Contemporary "Translation" of Tolkien

News was sent to the Kingdom of Mists of the massacre of Dorthonion and the defeat of Finarfin and Feanor's sons. Fingolfin's guts twisted as he realized that everything the exiled elves had built was in ruins, and that there was no way in hell that they could ever get it back.

"Morgoth!" the Elf-King cried. "You bloody gem-thieving son of a bitch!"

Taking his horse Rochallor from the stable, the elf-king rode alone to the gates of Angband, and nobody tried to stop him. He looked like such a badass that even the Orcs wouldn't touch him, because the only creature on Earth who looked like that was Orome, whom they had every reason to fear.

Fingolfin sounded his trumpet "Morgoth, you coward!" he cried. "All you are is a fat man on a throne who hides behind his slaves! If you're so all-powerful, if you're so terrifying, come face me alone, elf vs. Vala. I didn't bring my armies, so you can keep the balrogs and your little pet dragon at home. Today one of us will be kissing Mandos's ass, and my money's on you!"

Then the ground rumbled, an earthquake answered Fingolfin's challenge. Morgoth came. Tall as a tower and covered in spikes, his huge black armor cast a shadow over the elven king, who stood beneath it bright as a single star peering through a waft of stormclouds, thanks to his gem-encrusted shield and glowing magic sword.

"Fool!" Morgoth sneered, raising his hammer and swinging it like thunder. "Bring it!"

"Holy sh---" Fingolfin said, and he leapt aside.

Fire and lightning fell as Morgoth swung his mace, again and again and again. The great mace made huge pits in the earth which reeked of smoke and hellfire. Seven times, Fingolfin managed to stab Morgoth, and the armies of Angband winced at the sound of their king's agony, which echoed across the grim plains. But Fingolfin's adrenaline rush finally wore off. Three times Morgoth clubbed him with his shield and three times the elf-king managed to get back to his feet.

"Is that all you've got, Vala?" Fingolfin mocked.

"No" Morgoth answered. He kicked Fingolfin into one of the pits and placed his huge steel boot on the elf-king's neck and broke it. But with his last breath, Fingolfin stabbed Morgoth's foot, filling the pits with Morgoth's blood as he died.

"You son of a bitch!" Morgoth snarled. staring down at Fingolfin's body, favoring his foot. "Don't you realize I'm King of the World? You and your entire family has been nothing but a pain in my backside, and now it's *my* turn!" he snapped. He grabbed the elf-king body, broke it, and cried out to his wolves. "Here dogs! Dinner time! Chow down!"

At that moment, however, the great eagle Thorondor came swooping down over the mountains, and spotting the enemy, he descended with his talons aimed directly at Morgoth's face. "Hello from Valinor, asshole!" the eagle said as he messed up the dark lord's face. "Your brother Manwe sends his greetings."

Morgoth screamed and dropped Fingolfin's body, cursing the eagles of the north. Thorondor grabbed the elf-king's corpse and flew it away so it could be buried in a great tomb by his son Turgon on a mountain overlooking Gondolin. The pain of Morgoth's war wounds never went away, and he was scarred for the rest of his days. No Orc dared to sing of this battle, in case their king heard the song and took out his anger on them. Fingolfin's eldest son Fingon manfully sucked up his grief and was crowned king of the exiles, sending his son Gil-Galad to the Havens as a precautionary measure.