Gandolf's courage and his hatred-filled defiance finally shattered Orobas's restraint. Orobas's face twisted into something terrifying with rage; a demonic crimson bled into his eyes. He roared with all his might, "Enough! If your tongue is not dear to you, then neither will this life be."
Orobas gestured toward his deadly soldiers and commanded in a cold, sharp voice, "Keep him bound in these very iron chains and throw him into the lowest, darkest dungeon of Hell. Remember—do not give him even a drop of water or a single morsel of food. I want to see where this arrogance goes when death gnaws on his bones. Let him rot there in that dark cell!"
The soldiers began to drag Gandolf mercilessly. Blood streamed from his wounds, carving a long trail across the ashes of Hell. He was thrown into an ancient cell, a place steeped in the silence of death and the stench of decay. The heavy iron door slammed shut with a shriek.
