defeat it in a single fight. But perhaps he could exhaust it. Wear it down. Die again and again, until the divine creature made a mistake. A strategy of attrition against a god. The plan of a madman. The plan of a damned soul.

He prepared in his sanctuary, one last time. He stood before the waterfall, allocating his `Tears of Regret` with an icy certainty.

[Waterfall of Night]

[Tears of Regret: 0]

[Coward's Stealth: 0/?]

[Healing Stagnation: 1/?]

[Forge of Brutality: 67/?]

[Echo of Ungoliant: 0]

[Echo Distillation: 700%]

[Song of the Ainur: 5,000,983 / 999,999,999]

A single point in healing, an almost ironic gesture. The rest, all the rest, was for violence.

Then, he set off. The spider's carcass, already in an advanced state of decomposition, still lay in its cavern. A deathly silence had replaced the incessant swarming, making the place even more sinister. He traversed the familiar tunnels, each step bringing him closer to his own personal hell.

Arriving at the entrance of the Balrog's cavern, he stopped. He settled in an adjacent tunnel, a dark and safe place, and forced himself to sleep. He was not seeking rest, but to anchor his resurrection point here, at the threshold of his tomb.

Upon waking, he felt Morngul exult. The blade vibrated in his hand, a palpable impatience. It understood him. It guided him. It thirsted.

Zac stepped out into the open. He advanced onto the plain of black basalt, in full view of the awakened Balrog. He raised his blade, a silent challenge to a mountain of fury.

The battle began. A long, endless cycle of death.

He died numerous times, each end more humiliating than the last.

The first time, he didn't even have time to get close. The whip of black flames cracked in the air, faster than sound, and cut him in two. 

**Resurrection.**

The second time, he dodged the whip but was engulfed by the demon's fiery breath. The black fire did not just burn his flesh; it seemed to consume his soul, a spiritual agony before physical annihilation. 

**Resurrection.**

The third time, he managed to get closer, but the Balrog simply lifted its massive foot and crushed him, reducing him to a formless stain on the rock. 

**Resurrection.**

The fourth time, the creature, annoyed by his incessant return, captured him with its whip and tortured him slowly, burning him, breaking him, ensuring he felt every second of his own destruction. 

**Resurrection.**

The more he returned, the more annoyed the Balrog became. Its fury, at first impersonal, focused on this persistent insect that refused to stay dead. The cavern was a symphony of destruction, the demon's roar mingling with the crash of pulverized rock.

Zac couldn't land a single blow. Not one. Every attempt was countered, every approach ended in death. He was too slow, too weak. His strength was nothing.

Then, on his twelfth resurrection, something changed. Driven by a rage born of despair and humiliation, he dodged in a way he wouldn't have thought possible, throwing himself to the ground as the whip passed over his head. In a fluid motion, he got back up and brought Morngul down with all his might, not on the demon's impenetrable body, but on the whip itself.

His blade sang as it met the black flame. There was a flash of corrupted light, a scream of metal and shadow. Zac was thrown backward by the shockwave, but he saw, with savage satisfaction, a piece of the immense whip of black fire detach and fall to the ground, where it burned away into a pool of liquid darkness.

His one and only victory. A piece of the whip.

It had no other effect than to turn the creature's annoyance into pure, absolute rage. The Balrog let out a roar that shook the foundations of the world. It was no longer a matter of getting rid of an insect. It had become an adversary to be annihilated.