Chapter 34
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
- Joined
- Sep 2, 2021
- Messages
- 708
- Likes received
- 19,254
It was obvious when the Lich King's most powerful servants fell; not only did their malicious auras vanish, but the teleportation pad that would transport them to the top of Icecrown Spire, to the Frozen Throne itself, lit up.
The path to the Lich King was open, and impatience surged within the Light's Chosen. He almost took a step forward when a twinkling voice spoke in his ear, stilling his movement and dispersing his sudden impatience. "Will you deny them the chance to face their enemy?"
He still had time. Those who had come this far had earned the right to face the fallen prince and gain closure, whether for their vengeance or their regret. It would not do to rob them of the very reason they had come here.
Sylvanas had trusted him, accepted the hand he offered, and sworn herself and her people to his cause. She allowed the Light's embrace to hold her once more, even if she embodied its vengeance most of all. She would not know peace until her vengeance was fulfilled. The satisfaction she would gain from it might be fleeting, but allowing such an unresolved desire to remain would only hinder her.
Uther had come to him due to his own regret and desire for justice, not just for himself but for all those who had suffered due to his failure to stop his once apprentice. To him, this was a chance to earn some measure of redemption.
Jaina's purpose here was simple yet no less heavy. She sought to put to rest the man she had once, and perhaps still, loved. No doubt she also harbored regrets due to her choice at the gates of Stratholme. No doubt she had agonized over that decision, wondering if a different choice might have altered the threads of fate.
Darion sought vengeance for his father as much as he sought to live up to the heavy mantle he had been burdened with. For a moment, the Light's Chosen wondered if he had thrust too much upon Darion's shoulders.
No, he had all it took to live up to the charge entrusted to him. He must, if this world is to survive.
Liadrin, his greatest hope, carried the heaviest of burdens. She and her order were both the vanguard and the shield of this world. Should she falter…
"She won't. I will remain to guide her," the voice assured him, surprising him. He had not expected such words.
"You have given much. The least I can do is ensure that it does not go to waste," the voice continued, a sad levity reflected in its tone.
"I do not regret the choices I have made," the Light's Chosen spoke resolutely as he beheld the others returning.
Sylvanas and Uther walked side by side, their expressions grim but determined. Jaina's face was a mask of resolve, though her eyes betrayed the turmoil within. Darion's grip on the Ashbringer was tight, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. Liadrin, glowing with the Light's power, led her paladins with a steady, unwavering presence.
They gathered around the now-activated teleportation pad. The Light's Chosen looked at each of them, their faces etched with the trials they had faced and the ones yet to come.
"This is it," he said, his voice carrying the weight of their shared purpose. "The final step. The Lich King awaits us."
Sylvanas nodded, her eyes blazing with a cold fire. "For all the lives he's ruined, for all the suffering he's caused, we will end him."
Uther's face was a mask of stern determination. "Justice will be served."
Jaina took a deep breath, her voice steady. "We do this together. For everyone who has fallen."
Darion's grip on the Ashbringer tightened. "For my father, for our future."
Liadrin's voice was calm, yet powerful. "The Light will guide us. We will not falter."
The Light's Chosen smiled, a rare expression of warmth amidst the cold of Icecrown. "Then let us go. For Azeroth."
As one, they stepped onto the teleportation pad, their forms dissolving into light as they were transported to the pinnacle of Icecrown Citadel. The air grew colder, and the oppressive presence of the Lich King could be felt even before they saw him.
The Frozen Throne loomed before them, and upon it sat the Lich King, Arthas Menethil, his icy gaze fixed upon them. The final battle awaited, the fate of Azeroth hanging in the balance.
~~~~
The frigid air of the Frozen Throne enveloped them as they materialized at the pinnacle of Icecrown Citadel. The vast, icy expanse stretched out around them, and the oppressive presence of the Lich King grew palpable. Sitting upon his throne, Arthas Menethil, the Lich King, regarded them with a cold, calculating gaze.
As they stepped forward, the Lich King rose from his throne, Frostmourne clutched in his hand, its dark power radiating around him. His voice, deep and mocking, echoed through the icy chamber.
"So, the champions of the Light have come to face me," Arthas began, his tone dripping with scorn. "How touching."
He turned his gaze to Uther, his once mentor, now his enemy. "Uther the Lightbringer," Arthas sneered. "You failed to stop me once before. You could not stop me then, and you will not stop me now. Your righteousness is as hollow as your grave."
Uther's face hardened, his grip on his mace tightening. "Your soul is lost, Arthas. I will see justice done for the countless lives you've destroyed."
Arthas merely chuckled, then turned his attention to Sylvanas. "Sylvanas Windrunner," he said, his voice a mockery of sympathy. "The Banshee Queen, now cloaked in the Light you once spurned. Do you truly believe that vengeance will bring you peace? You are a puppet, even now, but this time, your strings are pulled by the Light."
Sylvanas's eyes blazed with fury. "I will see you broken, Arthas. You will pay for every atrocity you've committed, every soul you've twisted."
Arthas's gaze shifted to Jaina, and a cruel smile spread across his face. "Jaina Proudmoore. Ever the sentimental fool. You could have stood with me, could have ruled beside me. But instead, you chose to turn away. Do you still dream of what might have been? Do you still love the man I once was?"
Jaina's eyes were filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "The man I loved is gone, Arthas. Only the monster remains, and that monster must be stopped."
Next, Arthas's gaze fell upon Darion Mograine, the wielder of the Ashbringer. "Darion, son of Alexandros. You wield the blade that once brought terror to the Scourge. Yet, you are but a shadow of your father. Do you think your borrowed power will save you? You are as doomed as the rest."
Darion's expression was grim, his resolve unshaken. "I am my father's legacy, Arthas. The Ashbringer's light will cleanse this world of your darkness."
Finally, Arthas looked at Liadrin, the Matriarch of the Sentinels of Light. "Liadrin. Your people were left to wither and die, abandoned by the Light you now so fervently serve. Do you truly believe it will save you now? You are nothing but a pawn in a game far beyond your understanding."
Liadrin's voice was calm, her faith unwavering. "The Light did not abandon us. It is a beacon that guides us through the darkest times. And it will guide us now, to end your reign of terror."
Finally, Arthas turned his attention to the Light's Chosen, who stood silently observing his foe. "To think all of them follow you so eagerly. I wonder, would they do the same if they knew the truth?" A hollow chuckle escaped Arthas. "That you are naught but—"
Whatever Arthas was about to say would never be known, for he was bathed in a beam of Light that pierced both the heavens and the spatial manipulation enveloping this place, drawing agonized screams from his mouth as the Light burned his undead flesh.
"Be silent, mongrel. Your voice grates on my ears," the Light's Chosen sneered with more anger than any of them had heard before. Light surged from him as his emotions were at last unleashed—anger, pain, satisfaction, eagerness.
The battle began with a thunderous clash, the Light's Chosen charging forward, his blade of Light striking against Frostmourne. The sheer force of the impact sent shockwaves across the place. The others followed suit, each attacking from their position.
Uther swung his mace with righteous fury, striking Arthas's side. Jaina conjured torrents of arcane energy, blasting the Lich King with frost and fire. Darion, wielding the Ashbringer, engaged in a deadly dance, his strikes filled with the power of the Light. Liadrin's sword blazed as she channeled her faith into every swing, while Alexstrasza, in her dragon form, unleashed torrents of flame, adding to the onslaught.
Despite their combined might, Arthas proved to be a formidable foe. He parried their attacks with ease, his dark magic countering their Light. His laughter echoed through the chamber, mocking their efforts.
"You are all fools! You cannot stop me!"
With a sweep of Frostmourne, he unleashed a wave of necrotic energy, sending several nameless heroes flying, their bodies crashing into the icy walls. Arthas then raised his blade, and the fallen warriors began to stir, their eyes glowing with the Lich King's dark power. They rose as mindless undead, turning against their former comrades.
The battle became even more chaotic. Uther and Darion struggled to fend off the reanimated dead, their attacks now divided. Jaina conjured barriers of ice to protect the group, but it was a desperate fight. Liadrin rallied the remaining forces, her voice cutting through the chaos, urging them to stand firm.
Alexstrasza roared, her flames incinerating the undead, but even she could not destroy them all. The Lich King, seeing his advantage, pressed the attack, his strikes growing more brutal and relentless.
The Light's Chosen stood in the center, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. He parried Frostmourne with his blade of Light, their clash sending sparks into the air. "You will fall today, Arthas. Your reign of terror ends here."
Arthas's eyes burned with unholy fire. "You are naive, child. I am eternal. I am death incarnate!"
The Light's Chosen and Arthas clashed again, their weapons colliding in a brilliant explosion of light and dark. The others fought valiantly around them, struggling against both the Lich King and the reanimated dead.
Uther and Darion fought side by side, their bond as warriors of the Light unbreakable. Uther's mace crushed the skulls of the undead, while Darion's Ashbringer cleaved through them, leaving trails of purifying light in its wake.
Jaina, standing slightly apart, summoned a storm of ice and fire. Her spells danced around her allies, striking at Arthas and the undead with pinpoint accuracy. Each blast of arcane power was a testament to her determination to end this nightmare once and for all.
Liadrin's blade shimmered with holy power, every strike a prayer, every swing a testament to her faith. She rallied the remaining heroes, her voice a clarion call amidst the chaos. "Hold fast! For the Light! For Azeroth!"
Alexstrasza, in her majestic dragon form, unleashed torrents of flame, reducing the undead to ash. Her roars echoed through the chamber, a symbol of hope and strength. But even she found it difficult to counter the relentless tide of darkness.
Arthas, sensing the tide turning against him, unleashed his full power. Frostmourne blazed with dark energy as he summoned more undead to his side. He raised his blade, chanting an incantation that filled the chamber with an oppressive aura.
"You think you can defeat me? I am the Lich King! I am death!"
A pulse of dark magic erupted from Frostmourne, knocking everyone back. The newly risen undead surged forward, attacking with renewed ferocity. The heroes struggled to hold their ground, their strength waning.
The Light's Chosen, undeterred, pushed forward. He raised his blade, channeling the Light's power into a radiant beam that pierced the darkness. It struck Arthas, forcing him back, but the Lich King quickly retaliated, slashing with Frostmourne and summoning more dark magic.
Arthas's voice rang out, filled with malice. "You will join them in death, fool. You will know the true meaning of despair!"
With a wave of his hand, Arthas summoned a massive wave of necrotic energy, aimed at obliterating the heroes. The Light's Chosen, standing firm, raised his hand and channeled all his power into a protective barrier of Light. The dark energy crashed against it, but the barrier held, glowing with the power of the Light.
"Your reign ends here, Arthas!" the Light's Chosen declared, his voice filled with determination.
Arthas snarled, his eyes burning with unholy fire. "You are nothing, child! Nothing but a pawn in a game you cannot comprehend!"
With a final, desperate sweep of Frostmourne, Arthas unleashed a wave of dark energy, intending to finish them all. The air grew cold, and a sense of dread filled the room as the power of Frostmourne surged, threatening to consume everything.
In that moment, the Light's Chosen summoned every ounce of his strength and faith. A beam of pure Light erupted from him, countering the dark energy and enveloping Arthas in a blinding radiance. The Lich King screamed in agony as the Light burned through him, breaking his connection to Frostmourne.
The others seized the opportunity. Uther and Darion struck simultaneously, their weapons cutting deep. Jaina unleashed a torrent of arcane might, while Liadrin's blade found its mark, piercing Arthas's heart. Alexstrasza's fire enveloped him, burning away the last of his resistance.
Arthas staggered, his grip on Frostmourne loosening. "No… this cannot be… I am the Lich King…"
With a wave of the Light's Chosen's hand, chains of pure Light bound Arthas's mangled form. Power surged from him, piercing the heavens and burning away the remaining undead. Both he and Arthas began to float into the air as the Light's Chosen's voice boomed across space and time itself.
"I SUMMON THEE." A shockwave rippled across the very sky, dispersing the clouds that had long darkened the skies of Icecrown. Instead of a blue sky, they were greeted by stars swimming in the endless dark sea.
Just as it seemed his words and actions would not amount to anything, forms began to appear—strange beings made up of floating crystals. The Naaru had answered the call and had let their minds travel across space to answer this call.
While those of Azeroth knew not who these beings were, the Draenei did, and their whispers drew the attention of others. They explained who the beings that now surrounded the Light's Chosen and the bound Lich King were.
"Why have you summoned us here?" one of the Naaru spoke, their voice like the echoing of twinkling glass.
"To pass judgment," the Light's Chosen answered strongly, his voice unwavering even before the many Naaru surrounding him.
The Naaru shifted their attention to Arthas, contemplating in silence for a moment.
"Arthas Menethil. You once held such promise; the Light favored you even. You were to be its champion." Sadness echoed in the voice of the one who spoke.
Arthas sneered, his eyes burning with defiance. "Promise? Champion?" his laughter filled the air. "False hopes and lies are all you have. I found true power."
The Naaru's light dimmed slightly, as if in mourning. "You have embraced darkness, Arthas. You have wrought untold suffering upon the world."
"And I'd do it all again!" Arthas spat. "Power is all that matters. Compassion, hope, love—they are weaknesses. I am beyond your judgment."
The Naaru remained silent for a moment, their collective sorrow palpable. Then, the one who had spoken before responded, "If you cannot see the error of your ways, then there is no redemption for you."
The Light's Chosen raised his hand, and the chains binding Arthas tightened, glowing with an intense light. The Naaru began to chant, their voices harmonizing into a resonant, otherworldly melody. The stars above seemed to pulse in time with their song.
"Arthas Menethil, you are judged and found wanting. Your existence has been a blight upon this world. You shall be erased, not even your soul will remain."
Arthas's sneer faltered as the light around him intensified. "No... you can't—" His words were cut off as the light enveloped him completely, his form dissolving into nothingness. The very essence of his being was consumed by the Light, leaving no trace behind.
The Naaru's chant reached a crescendo, and then there was silence. The Light's Chosen descended back to the ground, his expression solemn. The skies above began to clear, revealing a dawn that had not been seen in Icecrown for a long time.
"It is done," the Light's Chosen said softly. "Arthas Menethil and Ner'zhul are is no more."
The heroes looked around, the weight of their victory heavy upon them. They had faced the greatest darkness and emerged victorious. The world was free from Arthas's tyranny, and a new era of hope had begun.
Only the Epilogue left after this chapter. Will post it in a few days and then this story will be done.
The path to the Lich King was open, and impatience surged within the Light's Chosen. He almost took a step forward when a twinkling voice spoke in his ear, stilling his movement and dispersing his sudden impatience. "Will you deny them the chance to face their enemy?"
He still had time. Those who had come this far had earned the right to face the fallen prince and gain closure, whether for their vengeance or their regret. It would not do to rob them of the very reason they had come here.
Sylvanas had trusted him, accepted the hand he offered, and sworn herself and her people to his cause. She allowed the Light's embrace to hold her once more, even if she embodied its vengeance most of all. She would not know peace until her vengeance was fulfilled. The satisfaction she would gain from it might be fleeting, but allowing such an unresolved desire to remain would only hinder her.
Uther had come to him due to his own regret and desire for justice, not just for himself but for all those who had suffered due to his failure to stop his once apprentice. To him, this was a chance to earn some measure of redemption.
Jaina's purpose here was simple yet no less heavy. She sought to put to rest the man she had once, and perhaps still, loved. No doubt she also harbored regrets due to her choice at the gates of Stratholme. No doubt she had agonized over that decision, wondering if a different choice might have altered the threads of fate.
Darion sought vengeance for his father as much as he sought to live up to the heavy mantle he had been burdened with. For a moment, the Light's Chosen wondered if he had thrust too much upon Darion's shoulders.
No, he had all it took to live up to the charge entrusted to him. He must, if this world is to survive.
Liadrin, his greatest hope, carried the heaviest of burdens. She and her order were both the vanguard and the shield of this world. Should she falter…
"She won't. I will remain to guide her," the voice assured him, surprising him. He had not expected such words.
"You have given much. The least I can do is ensure that it does not go to waste," the voice continued, a sad levity reflected in its tone.
"I do not regret the choices I have made," the Light's Chosen spoke resolutely as he beheld the others returning.
Sylvanas and Uther walked side by side, their expressions grim but determined. Jaina's face was a mask of resolve, though her eyes betrayed the turmoil within. Darion's grip on the Ashbringer was tight, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. Liadrin, glowing with the Light's power, led her paladins with a steady, unwavering presence.
They gathered around the now-activated teleportation pad. The Light's Chosen looked at each of them, their faces etched with the trials they had faced and the ones yet to come.
"This is it," he said, his voice carrying the weight of their shared purpose. "The final step. The Lich King awaits us."
Sylvanas nodded, her eyes blazing with a cold fire. "For all the lives he's ruined, for all the suffering he's caused, we will end him."
Uther's face was a mask of stern determination. "Justice will be served."
Jaina took a deep breath, her voice steady. "We do this together. For everyone who has fallen."
Darion's grip on the Ashbringer tightened. "For my father, for our future."
Liadrin's voice was calm, yet powerful. "The Light will guide us. We will not falter."
The Light's Chosen smiled, a rare expression of warmth amidst the cold of Icecrown. "Then let us go. For Azeroth."
As one, they stepped onto the teleportation pad, their forms dissolving into light as they were transported to the pinnacle of Icecrown Citadel. The air grew colder, and the oppressive presence of the Lich King could be felt even before they saw him.
The Frozen Throne loomed before them, and upon it sat the Lich King, Arthas Menethil, his icy gaze fixed upon them. The final battle awaited, the fate of Azeroth hanging in the balance.
~~~~
The frigid air of the Frozen Throne enveloped them as they materialized at the pinnacle of Icecrown Citadel. The vast, icy expanse stretched out around them, and the oppressive presence of the Lich King grew palpable. Sitting upon his throne, Arthas Menethil, the Lich King, regarded them with a cold, calculating gaze.
As they stepped forward, the Lich King rose from his throne, Frostmourne clutched in his hand, its dark power radiating around him. His voice, deep and mocking, echoed through the icy chamber.
"So, the champions of the Light have come to face me," Arthas began, his tone dripping with scorn. "How touching."
He turned his gaze to Uther, his once mentor, now his enemy. "Uther the Lightbringer," Arthas sneered. "You failed to stop me once before. You could not stop me then, and you will not stop me now. Your righteousness is as hollow as your grave."
Uther's face hardened, his grip on his mace tightening. "Your soul is lost, Arthas. I will see justice done for the countless lives you've destroyed."
Arthas merely chuckled, then turned his attention to Sylvanas. "Sylvanas Windrunner," he said, his voice a mockery of sympathy. "The Banshee Queen, now cloaked in the Light you once spurned. Do you truly believe that vengeance will bring you peace? You are a puppet, even now, but this time, your strings are pulled by the Light."
Sylvanas's eyes blazed with fury. "I will see you broken, Arthas. You will pay for every atrocity you've committed, every soul you've twisted."
Arthas's gaze shifted to Jaina, and a cruel smile spread across his face. "Jaina Proudmoore. Ever the sentimental fool. You could have stood with me, could have ruled beside me. But instead, you chose to turn away. Do you still dream of what might have been? Do you still love the man I once was?"
Jaina's eyes were filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "The man I loved is gone, Arthas. Only the monster remains, and that monster must be stopped."
Next, Arthas's gaze fell upon Darion Mograine, the wielder of the Ashbringer. "Darion, son of Alexandros. You wield the blade that once brought terror to the Scourge. Yet, you are but a shadow of your father. Do you think your borrowed power will save you? You are as doomed as the rest."
Darion's expression was grim, his resolve unshaken. "I am my father's legacy, Arthas. The Ashbringer's light will cleanse this world of your darkness."
Finally, Arthas looked at Liadrin, the Matriarch of the Sentinels of Light. "Liadrin. Your people were left to wither and die, abandoned by the Light you now so fervently serve. Do you truly believe it will save you now? You are nothing but a pawn in a game far beyond your understanding."
Liadrin's voice was calm, her faith unwavering. "The Light did not abandon us. It is a beacon that guides us through the darkest times. And it will guide us now, to end your reign of terror."
Finally, Arthas turned his attention to the Light's Chosen, who stood silently observing his foe. "To think all of them follow you so eagerly. I wonder, would they do the same if they knew the truth?" A hollow chuckle escaped Arthas. "That you are naught but—"
Whatever Arthas was about to say would never be known, for he was bathed in a beam of Light that pierced both the heavens and the spatial manipulation enveloping this place, drawing agonized screams from his mouth as the Light burned his undead flesh.
"Be silent, mongrel. Your voice grates on my ears," the Light's Chosen sneered with more anger than any of them had heard before. Light surged from him as his emotions were at last unleashed—anger, pain, satisfaction, eagerness.
The battle began with a thunderous clash, the Light's Chosen charging forward, his blade of Light striking against Frostmourne. The sheer force of the impact sent shockwaves across the place. The others followed suit, each attacking from their position.
Uther swung his mace with righteous fury, striking Arthas's side. Jaina conjured torrents of arcane energy, blasting the Lich King with frost and fire. Darion, wielding the Ashbringer, engaged in a deadly dance, his strikes filled with the power of the Light. Liadrin's sword blazed as she channeled her faith into every swing, while Alexstrasza, in her dragon form, unleashed torrents of flame, adding to the onslaught.
Despite their combined might, Arthas proved to be a formidable foe. He parried their attacks with ease, his dark magic countering their Light. His laughter echoed through the chamber, mocking their efforts.
"You are all fools! You cannot stop me!"
With a sweep of Frostmourne, he unleashed a wave of necrotic energy, sending several nameless heroes flying, their bodies crashing into the icy walls. Arthas then raised his blade, and the fallen warriors began to stir, their eyes glowing with the Lich King's dark power. They rose as mindless undead, turning against their former comrades.
The battle became even more chaotic. Uther and Darion struggled to fend off the reanimated dead, their attacks now divided. Jaina conjured barriers of ice to protect the group, but it was a desperate fight. Liadrin rallied the remaining forces, her voice cutting through the chaos, urging them to stand firm.
Alexstrasza roared, her flames incinerating the undead, but even she could not destroy them all. The Lich King, seeing his advantage, pressed the attack, his strikes growing more brutal and relentless.
The Light's Chosen stood in the center, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. He parried Frostmourne with his blade of Light, their clash sending sparks into the air. "You will fall today, Arthas. Your reign of terror ends here."
Arthas's eyes burned with unholy fire. "You are naive, child. I am eternal. I am death incarnate!"
The Light's Chosen and Arthas clashed again, their weapons colliding in a brilliant explosion of light and dark. The others fought valiantly around them, struggling against both the Lich King and the reanimated dead.
Uther and Darion fought side by side, their bond as warriors of the Light unbreakable. Uther's mace crushed the skulls of the undead, while Darion's Ashbringer cleaved through them, leaving trails of purifying light in its wake.
Jaina, standing slightly apart, summoned a storm of ice and fire. Her spells danced around her allies, striking at Arthas and the undead with pinpoint accuracy. Each blast of arcane power was a testament to her determination to end this nightmare once and for all.
Liadrin's blade shimmered with holy power, every strike a prayer, every swing a testament to her faith. She rallied the remaining heroes, her voice a clarion call amidst the chaos. "Hold fast! For the Light! For Azeroth!"
Alexstrasza, in her majestic dragon form, unleashed torrents of flame, reducing the undead to ash. Her roars echoed through the chamber, a symbol of hope and strength. But even she found it difficult to counter the relentless tide of darkness.
Arthas, sensing the tide turning against him, unleashed his full power. Frostmourne blazed with dark energy as he summoned more undead to his side. He raised his blade, chanting an incantation that filled the chamber with an oppressive aura.
"You think you can defeat me? I am the Lich King! I am death!"
A pulse of dark magic erupted from Frostmourne, knocking everyone back. The newly risen undead surged forward, attacking with renewed ferocity. The heroes struggled to hold their ground, their strength waning.
The Light's Chosen, undeterred, pushed forward. He raised his blade, channeling the Light's power into a radiant beam that pierced the darkness. It struck Arthas, forcing him back, but the Lich King quickly retaliated, slashing with Frostmourne and summoning more dark magic.
Arthas's voice rang out, filled with malice. "You will join them in death, fool. You will know the true meaning of despair!"
With a wave of his hand, Arthas summoned a massive wave of necrotic energy, aimed at obliterating the heroes. The Light's Chosen, standing firm, raised his hand and channeled all his power into a protective barrier of Light. The dark energy crashed against it, but the barrier held, glowing with the power of the Light.
"Your reign ends here, Arthas!" the Light's Chosen declared, his voice filled with determination.
Arthas snarled, his eyes burning with unholy fire. "You are nothing, child! Nothing but a pawn in a game you cannot comprehend!"
With a final, desperate sweep of Frostmourne, Arthas unleashed a wave of dark energy, intending to finish them all. The air grew cold, and a sense of dread filled the room as the power of Frostmourne surged, threatening to consume everything.
In that moment, the Light's Chosen summoned every ounce of his strength and faith. A beam of pure Light erupted from him, countering the dark energy and enveloping Arthas in a blinding radiance. The Lich King screamed in agony as the Light burned through him, breaking his connection to Frostmourne.
The others seized the opportunity. Uther and Darion struck simultaneously, their weapons cutting deep. Jaina unleashed a torrent of arcane might, while Liadrin's blade found its mark, piercing Arthas's heart. Alexstrasza's fire enveloped him, burning away the last of his resistance.
Arthas staggered, his grip on Frostmourne loosening. "No… this cannot be… I am the Lich King…"
With a wave of the Light's Chosen's hand, chains of pure Light bound Arthas's mangled form. Power surged from him, piercing the heavens and burning away the remaining undead. Both he and Arthas began to float into the air as the Light's Chosen's voice boomed across space and time itself.
"I SUMMON THEE." A shockwave rippled across the very sky, dispersing the clouds that had long darkened the skies of Icecrown. Instead of a blue sky, they were greeted by stars swimming in the endless dark sea.
Just as it seemed his words and actions would not amount to anything, forms began to appear—strange beings made up of floating crystals. The Naaru had answered the call and had let their minds travel across space to answer this call.
While those of Azeroth knew not who these beings were, the Draenei did, and their whispers drew the attention of others. They explained who the beings that now surrounded the Light's Chosen and the bound Lich King were.
"Why have you summoned us here?" one of the Naaru spoke, their voice like the echoing of twinkling glass.
"To pass judgment," the Light's Chosen answered strongly, his voice unwavering even before the many Naaru surrounding him.
The Naaru shifted their attention to Arthas, contemplating in silence for a moment.
"Arthas Menethil. You once held such promise; the Light favored you even. You were to be its champion." Sadness echoed in the voice of the one who spoke.
Arthas sneered, his eyes burning with defiance. "Promise? Champion?" his laughter filled the air. "False hopes and lies are all you have. I found true power."
The Naaru's light dimmed slightly, as if in mourning. "You have embraced darkness, Arthas. You have wrought untold suffering upon the world."
"And I'd do it all again!" Arthas spat. "Power is all that matters. Compassion, hope, love—they are weaknesses. I am beyond your judgment."
The Naaru remained silent for a moment, their collective sorrow palpable. Then, the one who had spoken before responded, "If you cannot see the error of your ways, then there is no redemption for you."
The Light's Chosen raised his hand, and the chains binding Arthas tightened, glowing with an intense light. The Naaru began to chant, their voices harmonizing into a resonant, otherworldly melody. The stars above seemed to pulse in time with their song.
"Arthas Menethil, you are judged and found wanting. Your existence has been a blight upon this world. You shall be erased, not even your soul will remain."
Arthas's sneer faltered as the light around him intensified. "No... you can't—" His words were cut off as the light enveloped him completely, his form dissolving into nothingness. The very essence of his being was consumed by the Light, leaving no trace behind.
The Naaru's chant reached a crescendo, and then there was silence. The Light's Chosen descended back to the ground, his expression solemn. The skies above began to clear, revealing a dawn that had not been seen in Icecrown for a long time.
"It is done," the Light's Chosen said softly. "Arthas Menethil and Ner'zhul are is no more."
The heroes looked around, the weight of their victory heavy upon them. They had faced the greatest darkness and emerged victorious. The world was free from Arthas's tyranny, and a new era of hope had begun.
Only the Epilogue left after this chapter. Will post it in a few days and then this story will be done.
Last edited:
