Chapter 5: A Symphony of Light and Darkness

The chilling bite of Icecrown is something Jaina would never forget. The howling, screaming wind. Sunlight blocked by clouds shedding snow upon them. Darkness coats the air. She breaths in Ner'Zhul's malice with every breath, the oppressiveness of it overwhelming this close to the Lich King. The guttural cries of the damned as ghouls and zombies shamble at them. Its a steady, continues stream. This intensity is what Jaina expected for all of Northrend.

Arthas, Aurius, and Muradin are at the forefront, battering the tide of undead as they push in steadily...

Then...

"You've done well, young prince, to make it this far into the roof of the world."

Mal'Ganis stands at the top of a hill to the east of them, watching, a sneer on his face. "But this is where your journey ends, boy. Only death will sing the tale of your doom."

"Mal'Ganis!" snarled Arthas.

The dreadlord laughs. "Come then, young prince, my forces wait for yours to the east as they did before. IF you can survive the dead and the cold to meet me."

Mal'Ganis turns and flees, and with him, the stream of undead follow.

Arthas turns to give chase. "We march east! That undead loving demonic bastard dies today!"

"Arthas WAIT!" Jaina yells.

He glances back, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "Jaina, we don't have time. I know its a trap, but he is what we came here to kill!"

She shakes her head and points north. "Don't you feel it Arthas? To the north? That... that pure and utter evil?"

He glances northward, a frown on his face, his grip slowly tightening on his warhammer as light ignites around it in outrage to what they feel. "I do."

"Light above," mutters Aurius, "The air has become heavier and heavier, darker and darker, the further north we've tread, but I never thought it came from one single source. I've never felt anything like it. Even the demon doesn't feel like this."

"Mal'Ganis isn't luring us into a trap, Arthas," said Jaina, "He's luring us away from whatever that is we're approaching. The undead have all been scrambling to stop us, they never thought we'd breach this far into Northrend. This Arthas... I feel it in my bones, whatever that is, its the source of the undead."

She moves to stand next to him. "We didn't come here to kill Mal'Ganis, Arthas, we came here to destroy the Scourge. Without the Scourge, Mal'Ganis is just one demon."

Arthas stands still for a long moment before slowly nodding. "We march north. If Mal'Ganis wants to dance, he comes to us."

"I dun know lad," muttered Muradin, shivering, "I've been tae some dark places in meh life, but nothin has ever sent chills down my spine like this place. Are we going to be enough?"

"We have to be," said Jaina grimly.

"We are the chosen of the light," said Arthas firmly, "We will not falter."

The moment they start north instead of following Mal'Ganis east, the very air thickens with hatred and fury. Like she has sickly lungs struggling to take in a single breath. The floodgates break open, and the undead are coming from everywhere.

"Defensive formation!" roars Arthas, "Circular, footmen and knights on the outside, riflemen and engeneers on the inside! Once we find a suitable spot, we're making a base."

Their forces become a ball of the living, the hordes of the undead breaking upon shields and falling upon swords, bullets and arrows dropping more and more as they come. Jaina arcs chains of lighting and drops sheets of ice as the press deeper. Then, they crest a hill...

Jaina chokes a bit when she sees it. Off in the distance, a spire, THE spire, a large ominous gate a faint sight at its base. Jaina grounds herself as best she can, briefly finding her Prince's hand to squeeze. He squeezes back, gazing grimly at the spire. Then, he points, and she follows his gaze, sighting a large black obelisk coated in runes on top of a small raised and bricked area. Jaina has no idea what it is, those weren't there in the future. She feels power emanating from it. She nods, and they make their move down there.

They once again catch the undead unprepared, acolytes scrambling to summon in defenses around the Obelisk. Jaina is startled to see them trying to set up a full fledged base, buildings she'd normally only see in a bastion of the Scourge. "Whatever that obelisk is, its important."

"Take the base!" ordered Arthas, "We set up here!"

Jaina begins summoning elementals to help hold the line as they tear down the in-progress Scourge base and begin setting up their own hastily made fortifications. Its a brutal slugfest as lines of abominations, ghouls, zombies, and crypt fiends rush in, trying to drive them off. Gargoyles screech overhead, diving in. Jaina waves a hand, sending a wave of lightning flashing through the sky and dropping them.

The tide slowly ebbs, and all the sudden cuts off, but Jaina knows better than to think the undead are done. They're gathering for a large assault rather than a steady stream. Jaina takes the moment to guzzle a mana potion before approaching the obelisk. She places a hand upon it, and feels it pull for magic, a circle of power appearing before it. She narrows her eyes, moving to stand in the center, and aims a hand at the obelisk, funneling power into and connecting to it. The ground under her shivers as the obelisk ignites in blue flames. Off in the distance, like gears turning, a blue symbol appears over the gate leading to the Frozen Throne.

"So that's it then," says Jaina, feeling fate weighing on her shoulders, "These Obelisks are locks, we need to control and activate them in order to get access to the spire. Muradin, get a gyrocopter up and running to do a pass around, how many are there?"

Ten minutes later they have their answer.

"Four obelisks," said Arthas, "We control one, the Scourge hold the other three with fully set up bases, teeming with undead according to the report."

He turns around to address their forces, so many determined and grim eyes staring up at them. "This is it men. There are no doubts, the evil we came to destroy is here before us, in its awful twisted dark glory. We have arrived at the heart of undeath itself. We are the vanguard to protect Lordaeran, nay, the entire world from this blight. We stop this evil here, we stop this evil now! We are the chosen of the light, the banishers of the dark! I will gladly lay down my life to stop this evil, and I call upon all of you to do the same!"

"We're with you Prince Arthas!"

"Lets take these bastards down!"

"No rest, no mercy!"

"To the death!"

"To the death," agrees Arthas grimly, "We stop this evil here, or we die trying."

The last and only time Kel'Thuzad had ever felt Ner'Zhul this enraged was when Illidan Stormrage had set foot upon Icerown Glacier. This about matches that, except its worse. Illidan had lead a massive assault force consisting of both Elves and Naga. This strike force isn't even a quarter of that size, and none of those that oppose the Scourge now, even Jaina, are as powerful as Illidan was after consuming the Skull of Guldan. The Lich King is practically frothing at the mouth in fury, that he can't conceive how its gotten so far. How a simple trap for Arthas had led to the strike force challenging the Scourge for access to the Frozen Throne itself.

Then it gets worse.

Because a portal appears, and its not Mal'Ganis that steps through.

"This is unacceptable," snarls Tichondrious, wings flexing as the greatest of the dreadlords, and one of three active time travelers, gazes upon them, "One paltry assault force has threatened the survival of the Scourge? The very invasion of Azeroth has been placed in jeopardy by your little plan to convert a mortal prince!"

"If the Legion had not sabotaged my own defenses by stealing my warriors...," began Ner'Zhul.

"I am not here to hear excuses," snapped Tichondrious, "Archimonde is most displeased. Mal'Ganis has been given clearance to do whatever is necessary to end this threat. If you fail to stamp out this threat yourself, he will incinerate the body of the prince you crave as punishment for your failure. End this now Ner'Zhul, or the Legion will end it for you."

With that, Tichondrious give a derisive sniff and leaves, portalling out.

Kel'Thuzad frowns intently. "How long until Naxxramas arrives?"

"Half an hour," gritted out Ner'Zhul, "They should never have breached this far. Had I known Proudmoore had this much power and potential, I would have put in great efforts to claim her prior to the Scourging of Lordaeran. I've been watching through my minions, focusing my abilities to sense how she casts, and I've never see anything like it. She has many different forms woven into her spellcasting. There are faint hints of draconic, druidic, shamanistic, and warlock teachings in everything she does in addition to her normal achmage learnings, perhaps even things I am not aware of. She's feeding off her own lifeforce to cover her mana pool all the while pulling energy from the laylines below her feet to sustain herself."

Kel'Thuzad's eyebrows widen briefly before narrowing. "I see."

So that was what a lifetime of struggle and conflict had made Jaina Proudmoore into. He wondered idly, just how many Proudmoore had studied under and emulated in order to perfect her craft so. "She's been busy learning more than any of us could imagine. I dare say Antonidas hasn't a clue, otherwise he'd have never allowed her to leave. I must say, I approve of the desire to study and gather such a collective of knowledge and power."

"We're it not at our peril, perhaps I would approve of my future servant as well," said Ner'Zhul, "But not here, and not now. Not with so much at stake. I have plans that Arthas is critical for. I cannot lose him, any else will not suit the role he is destined for as well as he will."

"The more important the prize, the more important the fight for it," said Kel'Thuzad, "This, here and now, is a defining moment of the Scourge, a challenge for the greatest of prizes. The Prince and the Archmage, champions of the Scourge beyond imagine that the Burning Legion would take from us."

Because now Kel'Thuzad has to shift his promise to his true King. The Legion will destroy both Arthas and Proudmoore. Better a life of undeath than permanent death, even if Jaina would likely prefer death. She can be made to eventually see reason, see the benefits of an eternal undead empire, once Ner'Zhul has been disposed of ofcourse...

"Then it is a challenge that will require all of my available tools to claim victory over," said Ner'Zhul, "Kel'Thuzad, take to the field."

"Of course, my lord," answered Kel'Thuzad before pausing, "Did the dwarves ever end up taking the bait?"

"Several of them are being carefully led towards Frostmourne's current rest, but I cannot count the original plan to succeed in the face of our current struggle," said Ner'Zhul, "I will settle for the Prince safely killed and claimed if I must, slowly converting and winning his allegiance and... what is the dreadlord doing?"

Kel'Thuzad pauses, glancing skyward, at the snowstorm slowly bleeding green. "Ah. Well, I suppose the race is on then."

His eyes tracked as the sky split open and the first infernals began to rain down...

"BRACE YOURSELVES!" screamed Jaina.

Jaina choked on fear as she cast one spell after another as undead clawed at their fortifications and demons rained from the sky. Streams of lesser demons are arriving with the undead. She hadn't imagined this, hadn't thought the Legion would get involved. But of course they would, the Scourge was legitimately threatened, and if the Scourge didn't pave the way then the Legion couldn't invade. She should have though, she should have known, her foolishness might have just gotten them all killed. Taking on the Scourge was one thing, but both?! Hyjal's defenses had been broken one after another by that, and what they had here wasn't close to that. Still...

Arthas and Aurius were practically bathed in the light, auras shining as they fought with its grace, its power reacting violently to the combined evil of undeath and demonic energy. Muradin gave a war cry and leaped high for one so small, smashing a hammer in one hand and an axe in another through an infernal's skull. Every single member of their strike force is fighting desperately with everything they have. Surprisingly, no one is panicking, their discipline and determination is amazing, and fills Jaina with pride.

"Arthas!" she shouts, "We're never going to win this on the defensive!"

"How the hell are we supposed to push out from this?!" he calls back.

"Split the assault force!" she answers, "One of us has to lead striking out at the bases and claiming the obelisks, the others have to hold the line."

"Lass!" calls out Muradin, "We don't have the forces for this! Not for bloody undead AND demons. We'll never be able to hold all four obelisks! We'd have to split up into four groups to hold all of them! We have to pull out!"

"No!" barked Arthas, "We end this here!"

"We didn know about the damn demons Arthas!" snaps Muradin, "We don't have enough men!"

Jaina shakes her head. "You three hold the base, I'm the only one that can activate the obelisks anyway, all I need is a guard to keep the undead off me, and I'll do the rest."

"Falric, Marwyn!" calls out Arthas, "Take your most trusted and guard Jaina with your lives! The fate of our people depend on what happens here today!"

Jaina waits for her guards to gather around her, then she teleports them out of the base, away from the thickest of the fighting. She crests a large hill, gazing down upon the four bases at a distance. Demonic green energy emanates from the east, while undead stream from the north and west towards the south. If they want to have a chance, they have to stop the demonic storm, close the portals. The Scourge's forces are finite at this point and time, the Legion are not. So she teleports them again to the east. She fears so deeply for her prince, but she must bring this to an end. She begins summoning fire and water elementals as they run northeast, skirting around the tide of undead and demons surging for her prince's base. The come to the Western Obelisk, eyeing the base set up around it.

Eying Mal'Ganis standing in front of the obelisk, green energy channeled around him, beckoning the skies to rain infernals, three portals around him spilling out demons. Eyeing the dreadlord who was completely defenseless at the moment, focusing on his spellwork.

Jaina takes in a deep breath, letting it out, and pulls heavily on her power. She aims her hand forward and begins channeling a huge energy blast of fire and lightning and ice cackling with energy around it, and then lets it loose. Not at the base, but right for Mal'Ganis. It impacts and rips an agonized scream from him. The explosion sends the demon flying away, charred and bruised, disrupting his spell to summon infernals, and blows away the portals. Jaina sags to her knees from the exertion as her summons take point and charge the base while the Captains surround her in a protective ring.

Falric fishes a mana potion off her belt and helps her drink it. She guzzles it greedily, offers a quick 'thanks', and rises to her feet. "We hold the line here, let me blow them away with my spells, just keep them off me!"

"With our dying breath, m'lady," vows Marwyn.

Jaina digs her feet into the snow, grounding herself, as she calls on herself as she has few times in her life. She lets loose arcs of lightning, blasts of fire, sheets of ice that, combined with her elemental summons, begin to mow through the base...

Until a wave of shadow bolts pierces through her summons and kills them. "Impressive Jaina, most impressive."

Jaina's eyes narrow as the most hated necromancer saunters into view with a horde of abominations and ghouls at his heels. "Kel'Thuzad, I was wondering when you were going show up again."

"When its most inconvenient for you of course," he says smoothly.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she says, launching a bolt of lightning at him.

He catches it with his bare hand, an aura of black and blue energy starting to coat him. Jaina suckers in a breath as she feels dark outside energy funnel into him. The Lich King is directly empowering him.

"You should never have come to Northrend, Jaina," he said softly, almost sadly, "You had your chance to run and survive."

"Running was never an option, not unless I wanted to lose everything I had ag...," she cut herself off, gritting her teeth.

There is something almost sad, knowing in his gaze and tone. "I see. You cling so desperately to your prince, and in the end, it was not your curiosity, but your desperate love, that would be the death of you."

He waves a hand and shadow bolts surge out towards her guard. Jaina waves her own, a surge of fire meeting and detonating the bolts. He flicks his wrist, and the undead with him, and still surviving in the base rush for them. "Captains, keep the undead at bay, and under no circumstances are you to get involved between me and Kel'Thuzad, you will only die."

She blinks forward, past the undead, right infront of a startled Kel'Thuzad and casts frost nova, a ring of frost entrapping Kel'Thuzad and the nearest undead. She cries out in power as she thrusts her hands forward, unleashing a torrent of fire. Lets see him be reanimated from this!

A shield of ice, not quite ice block, but a solid barrier, absorbs the spell. Kel'Thuzad's eyes are narrowed in concentration, he dispels the frost clinging to him. He launches frostbolts at her rapidly, forcing her to duck, weave, and teleport out of the way. Then he does a massive volley of them, sending dozens of hem all directions. Jaina swears to herself and ice blocks herself the protective if but chilling wall of ice around her protecting from the barrage...

Then Kel'Thuzad is there and places a hand on the block, and Jaina loses control of the spell.

Her eyes widen as he smirks at her, waging a finger. "How kind of you to imprison yourself for us, such thoughtfulness makes my job much easier."

How the HELL did he steal control of her spell?!

And then Falric smashes into Kel'Thuzad in clear disobedience of her orders, shoving him away and raising a hand with his blade to strike the blow. Kel'Thuzad catches the footman's wrist and stops him cold, the thin bony grip at odds with the heavy armored arm, yet keeping it perfectly still. Kel'Thuzad places a hand against his chest and blows a shadow bolt right through him. Jaina screams in rage as Falric drops to the ground, his duty done and service complete. The distraction was enough, Jaina re-takes control and shatters the ice block, ice exploding in all directions, some stabbing into Kel'Thuzad and making him grunt.

Jaina lets loose a devastating bolt of lightning, arcing right through him. Kel'Thuzad roars in pain as he's flown backwards, lightning cackling all along his figure. Yet still, empowered by the Lich King, it doesn't kill him. He lands on his feet, reaches out, and catches the rest of the lightning on his open palm before flinging it back at her. She dodges to the side, gritting her teeth. Kel'Thuzad rubs his chest briefly, wincing at the pan and brief spark of energy still in the scorched hole through his robes and on his skin. He looks at her with wariness, blue energy pooling into his hands.

Jaina doesn't have time for this.

She also doesn't believe she can take him alone, not directly empowered by the Lich King, not without giving her life the same way Falric had done, and her job isn't finished yet. She waits for him to send a barrage of icebolts at her, then teleports past them, right into Kel'Thuzad's face, and places her hands glowing purple against his chest. He has a moment for his eyes to widen, a irritated scowl on his face, before Jaina teleports him as far away from the area as she can manage, her legs wobbling from exertion.

"Falric!"

She turns her head to see... to see three living guards left, Marwyn and two footmen. Marwyn kneels down next to his fellow captain's corpse, grieved. Jaina walks over, places a brief comforting hand on his shoulder, and moves to the Obelisk. She stands in the circle of power, focusing her energy and activating it, the ground shivering as she does. She wipes her forehead free of chilling sweat before it can freeze. She feels so spent already, her reserves are waning badly, she doesn't believe she can take the other two bases anymore than she can take on Kel'Thuzad with the Lich King fueling him.

"Captain Marwyn!" she calls out.

The man bows his head briefly over his friend before moving over. "Yes M'lady."

"I'm going for reinforcements, hold this obelisk," she orders.

He swallows, glancing briefly at his two fellow soldiers, and nods at the suicide mission. "Be swift m'lady."

She pauses for a moment. "If either Mal'Ganis or Kel'Thuzad return, retreat, you can't fight that."

With that, she teleports back to the main base. Its in utter chaos. The demons may be gone, but the damage is done. Outer fortifications are destroyed, at least half of their number was butchered in the onslaught, piles of bodies made away from the front lines and the necromancers. She spots Aurius healing the wounded, exhaustion clear on his face, and yet...

"Aurius, where are Arthas and Muradin?" she calls out.

He glances over at her. "Some of Muradin's men returned, they apparently located that Runeblade of theirs. They left to retrieve Frostmourne."

Jaina's heart stopped.

No.

NONONONONONONONO!

"I TOLD HIM IT WAS A TRAP!" she screams in fear, "WHERE? WHICH WAY?"

Aurius startles at her screeching but calling over a dwarf. "Take her to them, now."

Jaina barely remembers the desperate sprint through the blurry howling winds, snow and wind gusting against her as if intentionally to slow her progress. Undead drop and die without any real focus, her entire purpose in coming back had been to save her prince, she can't lose him, she can't...

They move down winding chasms, and into a cave...

"It's cursed lad! You can't!" echoes Muradin's voice.

"I don't give a damn! We barely survived that last onslaught! If my own soul be the price, to save us, to save my people, to save Jaina, then I'll gladly bear more scars than I already do to see this through!"

There is a shattering sound and a cry of pain from Muradin, Jaina sprints, she teleports and sprints. Muradin is on the ground bleeding, Arthas has an odd, almost hypnotized look in his eyes, dark whispers ripple through the air, and his hands are reaching for the Runeblade of her nightmares...

"ARTHAS NO!" she cries out.

She teleports once more and slams into him, making him yelps and startle as they pitch over, his armored shoulder clipping Frostmourne's hilt and knocking it to the ground as they hit the ground and roll...

Jaina screams.

Jaina screams in agony as horrific ice shoots down her arm, into her body, deep into her soul.

"Jaina?!" asks Arthas in worry and fear, pushing them up.

Jaina makes a choking sound as her eyes swerve to see... to see her hand on Frostmourne's blade.

No.

No...

No no no no...

Its all fading away.

All of her emotions.

All of her feelings.

Replaced with numb ice and cold fury.

Her hand shakes as it slowly moves down the blade, seemingly without her consent, and grips the handle.

"Jaina," he says sharply, "What the hell were you thinking?!"

Her voice is emotionless and dead-like as she speaks, "I had to save you, Arthas, no matter the price."

"Jaina?"

She stands up and separates from him. "Heal Muradin, Arthas, this fight isn't over yet."

"Jaina, whats wrong?" he asks, his eyes searching hers, and growing more worried by the second when he can't find whatever he is looking for.

She glances at the dais that Frostmourne had been on, briefly reading the inscription, about a so-called curse. "I... I can't feel anything anymore."

"What?" he whispers before swallowing thickly, "Gods, was that the curse to be paid? Jaina, dammit, why did you stop me? That was my burden to bear, not yours!"

Dark whispers are slowly working their way into her mind, but Jaina has no emotional distraction, and shuts them out. The Scourge is her enemy. Arthas's survival is her objective. She will do whatever it takes to see to the fulfillment of her goals. Power unlike anything she has ever felt before is funneling through her fingertips into her very being. She is going to drive Frostmourne down Ner'Zhul's metaphorical throat and make him choke on it.

"Heal Muradin," she orders again, "Then we move."

He hesitates for a long moment before nodding. "Once we've won here, we're going back home. Surely Uther and Antonidas can help, can find a way to lift the curse."

Jaina isn't leaving Northrend alive.

She's not planning on leaving behind a corpse either.

Once the deed is done, she's incinerating her own body.

But she says nothing, merely nodding.

Muradin groans as Arthas heals him. "D-dammit lad... I... I warned you."

Arthas's face closes off for a moment. "I know... I know..."

Jaina wastes no more time and teleports them from here all the way back to base, and it feels like it costs her no energy at all to do so. Power corses through her veins like never before. She sees the undead assaulting her base, her men, HER LOYAL SOLDIERS. They belong to her, nothing may take what is hers...

Use the blade...

Jaina twitches at the whispers, and is suddenly aware of how dark and possessive the thoughts of her troops had been. Ner'Zhul has already started trying to corrupt her mind. She takes a brief moment to asses. She will have a short time before Ner'Zhul has worked his way into her head. He may have her soul in the blade, but her body and will is still her own for now. She has spent years studying and learning, and had in fact made her own preparations once upon a time to limit the damage the Scourge could do if they killed and reanimated her. She quarantines her memories of the future she lived as deep as she can, protecting them in a way that will require Ner'zhul to completely shatter her if he wants to even think about getting them.

That in turn lessens their usefulness, for how can he be sure its not mad delusions?

She guards her thoughts as best she can, but she can feel the dark taint on the edges of her mind, like a shadowy figure in her peripheral vision that she just cant see no matter how quickly she turns. Her time is short.

She regards Frostmourne for a long moment, and is thankful she can still somewhat feel hatred. "The blade has a voice."

Arthas startles next to her. "What?"

"Oh bloody hell," muttered Muradin, "I shoulda known."

"What is it saying?" asked Arthas warily.

Frostmourne lights up with unholy blue energy. "To use it."

Jaina swings her blade-swings Frostmourne in an arc at nothing, and all around the base, ice ruptures up from the ground, spearing the undead on frost-made pikes in an almost casual display of power. Arthas flinches back from the spellwork, his warhammer glowing in offense. The base briefly cheers, before the shouting is snuffed out.

Aurius is the one who speaks, "Light above, Arthas! That blade is giving off the same kind of energy the undead do!"

"Dammit," snarled Muradin, "Damn it! I had a bad feeling about this, how tae information had come, it hadn' felt right."

"I told you Arthas," said Jaina, lowering the blade back down, "The blade was a trap."

"Then get rid of it!" he snaps back, fear in his voice.

She smiles without warmth, a shake to her voice, "I can't."

She couldn't unclench her fist around the blade. "We don't have a lot of time, Arthas. I can feel it, like a taint, working its way into my head. We have to destroy the Scourge quickly if we are to have any chance."

He looks at her in so much desperation and fear, "Jaina... Jaina, if it wont let you let go, then we can..."

"If you try to take the blade, I don't know if I can stop myself from hurting you," she answers mirthlessly, shutting him down, "The clock is ticking Arthas. The more time we waste, the more time the blade has to work on me."

She doesn't give him a chance to respond. She mentally grabs him, Muradin, and a number of their men, teleporting back to Marwyn's position. The man is on his last legs, his two men dead, the undead rushing for his position. Jaina waves Frostmourne in their direction, and icy blue lightning arcs from it in a bright explosion. Any undead it hits either drop dead or are frozen solid by the lightning. Jaina silently marvels at the power of it, before waving her hand and shatters each and every frozen undead into pieces.

She reaches back to the base, and teleports more men here, without even being there to see them. Gods above, its unreal. "Aid Marwyn in his defense of the Obelisk."

She teleports them again, towards the north Scourge base, and pauses when she sees Naxxramas itself slowly flying into position above the base. She sneers at it, twirling Frostmourne before stabbing it into the ground. The entire area shudders. Frost surges up in a massive torrent, in the form of a giant frozen hand, and grips around the Dread Citadel. Both the hand, and the necropolis, are frozen solid. Just like that, in thirty seconds flat, she's taken the Scourge's most powerful bastion out of the equation.

Jaina Proudmoore wonders if this is what it feels like to be a God, because she's never felt so powerful in her life.

Never felt so cold.

The undead at the base come at them, and Jaina laughs.

She sounds mad even to her own ears.

She doesn't stand back and let the men take point.

She's the one leading.

She's the one tearing into the Scourge at melee range, Frostmourne ignited with blue energy reaping through the air. Spellwork casually flies off the blade or her hand, destroying undead and flattening buildings. When the last undead falls, a blue aura of malice coating Jaina's body, she eyes the area, satisfied, and moves to the Obelisk the base had once protected. She ignores the looks of horror on everyone's faces, on Arthas's face, and steps into the circle of power, dominating the Obelisk.

"One more to go," she said in her dead, emotionless tone.

Arthas takes a step back from her as she moves past, afraid, of her, and yet she feels nothing.

He doesn't understand the sacrifices you make... none of them do...

Jaina shakes her head sharply, trying to banish the thoughts. She picks up the pace, one base to go, then the Frozen Throne is hers. Waiting for them at the last Scourge base is Mal'Ganis, still roughed up from her earlier parting shot. He stares at her thoughtfully.

"So, it was not the Prince who took up Frostmourne, but the Archmage, not quite to the Dark Lord's designs," mused Mal'Ganis.

"Arrogant jailer...," whispers Ner'Zhul, "The cause of all your suffering, of all your struggles. Do you not feel hate? Do you not feel malice? Do you not find it... joyous?"

"Do you hear it," posed Mal'Ganis, "The voice of the Dark Lord of the dead? Do you hear him whispering through the blade you wield? What does he tell you, oh Archmage?"

"Take your revenge..." whispers Ner'Zhul hungrily.

Jaina smiles like a ghoul, feeling darkly giddy to take both of them offguard. "Silly little dreadlord. I already knew."

She feels Ner'Zhul's taint still, an echo of unease and surprise coming off him.

Mal'Ganis narrowed his eyes. "Knew?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" she asks, voice dark and feral and devoid of anything good and just and loving, "That I didn't make the connection? That I didn't think it suspicious that out of nowhere a magical blade, apparently our salvation, was found? That the moment my soul was stolen from me, a dark, twisted voice suddenly stared speaking to me? Whispering into my ears? Did you think I wouldn't understand?"

"It was a trap for my passionate, reckless prince, but unfortunately, it found ME instead," she said with malice, "And with this POWER, I am going to kill both you and the Dark Lord."

She find she's starting to like the cold.

The shivers of malice coating her being.

She misses the warmth.

But she'll take the hatred, so long as she can use it to kill anything that would endanger her prince.

"But for the record," said Jaina, enjoying the way Mal'Ganis took a fearful step back, "He told me to kill you anyway."

She teleports forward as she swings, and drives Frostmourne through Mal'Ganis's chest. "Take heed, Dark Lord, you are next."

She rips Frostmourne free and moves on as the demon drops, waving the blade and sending out blue energy in a wave that slams into the oncoming undead. Then...

"YOU WILL OBEY!" roars Ner'Zhul in her mind.

Jaina staggers briefly, clutching her head, gritting her teeth. "Never."

She ignores the rest of the undead, leaving them for her forces, her Prince, and moves to the Obelisk.

"YOU WILL OBEY!"

She staggers again, hissing, but moves to the circle of power, funneling energy into the Obelisk and taking command. With an ominous click, she feels the gates of the Frozen Throne be thrown open. The remaining undead in the area rush for them, all the while Ner'Zhul is screaming in her head, but they cut them down. Jaina takes deep ragged breaths, focusing, trying...

Her prince...

She did this for her prince...

Her eyes found his, and he was so very scared, for her, of her, she couldn't tell anymore.

It didn't matter.

All she wanted was to save him.

"Its almost over Arthas...," she rasps, pained, a bit of blood leaking down her nose from Ner'Zhul's mental assault, "Split the forces to guard the Obelisks, then you, Aurius, and Muradin will come with me. We have to end this... we have to end this now..."

He does as she commands, as he always should, and gives out the order. She struggles against every barrage, ever strike Ner'Zhul takes against her, pressing into her mind inch by inch, slowly overcoming her defenses. They haven't much time, but it will be enough.

It has to be enough.

Together, the four of them, a prince, a paladin, an archmage, and a dwarf, make their way across the snowy expanse towards the Frozen Throne...