Disclaimer: I don't own the WarCraft universe or Blizzard.
≶The Call of the Lich King: Seven Days of Torment≶
≶Day Seven≶
The wind howled through the air as Arthas tramped through the raising snow. As if in excitement, Northrend unleashed a barrage of snow and chill. The faint outline of the sun could be seen but at this time, there was no need to see it. It was even more dangerous as the more Arthas moved the more the black snow filled his vision, joining in with the white snow that fell to the ground. The pain in his body ached, but still Arthas ran on with Frostmourne blazing in his hand, lighting the way.
Hunger and thirst were gnawing at his body, but still Arthas forced himself to move. He had to prove to everyone…something. What was he trying to do? He couldn't remember, his mind a jumbled mess due to his hunger and thirst. But he knew that it was important. It was important enough to risk life and death in the wasteland.
Something grabbed his attention and he stopped in his tracks, the wind and snow churning around him. He was sure there was something there. He just had to wait.
A voice? Was it a voice on the winds? Arthas stopped, straining to listen over the din of the snow and the winds.
"…arthas…," he was sure he heard. It was true; someone was calling for him. But who?
"…Arthas…," the voice called again. Was it human? Or was it the Death Knight? Or maybe it was the Lich King, come to torment him again.
His stomach grumbled in anticipation.
"…Arthas!" the voice was louder this time and closer. No, it was definitely human. Was it one of his brothers in arms? Or that cursed Death Knight who claimed was him?
His mouth began to water.
"Prince Arthas!" the voice shouted over the din and Arthas recognized the accent as that of the Lordaeron commoners. One of his men!
His stomach grumbled louder and Arthas licked his lips, smiling.
"Prince Arthas! Are you alright, milord?" the man shouted. Arthas could see his dark shadow form through the snow. It was a footman, wading through the snow with an arm covering his face.
Unconsciously, Arthas grinned, the sides of his mouth barely touching his cheeks. His eyes were getting wider and wider in anticipation.
His stomach was like the roar of a lion.
"Oh, thank heavens I found you, milord!" the footman shouted hopefully. "I've been walking for days in this accursed place! I dunno how long. It seemed like an eternity since I've seen anybody! I thought I would go mad in this place until I found you! It's a miracle that you survived this long, milord! A true miracle!"
Arthas raised Frostmourne up high, ready to swing, his eyes a mirror of glee and his grin full of happiness. Frostmourne glowed brighter than it ever had before, happy that it could taste blood soon.
"Milord, what should we do?" the footman shouted desperately as he trudged closer to his lord and prince. "I haven't seen anyone else in this forsaken place since the assault against the Undead. I was separated from my unit during the attack. I've been wandering these lands for day! You wouldn't happen to have food or water on you, do you milord? I'm so hungry. So hungry. I haven't eaten for days and I need water! If you don't mind me saying, milord, we should head back to the camp and head back to Lordaeron! We've done what we've come here to do! Let's go home!"
Arthas swung the bloodthirsty sword through the snow at the shape. Frostmourne cut through the snow like paper. As it cut through the snow, it opened a hole in the white veil, giving Arthas a clear look at the hapless fool.
He had long brown hair tied in a ponytail that carried itself in the air, almost like it was waving hello to the prince. His blue eyes were soft and caring, the kind that would never do harm to innocent people. He probably didn't participate in Stratholme at all, probably pretending to be too sick to carry out those orders. But he still followed his lord to Northrend. He was still loyal to Lordaeron.
How pathetic.
Now, as Arthas looked at the footman, the sword cut through the footman's neck. As the sword exited the other side, the footman's head rolled of its neck, falling to the ground and spilling the precious blood on the ground. The neck shot a small stream of the dark red water of life into the air before it crumpled onto the ground. Arthas watched all of this, staring with wide eyes.
He stared at the body a moment longer. Watched as the blood flowed out of the body for just a moment longer. Then he lunged at the body with a snarl. Dropping Frostmourne to the ground, he leaned forward to the bleeding neck and began to drink the blood flowing out. The cool nectar flowed down his throat like honey, nourishing his dry lips and mouth. For that brief moment, thirst subsided. But his hunger remained.
Arthas the Death Knight thought he heard Frostmourne's cry through the snow. He paused for a moment, listening to the wind. As if by instinct, he was aware of one fact. Someone had just been killed.
He continued to walk, follow his instinctive knowledge of where his better half was. As he walked, he gazed at the snow around him and felt the winds that blew through his white hair. At that moment, he also realized another fact. Northrend was really quite beautiful.
Arthas nearly tripped as his foot hit something hard. Catching his balance, he looked down at the ground. He was barely surprised when he saw a man's head staring back at him, an imprint of surprise etched on his face. The blood had once oozed from the neck had since dried up, the arteries frozen shut by the bitter cold.
Arthas heard a squishing sound ahead of him and looked up. He saw a dark shape ahead of him through the snowy veil. It was hunched over something and…it sounded like it was eating something. Arthas stepped forward, hardly noticing that he had stepped on the footman's head, crushing it beneath his boot in an explosion of…
Arthas slowly walked, leaving bloody footprints in his wake. As he neared the shape, he began to recognize the shape in front of him, though he instinctively already knew what it was. He stopped just short of the shape that was huddled over…a body, he thought.
The creature stopped whatever it was doing, as if knowing immediately that something was behind it. And in that moment, Northrend held its breath. The snow dissipated, clearing the visions of both the creature and Arthas. The creature lifted its head and turned slowly. Ever so slowly. It turned to look behind at the Death Knight. When he saw its face, Arthas barely blinked.
The Paladin looked back, teeth bared and blood covering his mouth. He breathed heavily as he stared into the eyes of the Death Knight. They were his eyes and he recognized them. Slowly, with his hunger and thirst satiated, his mind began to return to him. Slowly, he found himself again.
Arthas the Death Knight glanced over at what the Paladin was eating. His eyes lingered only for a moment on the ruined body before looking back at the Paladin.
"How hungry were you?" Arthas asked himself.
The Paladin looked over at the body. His face slowly contorted into horror.
"What have I done?" The Paladin whispered in shock.
"It's understandable," Arthas said. "You haven't eaten in seven days…"
"…I wanted to prove there was still hope…" The Paladin whispered, tears beginning to drip down his eyes.
"…and when someone is brought to the edge, they will always resort to their basic instincts…
"…that I could be saved…"
"…so when you went out to prove that you were still human…"
"…will I forever be a monster?..."
"…you came across this poor man and saw only food…"
"…is there no hope for me?..."
"…ironic isn't it?"
The Paladin wept for himself. The Death Knight looked on.
The Paladin screamed to the heavens. The Death Knight looked on.
The Paladin grabbed Frostmourne, still screaming. The Death Knight looked on.
The Paladin stood up quickly, placing the blade against his chest, still screaming. The Death Knight looked on.
The Paladin fell forward upon his sword. The Death Knight looked on.
The blade cut into his chest and into his heart. The Paladin gasped as he fell forward. His strength left him and he let go of the sword. The Paladin fell to the side and rolled onto his back. The blade stuck into the Paladin's chest, the skull's eyes blazing with power as it fed on the Paladin's life. It stood there as a monument of the fallen Paladin.
As the Paladin gazed up to the sky, his vision darkened. In sadness and in grief, the darkness swallowed him and he was no more.
Arthas gazed at his dead body a moment longer, no emotion on his face. He thought back to their discussion as to why people took their own lives. That these poor people wanted to change their lives. He realized that he forgot to mention that it was pointless to change the world.
He sighed and walked forward. Arthas reached forward and gripped the handle of Frostmourne. With all his might, he pulled the sword out of himself.
Arthas opened his eyes and he was on the ground, staring at the sky. He quickly got up off the ground, pushing his white hair out of his eyes and staring around. He looked at the terrain of quiet Northrend. When he finished a circle, he gazed at Frostmourne, held tightly in his hands. He lifted it up, admiring its beauty and swung it down, listening to its song as it cut through the air. Looking at it once more, he grinned.
"Such a beautiful blade!" Arthas the Death Knight exclaimed. "I must show it to my father!"
I agree, the voice of the Lich King said.
Throwing his head back, he roared with laughter, throwing his cackling up into the heavens. As it watched this, Northrend began to cheer, howling with glee and amazement. The wind picked up and began to blow through the lands, awakening every creature in the land. It began to hold its own standing ovation as the snow began to rage around the newly born Death Knight.
Such a magnificent show! Such a terrific performance! Bravo! Encore! Northrend continued its mighty and demonic howl as Arthas left its shores for home.
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It is done. I'm done. I'll post an epilogue of sorts later, but for now, this story is done.
Personally, I don't like it that much, particularly because it isn't that deep. But I really love the last two chapters. A descent to madness is always fun. And you all got to see my twisted and dark mind.
So far, I'm about 400 words over the required amount for the Blizzard Writing Contest so I need to cut out some crap. But I'll leave these unedited for you all.
Cheers.
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