Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft. I do, however, own the character in this story.
A/N: A quick, fun origin story for my WoW main.
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Abandoned by the Light. Forgotten. Left in the battlefield to struggle for her last rasping breath. She was a paladin, crested with honor. The metallic taste of blood coated the inside of her mouth. She felt the green fel energy begin to fade from her eyes. All around the chaotic sounds of metal crunching bone sang with sickening resonance. Ghouls, wraiths, and lich swarmed her comrades. She had failed. A solitary tear slid down her cheek, clearing away the blood caking against her holy white flesh. Her gauntlet clutched piteously against the frozen ground, scraping away a thin layer of ice. She heard the frostwyrm roar victory; it sounded miles and miles away as the corners of her vision began to blacken. At last, sweet death had come to greet her in her misery. She extended her hand to his, begging for release.
And then it all changed. A tender coldness encircled her heart and she heard his voice murmuring into her ear. "You're not finished yet," it taunted. Arthas. No. The words didn't escape her lips. She sat up, stunned, against a cold stone floor. She felt different, not quite alive and yet not dead. She gasped in air and it whooshed into her stomach but the sensation wasn't pleasant. When her hands lifted to her face she was alarmed that her armor was gone. Bile rose in her throat, her pristine skin had turned a sickly, cold blue. No. Panic overtook her. She leapt to her feet, nearing careening into a weapon rack. Her reflection, at least she thought it was her reflection, gazed back from one of the blades. Her once fiery red hair and turned a dull bluish purple and her eyes… Those emerald orbs that had held so much emotion, so much joy, had been replaced by a venomous crystalline glow. "Arthas," she choked on a sob, her voice too was no longer her own. She heard her once harmonious voice somewhere in there but it was hidden by a frozen echo from deep within.
Rage blinded her. She threw all her strength into her body as she slammed against the weapons, sending sword scattering against the stone. She called for the Light, begged for it to come and rescue her. Silence burned her ears. An inhuman snarl escaped her throat as she slammed her fist into the wall and watched with horror as an unholy energy burst from her. She felt the crypt calling, the dead just below her toes. What scared her more than anything was the unadulterated joy at the power now held. A Zweihänder had fallen to her feet in her outburst and as she gazed at the new elf inside the reflection a sick, maniacal laugh bubbled from deep within her. Gorgeous, cold, and ultimately powerful the sound sang all around her, bouncing off the walls as she reached down and lifted the bastard sword easily into her grip.
She had died on that battlefield. This new woman carrying this weapon was different in every to the paladin that had fallen. She embraced her undeath. Felt a sick pleasure as she called upon the dead to do her bidding. She was brave and fearless. She'd march first into battle, barely wearing any armor. Death could not touch her. The reaper had failed. The Light was gone. Simply, she was a Monster.