And here we are with the very last chapter... It's been my pleasure and I am very grateful you people liked it... or liked it a bit :)
As pathetic as it may seem, I really cried when I saw the Fall of the Lich King cinematic... Y_Y Though it gave birth to all this bulshit I've been feeding you with :D
Anyway, please excuse the grammatical and spelling mistakes, I tried to eliminate them, but still I am no native speaker sooo...
And as I said at the end of the last chapter, this is deffinitely NOT what the fight with Arthas looks like (unfortunately)... the only thing he does is swinging Frostmourne around like a club most of the time, calling for adds, sometimes casting a spell or two and it takes forever to kill him... untill he kills you all and you are resurrected again... I must say I didn't see that one coming! Thought it was a total wipe Y_Y I recommend a youtube video... :)
Enjoy
Fall of the Lich King
They were strong. Stronger that Arthas would have expected. And it pleased him greatly. He could go all out on them and the thought of finally fighting with all he had invigorated him. He felt alive. He felt.
Frostmourne singing it his hands as he swung it around, eager to consume more souls, the Lich King bore down on the closest Champion once more. This time, it was one of his own – a Death knight.
The runeblade cut through the air as if it was solid, biting deep into the ice... though its prey was no longer there. The sudden overpowering thrill of the fight made Arthas laugh raptorously as his glowing bright blue eyes fell on a mage, breathing heavily while holding the Death knight in her arms. He seemed quite surprised to still be alive. The mage had teleported him out of the Lich King's reach at the very last moment.
For a fraction of a second Arthas considered attacking them, but as if someone could read his thougts, arrow impaled his left shoulder piercing his armor like a parchment. Three more followed its example – one cutting through his right leg, another sinking deep into his midsection and the last one narrowly missing his heart. Arthas cried out as pain he haven't felt in ages shot through him and whirled about to see the draenei responsible ducking to avoid another attack coming from one of undead minions the Lich King summoned to his aid. It fell to the ground barely few seconds later, its head chopped off. Perhaps he underestimated them a little?
Resting on one knee, Arthas councelled with the Lich King within him without letting his control slip even a little bit, clutching Frosmourne's handle with both hands and leaning onto it, eyes closed.
"Frostmourne hungers." he whispered to the runeblade almost lovingly and it obeyed, humming with anticipation and vibrating against the ice.
Three powerful shockwaves sped toward the Champions, knocking them all down quite easily.
Exploiting this oportunity he created himself, the Lich King reached to break the arrowheads protruding from his body and quickly yanked the thin pieces of wood out, one by one, biting back a cry of pain as it came free. Thin icy vapor poured out of the wounds.
Disgustedly, Arthas threw the arrow pieces away before grabbing the nearest undead creature unfortunate enough to survive the Argent Champions' onslaught and crushing its head, thus healing himself. The ghoul vanished with a shriek, devoured by its master.
All Champions, getting to their feet again, watched it, their faces contorted as if they had a very hard time to keep themselves from throwing up right there and then. Arthas heard himself cackle maniacally, thought he was quite sure part of it was the Lich King. After all this was not of the worst things he had done since becoming a monster. It felt quite natural to him. As you wish then, he thought. If it is my true power you desire, I shall not deny you.
"Come, Champions of the Argent Crusade." he taunted them as he stood up, pulling Frostmourne out of the ice. He had had enough of this and felt no need to delay things any further. And if they are not able to survive after all they've come through to get to him, they were never worthy. And he overestimated them. "You have come here for me. Here I am. Now show me your power or suffer my wrath!" with a single swift motion of his gloved hand Arthas dismissed his undead minions, prepared to face the Champions alone, Frostmourne at his side as always.
They did not ponder his motives, moving toward him without further dawdling, though still cautiously forming a half circle so that he could see them all.
First mistake, Arthas thought, however then they all attacked at once. Druids turned into bears and cats, roared and charged forth. Death knights and warriors and paladins gripped their swords, axes and shields, folowing them. From the corner of his eye, Arthas saw rogues dissapear from perception and mages and shamans, their hands crackling with flame, lightening and arcane magic, shielding those prepared to heal the wounded.
He growled with delight and a black and blue flames began spreading from the tips of his fingers to the whole of his body, wrapping him in almost loving embrace, filling him with power and Arthas recalled a time when it was the Light that came to his aid as he wielded his old hammer, the Light's Vengeance. Those days were long since gone. Lost along with another lifetime he could barely remember.
Forcing his mind to focuse on the task at hand, dark aura eminating from him, Arthas spun around knocking back one of the druids and piercing lungs of another with a single slash of his blade. His booted feet shifted a little and he vanished right before spells, claws, daggers and steel could rip him apart.
A shriek pierced the cold air of the Frozen Throne, cut in the middle as Frostmourne protruded from an unfortunate warlock's chest, hot vermilion blood splattering the ice and stone underneath Arthas' feet as he yanked it out. Arrows and throwing daggers zipped through the air to avenge the death, sinking deep in to the very warlock's lifeless body the Lich King used as a shield before aiming it at the nearest Champion, knocking him down in the middle of casting a healing spell.
One after the other, they fell beneath the might of Frostmourne and its wielder, their weapons suddenly harmlessly sliding off the chilly saronite armor protected by magic untill there was only one left - a young paladin covered from head to foot in gore, raven hair disheveled, big emerald eyes haunted with the death of her friends, round face pale, quick breath coming out of her mouth in small puffs. Her helmet rolled across the floor. She ignored it, focusing only on her oponent, gripping tightly the handle of a massive two-handed hammer, tears pouring down her cheeks.
"You... will not... get away... with this, butcher!" she grunted through gritted teeth.
Arthas eyed her with dissapointment, the excitement of battle long gone now. He expected better. Perhaps they were not as strong as he thought after all. Though the look of defiance in here eyes made him remember the last person who called him that. Sylvanas. He grinned, even though the paladin could not see it.
Reconciled with throwing her life away for nothing, she did not wait for him to respond and cried out unintelligibly as she attacked once more, her weapon shining, blessed by the Light. Arthas' mind once more wrapped around the memory of his own hammer, shining just like hers did when he, Jaina and Falric fought the undead for the very first time.
Jaina...
Imperceptibly, he shook his head to get rid of his former girlfriend's face and only a fracture of a second later the paladin's hammer hit him with such a force he stumbled backwards. She was considerably strong for a woman... though maybe not for a dwarf. She seized the opportunity, lifted her weapon once more and let it descend again. Arthas leaped aside, now prepared for it and went to offensive. She blocked his attack with a speed and agility he had not seen since his fight with Illidan and he could hear the sound of the weapon swooping down as she swung it just as skillfuly. The Lich King did not bother blocking it, instead he stepped to the side only a little bit and with five carefully measured steps Frostmourne's edge slid down the hammer's handle as the weapon missed him by inches. Now they were back to back and Arthas reacted quickly, his elbow hitting the dwarf hard between the shoulder blades. She toppled over and he turned to catch her around the neck and chest before she could hit the ground, his grip firm like iron shackles. She tried to catch her breath but could not. He grabbed her even more tightly and freed one hand to raise his blade to her neck.
"No question remains unanswered. No doubts linger. You are Azeroth's greatest champions! You overcame every challenge I laid before you. My mightiest servants have fallen before your relentless onslaught, your unbridled fury..." he overlooked the corpses of the fallen and smirked. "Is it truly righteousness that drives you? I wonder." the last words came out but a whisper into her ear and a surprised and angry sqeal escaped through her lips as he cut her throat. Her body hit the ground with a thud.
Standing tall above the whole scene, Arthas looked once more upon the cadavers of now all the Argent Champions with mixture of disdain and sadness and it made him realize something. After what he had just done, he did not wish to become human again, even if someone offered him such possibility.
He had hoped, sincerely hoped that this was the time. That these were the ones. But he was mistaken. They were strong, he couldn't deny that... but not strong enough. Pathetic. Once again so many lives were lost because of pride... He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and opened them again to gaze with fierce determination at the block of ice encasing Tirion Fordring. They may not be fit to defeat the Lich King, however it would be foolish to let their strength go to waste.
"You trained them well, Fordring." Arthas himself was surprised by the cold and scornful tone of his voice. Those words somehow formed in his mouth on their own accord, just like many times before. "You delivered the greatest fighting force this world has ever known… right into my hands." he paused, heavy footsteps echoing through the deathly silence as he stepped across the bodies of Tirion's beloved heroes. "Exactly as I intended. You shall be rewarded for your unwitting sacrifice."
Now standing right in the middle of the slaughter he had just caused, Arthas listened to the Lich King's voice just as he did many times before and raised Frostmourne. Dark energy erupted from the runeblade's tip, enveloping the fallen Champions, gushing through their lifeless bodies. They stirred and disappeared within its embrace.
"Watch now as I raise them from the dead to become masters of the Scourge." he chanted as the words came to his mind. "They will shroud this world in chaos and destruction. Azeroth's fall will come at their hands. And you will be the first to die." a pause as if he thought about the next words. "I delight in the irony." and suddenly he found himself laughing, thought at first he no idea why, it just came to him - urge he could not resist. It felt like he was loosing his mind. However as he thought about it, he understood it truly was the irony of the situation. Those who had sought to bring peace to Azeroth now rising again to become instruments of its doom. He was once like that too.
He pushed Frostmourne's power further, the ritual almost complete. All the Champions now suspended in midair, net of the Lich King's magic coliling around their bodies and they stirred once more, their eyes opening slightly - blank and dead. Truly a shame, this has been far too easy.
And as if Arthas expressed his regrets for everyone to hear, voice came out of nowhere loud, clear, strong and very much familiar, filled with hope and devotion. "Light, grant me one final blessing." it said and the whole Frozen Throne chamber began to shake. "Give me strength... to shatter these bonds!"
And the Light obliged.
Surprised and perhaps a little bit hopeful again, Arthas turned to its source just in time to see a bright gold column of light smiting the ice encasing Tirion and it shattered to pieces as if made of fragile glass. Now free of his prison, the old paladin looked back at the Lich King and fire burned in his eyes, fierce determination shaped his features as he jumped high into the air, Ashbringer still firmly clutched in his hand and brought the sword down. Flash of light and Arthas glimpsed the dwarven runeblade cutting through the air, speeding towards his outstretched hand. Clang of metal against metal caused the ice beneath the Lich King's feet to crack as the two swords connected. Frostmourne vibrated madly...
... and shattered.
The time seemed to have slowed down at that moment, pieces of the legendary runeblade tinkling against the ice-covered floor. Arthas gaped at the handle still grasped in his gloved hand. Impossible! He could not believe it. Frostmourne... broken? And as the realization dawned at him, he experienced a sensation like no other. Like someone had once again ripped a part of his soul out of his body with such a force he feared it might tear him apart. Suddenly he became unsure of himself, felt incomplete. Lost. Frightened to death. Edges of panic tugged at the outskirts of his mind. Could it be that after all this time...
It took several moments and the sound of the Champions' corpses yet again falling to the ground upon the interruption of their dark rebirth to bring Arthas out of the shock.
"Impossible..." he repeated, eyes glowing bright blue searched for Fordring panting a few feet away, leaning on the Ashbringer, obviously exhausted from using too much energy.
The defiance did not dissapear from his gaze however, quite the opposite.
"No more, Arthas! No more lives will be consumed by your hatred." relief and sorrow reflected in those words and Tirion appeared as surprised about what he had just done as the Lich King himself did.
But the impossible had not yet said its final word.
The scattered pieces of Frostmourne glowed with the blade's final magic, vibrating against the ice still less and less as if mimicking the beating of a dying heart and with the last pulse the sword's handle burned white. Arthas dropped it instinctively and as he did so, silvery wisp emerged to hover infront of his ashen face.
"Free at last!" strong booming voice of Terenas Menethil deafened them.
The semi-transparent eerie spirit of the last king of Lordaeron zoomed high into the air and descended again, towering over the thunderstruck Arthas.
"It is over, my son." Terenas said as their eyes met. "This is the moment of reckoning." and as if those words summoned them, yet more souls escaped from their prison within the cursed runeblade to circle the Lich King like a pack of wolves closing in on a prey. There were hundreds of them, thousands of humans, elves, dwarfes, orcs and many other creatures trapped untill now, consumed by the sword and Arthas felt himself being hoisted up into the air in a whirlwind of white lights.
But he could not see them. He could not even see Terenas calling for the Light to ressurect the fallen Champions or their suprised, shocked and anxious faces as they were snatched from the jaws of death, not to serve the Lich King but to purchase another dawn for Azeroth with their lives.
What he saw were faces – skeletal faces with empty eye sockets surrounding him, staring at him, shouting unintelligibly. Some stronger then others.
A ghastly white image of Uther the Lightbringer came into focus and Arthas shivered under the intesity of its gaze.
"The hell is waiting fo you, Arthas." It shouted and with a shriek, it shot through Arthas' chest like a bullet. The Lich King cried out in agony.
Spread eagle in midair he felt every cell in his body burn. But the spirits' hunger for vengance was not nearly appeased. Another wisp emerged and took the form of a high-elven scout.
"Bash'a no falor talah!" it said and it too bit deep into Arthas' body.
And this time there was something different about it. Through its eyes Arthas watched and experienced the destruction of Quel'Thalas. The Scourge marched across the Ghostlands, leaving only death in their wake, the Dead Scar burned deep into Arthas' skin as though he himself had become the land, the forest, the earth beneath the feet of his own undead army.
And with every other surfacing spirit the pain escalated to the point where any other would have been saved by merciful arms of blessed unconciousness. But not Arthas. They would not let him, for he wouldn't show the same mercy to them.
Instead, he found himself running through the streets of Stratholme. The citizens stood around him laughing maliciously as he, paladin of the Silver Hand, swung Light's Vengeance around to strike them down without success. Time and again he strived to complete his mission, to save his homeland untill exhaustion got the best of him.
As if caught up in a nightmare, awaiting the break of dawn Arthas looked into their faces. His mind went blank, only the strangest words he could possibly remember in a situation like this formed on his tongue. The last verse of a balad Keri'el once taught him. The very same one he had to read over and over again, for what felt like thousand times before she was satisfied with his explication. He hated her so much for making him do it, yet...
"Now I stand, the lion before the lambs... and they do not fear." and now he understood at last the meaning of those words, watching those people around him edging closer. Every hunter ventualy becomes a prey. It was inevitable to maintain the circle of life. "They cannot fear."
With a smile on his face, he gave in to their bloodlust, watching motionless as they swooped down upon him. The agony could not be expressed in words, however he welcomed it, for it accompanied the long awaited liberation from his cursed existence. Also he felt he deserved it.
Arthas did not know how long the torture lasted, but on the very verge of death the spirits finally released him. He fell hard onto the ice-covered ground, the Lich King's helmet sliding off his silky white hair to roll away as he dropped on all four, wide-eyed. Clinging to the remnants of life still left within him, the fallen prince od Lordaeron reached out to take the piece of the Lich King back. He could only think of the need to give it to his succesor. This cannot end without it. He wouldn't let it!
Numbness began spreading throughout his body and for the first time in many years he felt cold. However he couldn't let it overpower him. Not now, not when he was so close. So very close to save his kingdom and its people. If he could reach that thing, the undead plague would be gone and everything would return to normal. The voice in his mind told him so and he had no other choice but to listen to it. Just few more inches... Giving it everything he had without realizing his memory for the past five years had gone and failing to take in the whole scene around him, Arthas reached out with all his remaining will to grab the enchanted piece of armor he was told would save everything he cherished. He could feel it, cold and alive in his grasp... however his fingers never reached it. His limbs could not support him any longer. There was not enough strength left in him.
He rolled onto his back, still breathing but just barely and couldn't uderstand what was going on as he looked up at an unfamiliar stellar sky. It felt as if he was gone for a very long time. The last thing he could remember was the sight of the City of Stratholme, burning with ever-lasting flame and maniac cackling of Kel'thuzad. The rest of it seemed shrouded and somehow distorted as if he just woke up from a dream. And his mind finally cleared. The blue glow dissipated from his eyes as his father's face came into view and the sight warmed Arthas, for if the king was still alive, then Lordaeron...
Terenas Menethil kneeled at his side and Arthas felt warmth as the eerie man's arms wrapped around him. His eyes could barely see the expression on the old king's face. Hand reached to the golden chain around Terenas' neck and gripped it tightly as if to ensure he was real. Sea-blue eyes fixed on the spirit's white glowing sockets, though the couldn't see it.
"Father... is it over?" those words came out without thinking.
He needed to be sure he did not fail his people, because he failed himself by not being able to complete his task. Something touched the back of his hand.
"At long last." Terenas tone softened just as it always did when he adressed his beloved son, holding Arthas' hand and the warmth of the touch could no longer comfort him as the life was fading from the prince's body. "No king rules forever, my son."
Arthas smiled. Or at least he tried to smile, but the appropriate muscles wouldn't listen to him. Of course father is righ, as always, he thought as memories of the past years slowly returned. So it wasn't a dream after all. How foolish he were to cling to the hope that probably... but it did not matter anymore. His journey through this world had finally come to an end and he planted it so that the horror of the Scourge dies with him. He can finally leave things to others now. Coward's way to avoid responsibility, but...
"I see only darkness... before... me." for the last time Arthas' lips moved and he could no longer tell if it was real or just a hallucination.
Life escaping through his grasp as he loosened it on purpose, blackness enveloped his senses, clouded his vision and wrapped around his body, pulling him into the abyss. For him there will be no grand funeral he read about as a boy, held for a hero, a king that died valiantly in battle for his country. He had led a coward's life and like a coward he also met death and lost everything he swore to protect. He did not deserve anything less than what was coming to him
And as he thought so with bitterness he considered himself incapable of, Arthas' blue eyes turned blindly towards the sky, last breath came out of his mouth and his newly regained heart stopped. Hand clutching Terenas' golden chain loosened and fell to the ground as the Lick King... no, Arthas Menethil experienced his final death to be forever remembered as the fallen prince, the bastard that sacrificed everything for his own personal gain...
... and somewhere within the halls of the floating city of Dalaran, Jaina Proudmoore stilled with her hand above a sheet of blank paper, chill running up and down her spine settling itself in the depths of her heart, taking away something she wasn't even aware of untill now.
The blond mage looked up as if she knew immediately what that meant and her sky-blue eyes rested upon her staff. It snapped in two when she fought the Lich King and for some reason he repaired it, projecting something into the weapon and since then Jaina couldn't keep away from it. She wouldn't use it, but nor could she figure out what was wrong with it. Her heart sank even deeper as she looked at it now to see once again the two pieces rolling over the floor and understood this uneasiness coiling through her body.
"So it is finally over... I am sorry, Arthas." and as she bowed her head tears welled up inside her, poured down her cheeks washing away the sorrow and longing that could not be sated anymore. "Goodbye."
Here we go :) I don't really like Jaina, but it wouldn't do to leave things unfinished... I hope I didn't forget anything... it's been a long time since publishing the first chapters and I already forgot most of the details... :) Hope you enjoyed this little venture into the world of my imagination and see you again someday :)
Notes:
Bash'a no falor talah! - Taste the chill of true death (said by Sylvanas :))