Disclaimer: I don't own Warcraft

CHAPTER 1

Silently he stood in front of the shattered Frozen Throne in the cold chambers of the Icecrown, the helmet of the Lich King, Ner'Zhul, lying before his feet. The only thing left to do was to destroy that helmet, and he, Illidan Stormrage, would get what he had been promised by the fiery lord Kil'Jaeden. Nobody could stop him from completing this: Malfurion had returned to Ashenvale, Maeiv Shadowsong was searching for him in Outland, and Arthas lay defeated at the foundations of the Icecrown.

Illidan remembered his battle with Arthas, remembered the cursed blade the Death Knight threw at him. A little less luck and he would not have been standing at the Frozen Throne. But the Death Knight missed, and that gave the Demon Hunter a chance to reach his enemy...and the armor did not save the prince; he was now lying in a puddle of his own blood. Fool, he should have known better.

His thoughts returned to the icy spire. Time to finish what had been started. He leaned to pick up the helmet. He did not even touch it yet but the half-demon already felt a sensation, familiar but more piercing, run though every fiber of his being. The Lich King's crown hid in itself power that dwarfed even that of the Skull of Gul'Dan. The spiked helm held great power, and great power was his great weakness.

He picked it up.

"I feel great power in you," whispered Illidan, as if he spoke to an invisible companion, his face turned to the helmet, "It would be a sin to destroy such a powerful artifact."

The dark chambers of Icecrown did not answer back.

A grin appeared on his face—he knew what needed to be done.

"I will destroy this helmet," started Illidan, almost instructing himself, "But first I will drain its power."

He could not know how Kil'Jaeden would react to his decision, but in this moment he did not care—he had journeyed a path that had led him from the darkness of his prison to the white-grey landscapes of Northrend. He had prevailed over the Scourge, a feat nobody else in the known world had done! He deserved the Lich King's power, and was rightfully his by the eternal right that was already ancient even before his birth—the right of conquest! And it would be his…

Triumph for one meant shame and defeat for another. Arthas lay on the snows now colored by his own blood, surrounded by Blood Elves and Naga, his armor cracked, his stomach speared by his foe's weapon. Bleeding and dizzy, he was forced to listen to the jibes his enemies were throwing at him.

''Why can't we just finish him off?" asked one of the Naga.

''Because Lord Illidan said so,'' replied a familiar voice. Kael's voice.

''You're…enjoying this,'' breathing deeply, the Death Knight turned to his old rival, ''You're…enjoying…my misery, Kael'Thas.''

''Misery for misery, Arthas,'' sounded the chilly voice of the Elf Prince; its owner took a step closer to the defeated Death Knight. ''You have taken away everything dear to me.''

''Then kill me!''

''I really want to, but, alas, I don't have the permission.''

Arthas closed his eyes; did not want to see the Blood Mage. No, not in such a pathetic state.

''Is he still alive?" another familiar voice joined in.

Arthas opened his eyes and saw a winged figure approaching him. Illidan. Frostmourne, the blade the Death Knight once wielded, was now in the hand of the half-demon, another testimony to his victory.

''You—'' started Arthas.

''—picked up your blade, Arthas,'' Illidan smiled, "Shame to the warrior who loses his weapon on the battlefield."

''You've decided to impale me on my sword yourself?"

"Me? I have destroyed the Lich King, and the forces you led in battle against the Illidari now obey only me! Do you really think I will waste my time killing you?'' his voice was stained with the notes of a strange, sinister joy.

The astonished Blood Elves and looked at their leader; the Naga displayed no reaction as if the news were not related to them in any way.

''So what will you do to me?" Arthas did not care; he only wanted all of this to end.

''It would be interesting to see you being torn apart by ghouls...but your fate will be different.''

''And what is my fate?''

But his question was ignored.

''Heal his wound!'' Illidan addressed the Blood Elf priest, who was standing next to Kael'Thas.

''But, Milord...''the Elf Prince raised an eyebrow. Is this some joke? he thought.

''I know what I am doing, Prince Kael,'' Illidan turned his face to his minion.

Reluctantly, the priest followed the order. Soon the wound was healed, but for some unknown reason pain and dizziness did not leave the Death Knight. He could not even stand up.

''Here! Take your toy!'' Illidan sunk Frostmourne into the snow next to Arthas. ''I don't want to stain my hour of triumph with something as unworthy as you blood. Instead, I have come up with a different punishment for you…" The Demon Hunter smirked wickedly, "I will create a portal that will teleport you to a random location,'' with those words Illidan raised his hand.

"Now what was that you told be just before the start of our duel? To leave and never return?" the half-demon proclaimed with a poisonous intonation. "Well, you are the one who will have to leave!"

That moment a pink portal opened under the death knight and swallowed him along with the sword within a second.