Chapter 20: Battle for Lordaeron
The battlefield was no joke in the capital city outskirts. In his previous life, Arthas had faced the Blackrock Clan orcs before as a Paladin and later a Death Knight. But facing them in full force as a Paladin was a task easier said than done. He could feel the power of his right arm beckoning him to use its power, but he was more worried if things would get worse for him if he tried to do it and wouldn't take that chance.
And now, he's facing the Blackrock commanders he remembered as Khanzo and Genjuros, skilled swordsmen of their own right and shared in the fanatical loyalty with their Warchief in their service to the Burning Legion, even when it was clear that the Legion were already done with them unless there was a change that led to them allying with the Scourge rather than fighting them as it happened in his previous life.
Which is odd. He hasn't seen Mal'Ganis leading them from the front as of now if he's supposed to be the one leading the Scourge.
The Blackrock Orcs are as fierce as their zeal to the Legion. Dealing with them back then wasn't so difficult if you have a cursed runeblade to crush them beneath your notice.
Arthas felt his own body acting on instinct as he continued to defend himself against a pair of broadswords, with every clang against his shield that is his war hammer as he continued to parry strike after strike from them. "The Legion will not be denied!" Khanzo roared with zeal. "Every drop of your blood will fuel our masters' return!"
Genjuros, being the quiet one, only swung his blade in a flurry of attacks as he continued to strike Arthas's defenses. The prince found himself hard-pressed to keep up with the duo's relentless assault as their speed and precision made it hard for him to concentrate.
Arthas' right arm, now an icy blue beneath the layers of gloves and gauntlets, thrummed with a malevolent power that was begging to be unleashed. He clicked his tongue in anger, wishing that he could just keep quiet at the meantime
He resisted the temptation for now and his mind was clear despite the pain and fatigue that began to set in for him.
"These humans are a test to our loyalty," Khanzo sneered, "The Legion's wrath will find its mark!"
"And once again, you Orcs proved to be witless if you think the Legion still has any use of you.", Arthas coldly retorted to the Orc.
The two commanders launched a coordinated strike, their blades aiming for Arthas's heart. The prince felt the adrenaline rushing in and raised Light's Vengeance to block their swords, sparks flying everywhere. The weight of their blows pushed him back, but he held firm, his feet digging into the earth.
Gathering his strength, Arthas forced them back after he called upon the Light to push them back when his war-hammer became imbued with it power and send them skidding back. The two renewed their assault at the Prince, whose eyes momentarily glowed an eerie faint turquoise before he shook his head and charging right at them.
"Come on! This way!", Marwyn called out to the civilians who were fleeing to the Undercity as a makeshift shelter and escape route if necessary. He, along with Archbishop Faol and Highlord Morgraine had been in charge in evacuating civilians as soon as the garrison began to mobilize in the city's defense.
"Marwyn!", the captain heard to find Faerlina rushing after him, clearly fearful of what is to come. "What's happening?"
"We're under attack...", the captain gravely informed her. "King Terenas has ordered an evacuation of the civilian population to the Undercity until we are able to push back the invading army."
The botanist looked to find numerous huddled civilians being escorted by the city guard and a few Paladins of the Silver Hand. Lord Goodwin and a few officials made sure the procession was orderly to prevent a stampede that could form out of the fears of these people.
Suddenly, Thassarian came rushing at Marwyn, panting while covered in blood and still holding his bloodstained sword. "Marwyn! Captain Valonforth has been wounded and had been withdrawn from the field! Lord Uther has sent me to inform you to take command of the 1st Legion's second division!", the Lieutenant informed him hastily.
Marwyn took a moment to look at Lina, clicking his tongue in worry. "Understood! I'll be joining you shortly!", he urgently replied before putting on his helmet and began to follow Thassarian outside the city gates.
Faerlina watched him go as a guard began to escort her to the Undercity for her safety but not before before she called out to him. "Marwyn!"
The captain looked back at her to find her worried visage. "Please,", she pleaded. "Be careful."
Marwyn could only nod back with a silent promise to come back to her before he followed Thassarian. The two went outside to find the defenders barely holding on. Mortar teams from the battlements rained down fire onto the invading armies while riflemen from the back provided supporting fire.
Faerlina found Jaina teleporting a group of wounded soldiers, Captain Valonforth among them, into the city, panting as numerous other guards swoop in to retrieve their wounded. "We've been taking losses and are increasing by the hour.", she informed them in between pants of having to use a significant portion of her Mana reserves for a mass teleportation. "I have to get back to aid the others in resisting them."
The botanist rushed over her, giving her a blue vial of that could help her restore her magic reserves which Jaina took appreciatively. "How can I help?", Faerlina inquired.
"If you can, take them to the medical wing to be treated.", Jaina suggested to her, which the botanist pulled out a few tools and potions to act as first aid for the troops until the soldiers could get to them. "Anyone who could help are highly encouraged to head over there."
Without another word, Jaina teleported back to the front where the Kirin Tor mages who are with them continuously casted spells to support the defenders. Sensing the impending danger, rhe sorceress formed a barrier made out of ice when a powerful bolt of lightning came crackling towards her, finding out that one of the Blackrock Shamans, Mazrigos, had fired upon her while riding a massive wolf as his mount. With a wave of his staff, a spirit wolf came charging and pouncing right at her. Jaina's face was inches away from the feral wolf's jaws with her staff keeping the beast at bay until a blast of fire magic from her free hand blasted the creature away.
"Come on, lads!", Muradin bellowed to his comrades, charging ahead with Baelgun as they fought the Abominations and tore through numerous Ghouls and Blackrock warriors against them. "Push these undead bastards back!"
But as more undead converge into their position, the cavalry swooped in and relieved their positions. Muradin looked up to find General Garithos and Captain Bilric taking out the necromancers before they could reanimated the corpses. "Thanks, lad! Extra hands are always a welcome treat!", Muradin commended.
Garithos scoffed in response. "Less drabble and more swinging, dwarf!", he replied, looking over the Orcs and the undead in disgust. "These inhuman dogs must be slain!"
Captain Bilric rode close to his general. "General, the Orc and undead siege weapons are close and we are preparing for a devastating counter-charge to bring those weapons down to stop any more assaults on the weakening city walls.", he reported. "We await for you call, General."
He didn't have to think twice. "Then it's settled! Onward!", he bellowed with his knights, with Captain Bilric closely following him behind.
The dwarves watched him go, and Baelgun couldn't help but snort in annoyance. "He must've been real fun at picnics, isn't he sir?'
"He'll come around Baelgun.", Muradin replied, casually swinging his axe to decapitate an incoming ghoul. "All he needs is a bit of time."
Elsewhere, Wrathjaw and the Alliance defenders grew more intense. The Blackrock Warchief glared at them with hatred as he locked horns with Silver Hand General Reagan Abbendis and his daughter Brigitte. To their shock, Wrathjaw's speed defied his massive size as he continued to seamlessly parried and counterattack every blow landed to him.
Bearing the power of the Holy Light, Reagan's blade met the Warchief's curved broadsword, the impact echoing through the battlefield like a thunderclap. The power behind his swing was immense, sending a shockwave that knocked back the surrounding soldiers. The general, unfazed, tried to press his advantage, but the Warchief was too fast. With a roar that shook the very stones, Wrathjaw grabbed the human by the throat, hoisting him into the air with a grip that could crush steel.
Brigitte saw what was happening and rushed onto him. She swung with all her strength, her axe clanging against Wrathjaw's armor as she tried to free her father. The Orc barely flinched, his grip on Abbendis tightening until the general's face turned a deep shade of blue.
"Father!" she screamed, her fear and anger directed at the red-skinned orc.
But before she could land another strike, Wrathjaw slammed her father onto hard ground. As he raised his weapon to deliver the final blow, a blinding light struck him, and he was momentarily stunned by the power of the Holy Light. It was all the opening Brigitte needed.
With the swiftness of a divine avenger, she struck at Wrathjaw, her own war axe bit into his thick armor. But the Warchief was not easily subdued. He parried her blows with ease, his movements as fluid and precise. And finding an opening, he kneed Brigitte straight into the ribs, sending her sprawling face first onto the ground in pain as he raised his broadblade to finish her off
Narrowing his eyes in anger, Saidan Dathrohan hurled his war hammer at the Fel Orc. It struck Wrathjaw's side, the force of the blow sending him reeling backward before the war hammer returned to Dathrohan's hand.
The momentary distraction allowed Brigitte to regain her footing, and she lunged at the dazed Warchief with a renewed fervor. Her axe sliced through the air, aiming for torso. However, Wrathjaw caught her arm in a vice-like grip and sent her crashing into a group of Alliance soldiers.
The paladin took up his weapon once more, charging forward with the fury of a berserker. His hammer swung in a deadly arc, aimed for Wrathjaw's skull. But the Warchief was quicker, parrying the blow and countering with a crushing punch that sent Dathrohan staggering back. Dathrohan glared at the Warchief, preparing himself of the incoming battle as Wrathjaw came charging right at him.
Back at the dungeons...
Kel'thuzad found himself being fascinated of watching the spectacle before him that would define his freedom or execution. It wasn't an everyday occurrence to watch the Uther the Lightbringer and Tichondrius the Darkener clash in a matter that would've been described as breathtaking, like a pair of shooting stars of contrasting colors clashing at one another.
Uther swung his hammer in a series of powerful arcs, each imbued with the divine essence of the Light. The very fabric of reality seemed to bend around the weapon, releasing a symphony of holy might that crashed against Tichondrius' defenses. The Dreadlord, unfazed, parried with his own sorcery as he swatted those projectiles away and his massive hand moving in to conjure a powerful bolt of crimson lightning. The bolts streaked through the air, a maelstrom of fury that Uther met with his hammer that formed that formed a protective shield around him made of the Holy Light.
As Uther took a moment to regain his bearings, his eyes widened to find Tichondrius charging at him with Fel-infused claws onto his hand. Uther, though outmatched in terms of raw strength, moved with the precision and speed that defied his relatively old age of sixty-four summers. Yet, Tichondrius' agility, a grim parody of the very grace Uther had dedicated his life to protect, left the human knight struggling to keep up.
"You fight well, human," he said, his words dripping with contempt. "Your prince, he holds so much more promise,."
Uther's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you speak of?" he demanded.
Tichondrius' cold glare remained. "Your prince," he mused. "Such wasted potential that could have changed the world in ways we could not imagine. But no matter, he will also fall as the rest."
This made Uther ask more questions than what he originally had in mind. He knew kf Arthas's recent... changes, but what are they? The thought of his nephew in all but blood, his pupil, being manipulated by such dark forces was inconceivable that he had to act now.
He had to survive, to warn the others of what he had learned, to let Arthas know what these people had in store for him.
Summoning all his strength and faith, Uther raised his hammer high and charged the demon. The dungeon echoed with the clang of steel and the crackle of lightning as the two clashed once more, each blow resonating through the very bones of the world itself.
Uther's war hammer swung in a blur, each strike aimed with unerring precision at the heart of the shadow that was Tichondrius. The Dreadlord met him blow for blow, his claws crackling with the dark fires of the Nathrezym. The very ground trembled as the two beings danced their deadly waltz, each step a study in power and skill.
With a sudden burst of speed that seemed to defy the very fabric of reality, Uther's hammer streaked through the air like a radiant arc. Yet, Tichondrius mirrored his movements, his claws a twisted reflection of the paladin's grace. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper, as the Dreadlord's dark magic coalesced around him, a swirling maelstrom of malice. Uther's blows grew more frenzied, each swing carrying the weight of his fear for Arthas and his determination to save him.
Tichondrius watched as Uther's once-blazing aura of light grew dimmer with every clash. "Your light fades, Lightbringer," he taunted.
The Dreadlord's eyes narrowed as his left hand began to coalesce in burning Fel energy. Remaining stoic, he swung his arm twice where he sent a barrage of fireballs hurtling towards the paladin. Uther braced himself, his hammer a blur as he smashed through the fiery projectiles, each explosion sending shards of stone and shrapnel spiraling through the dungeon and the others passing through him.
However Tichondrius raised his arm and clenched his fist and those fireballs homed right back at Uther as it engulfed him into a burning inferno, with his own shield projecting fireballs struck the shield with a series of thunderous booms, the heat washing over him in waves that made his skin crawl. Yet, the paladin remained stood his ground against the onslaught.
The moment the last fireball dissipated, Tichondrius was upon him, his claws swiping and slashing with a ferocity that seemed to have surpassed more than any orc he had fought. Each swipe left a trail of dark energy that sizzled against the floor, leaving scorch marks that smoked and hissed. Uther's shield of light flickered with each impact, the holy barrier straining under the relentless assault until it broke, forcing Uther to jump and raise his war hammer against the Dreadlord.
As the paladin reared back for an overhead strike, Tichondrius' form melted away into a swarm of bats, the creatures' shrill cries echoing through the dungeon as they enveloped Uther in a cocoon of darkness. Disoriented, Uther found himself trapped in a hellish illusion where the very ground beneath his feet had transformed into a fiery abyss. The stench of sulfur and brimstone surrounded as flaming pillars erupted around him, their fiery tendrils reaching out to ensnare him in a fiery embrace.
With a roar of defiance, Uther called upon the power of the Light, his hammer burning with a holy aura that pierced the veil of shadows. He swung it in a wide arc, each strike sending waves of searing radiance crashing through the illusion, shattering the flaming obelisks as if they were made of glass. The ground beneath him trembled as he leapedfrogged from one dissolving pillar to the next, the very fabric of the illusion warping and tearing around him. His moved with such speed that left a trail of afterimages in the swirling darkness as he moved with a speed that seemed to defy the very laws of the mortal plane.
"Dispelling the darkness is not so simple, Paladin," the Dreadlord hissed.
Uther's response was his hammer swinging in a wide arc that sent a wave of holy power crashing into Tichondrius, momentarily halting his advance. "Like stopping the dawn after the night, demon!" he replied.
The Dreadlord glared at him. He drew back, his claws crackling with a new, more potent dark magic and with that, he lunged forward once more, his movements a blur of shadow and flame.
Back in the field...
Arthas knew that he was at a disadvantage and his right arm threatened to overwhelm him with each passing moment. Despite his efforts to resist, the cold, icy energy surged through his veins, making his movements quicker, more precise, and eerily similar to those of his death knight days.
Khanzo and Genjuros sensed the change in him, their eyes narrowing as they realized the depth of the prince's hidden strength. They did not know where it came from, but it was something that they needed to address immediately.
Arthas gritted his teeth, dodging the blow with a speed that seemed almost inhuman. He knew he had to end this quickly before he lost control completely. He feigned a retreat, leading the commanders into a trap of his own making. As they pursued, he spun around, his cursed arm now fully engulfed in a frosty aura.
With a roar that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, Arthas swung Light's Vengeance, and an explosion of ice shards erupted from the hammer's head. The shards sliced through the air, peppering the ground around them. The two commanders were caught off guard, but Arthas didn't let the opening slip away. He lunged at Genjuros, whose sword swung down towards him with a vicious arc. However, Khanzo saw this and used the opportunity to raise his blade upwards that sent Light's Vengeance away from Arthas' hands, and Genjuros moved for the finishing blow.
The two commanders watched in sjock as Arthas' right arm caught Genjuros' blade mid-swing. The steel shattered like glass as the prince's hand closed around it, breaking it..
"What... sorcery is this?" Khanzo stuttered, his eyes wide with disbelief. Arthas did not answer, instead allowing the dark power to fully take over his limb. With a flick of his wrist, the glow around his hand materialized into a longsword, the very essence of his power manifested in its icy form. And without wasting time, he stabbed the weapon into the defenseless Genjuros straight at the heart, his expression that of shock and disbelief before his eyes rolled upwards.
His lifeless body hit the ground with a thud, the ice around his chest cracking and shattering into a thousand shards. The sight of his comrade's demise at the hands of the human prince only served to fuel Khanzo's rage. He let out a furious bellow and charged, his massive broadsword held high.
"You will pay for that, you treacherous whelp!" he roared, the flaming runes on his weapon leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Arthas, his grip tight around the icy longsword, knew that he had crossed a line. But now was not the time for regrets.
"This isn't the end, human," Khanzo snarled through gritted teeth. "The Legion will rise again, and when it does, you will fall with the rest of your kind!"
"The only thing that will end...", Arthas pointed his weapon at the Orc while his eyes glowed for a yellowish hue for a moment. "Is your blind foley to the Legion."
The two clashed again, their swords screaming as they met in a shower of sparks. Arthas' icy blade met the fiery fury of Khanzo's weapon. The Prince knew he had to end this quickly. With a swift motion, he dug the frozen longsword into the ground, the impact sending a shockwave that momentarily stunned Khanzo. In a blur of motion, Arthas' left hand materialize a dagger of pure, frost-covered malice. He lunged at the commander, their right arms still intertwined.
"You dare to challenge the might of the Legion?" Khanzo sneered, his own strength seemingly unwavering.
"I dare to challenge your delusion," Arthas retorted, the cold edge of the dagger glinting in the moonlight. With a series of swift strikes, he stabbed the orc in the chest, each blow precise and powerful. The first pierced through his armor, the second found its mark in the heart, and the third severed the lifeblood from his throat by slashing it as the Prince whirled.
Khanzo's eyes went wide, the hatred and anger fading into shock and disbelief. He stumbled back, dropping his sword as the dagger's icy embrace released him. The prince stepped back, watching as his opponent's life fade away his very eyes.
Arthas felt a surge of revulsion as he raised his cursed right hand. He knew he had no choice but to use this forbidden might to save his comrades. He closed his eyes, opening his right palm to channel the familiar power he had used. As he opened them again, a cold turqoise light burst forth, enveloping the lifeless forms of Khanzo and Genjuros. Their bodies convulsed as the necromantic energy flowed through them, resurrecting them as mindless, shambling monstrosities.
"Rise," Arthas ordered in a cold and commanding tone. The two undead orcs lurched to their feet. "Defend your new master," he added, pointing to the horde of Blackrock Orcs and Scourge that surrounded his friends.
The resurrected commanders didn't hesitate, charging into the fray with a ferocity that seemed to be fueled by their very hatred for the living. Their swords, now extensions of the his will, cleaved through the enemy ranks with unnatural strength, leaving a wake of cold and death in their path.
Back at the dungeons...
It came when the avatar of light resolved into the lineage of the Light. It came when Uther found himself alone against the dark. In that power personifying malevolence and blur of unspoken power, his vision finally pierced the darkness that had clouded the Light.
Uther had seen the truth.
This truth: that he, the Lightbringer, the fiercest, most implacable, most devastatingly powerful foe the darkness had ever known... just-didn't—have it.
He'd never had it. He had lost before he started. He had lost before he was born.
This was no ordinary enemy. No more Orcs or undead that he had fought. They are not prepared for what is to come, as it was becoming clear that they have been preparing for this for who knows when.
While the Alliance had spent the past decades training to refight the last war.
The new enemy could not be destroyed with any weapon; they could not be burned away by any torch of the Light. The brighter his light, the darker their shadow. How could one win a war against the dark, when the very light itself had become the dark's own weapon?
There, he understood. The true power deception brings. And how they used it to their very advantage.
The dungeon walls seemed to groan under the pressure of their power, the very stones trembling with each impact. Uther swung his hammer with the full might of the Light behind it, each strike personifying his undying conviction of the Light.
That was only caught by the hand of the demon in front of him and his eyes widened to see his free hand clenched into a fist that darted onto his body.
The impact of Tichondrius' fist against Uther's ribs was like the collision of two worlds, sending the paladin reeling and skidding across the floor, leaving a trail of his own blood. He hit the wall with a sickening thud, his breath escaping in a wheezing gasp as he barely stood. The Dreadlord's indifference transformed into a cold sneer. Raising his hand, Tichondrius gathered a maelstrom of fel energy, a dark mirror of the holy power that Uther wielded. Jis clawed fingers seeped with malevolence as the crimson energy grew, pulsing with the rhythm of a dying star.
Uther's eyes widened in alarm as the demon's hand shot forward, releasing a colossal blast of fel energy that threatened to consume him entirely. The paladin's muscles bulged with the effort of raising his war hammer to act as a shield against the impending doom. The moment the dark force made contact with the hammer, the air around them exploded with the sound of shattering glass, a symphony of chaos and holy might clashing in a display of power that neither side had ever anticipated. Sparks danced across the metal surface of the hammer as the energy ricocheted off, illuminating the dungeon with a sickening red glow that cast eerie shadows on the walls.
Uther's knees buckled against the ground he dug in, fighting to maintain his footing. The hammer in his hand trembled and groaned under the weight of the dark magic. With a deafening crack, the once-indestructible weapon of his order splintered into a hundred pieces, the shards flying in every direction, leaving the paladin's hand empty and his heart heavy. The dark energy surged around him, a living, malevolent entity seeking to claim his soul.
The impact of the unfiltered attack sent Uther hurtling through the wall, his body contorting in agony as the dark power seared his very flesh. He slammed into the cold, hard ground with a thud, with the force of the blow knocking the breath from his lungs. His armor was now scorched and blackened, the metal groaning under the weight of the corrupting energy that clung to it like a second skin.
The necromancer's hands lowly clapped in applause. "A brilliant display, Tichondrius.", Kel'thuzad commented with satisfaction. "I reckon it has been a while since you have taken matters to your own hands."
Tichondrius turned to the paladin as he lay on the ground, gasping for air. "Your display is rather...admirable." he commended before he raised his hand which glowed a sickly green hue. "As with all things, I am afraid it has finally come to an end."
Uther remained defiant, though pained, managed to force out his reply. "Do your worst, demon," he spat.
Kel'thuzad smirked. "A very poor choice of words, Sir Uther.", he commented.
The Dreadlord leaned in closer. "Your prince," he mused, causing Uther's eyes to widen at the mention of Arthas again as if he had been so familiar with it., "has such wasted potential. But you on the other hand..." He extended a clawed hand and poked Uther's forehead, bringing the Lightbringer to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.
Jaina felt her knees buckle as Mazrigos' own bolt of lightning clashed her own. She could feel her mana reserves getting dangerously low, but she won't allow that to stop her. Gathering her strength, she forced his attack upwards into the sky before delivering a straight one onto his chest and knocking him out of his wolf mount.
With her eyes glowing in the arcane, she called upon a final hailstorm that skewered many of the ghouls and the orc warriors before her. But just as two Blackrock warriors came charging right at her, they were slain by a pair of broken broadblades that made Jaina look up what was happening.
She watched in astonishment as the two now-undead commanders being Genjuros and Khanzo turned on their orc brethren. The sight of his them standing once more, albeit as mindless husks of their former selves was unsettling as she she could surmise who could be responsible for this.
"What have you done?" Jaina whispered as soon as she took a good look at him.
Arthas looked over at her, tired. "I had no choice," he regretfully replied. "We needed all the help we could get.."
She looked at him with concern and admiration and she stepped closer, her hand hovering over his shoulder. "Just be careful," she whispered simply, knowing that Arthas would know his limits.
"Always," Arthas managed a small smile before returning to the fight.
But just as they were about to assist Dathrohan against Wrathjaw, whom Arthas had once considered to be the strongest for he had faced when he exterminated the Blackrock Clan in Lordaeron, what he saw next caused his heart to stop as did Jaina when it teleported beside Wrathjaw, knocking Dathrohan from his feet.
"Tichondrius...", Arthas uttered the name like a disease, recognizing the leader of the Nathrezim who acted as his 'observant' during his early Death Knight days. Jaina too recognized him from his memories, and he is considered to be much, much stronger than Mal'Ganis as the leader of their kind.
But what they saw, was Kel'thuzad beside Tichondrius, smirking at them. And the unconscious form of Uther, carried by Tichondrius by the collar.
Arthas and Jaina, standing at the gates, watched in horror as Uther lay unmoving on the ground, his once-shining armor now scarred and smoking from the Dreadlord's attack.
He turned to Wrathjaw, who was still locked in combat with Dathrohan. "The necromancer is ours," Tichondrius declared, his voice a chilling whisper that seemed to resonate through the very stones of the city. "Our work here is done."
"But we haven't found and tore apart their King!", the orc protested in anger.
Tichondrius remained calm, but Wrathjaw felt an aura that demanded no other questions. "He will in time. But the next phase of the Legion's return is at hand, and I expect that you and your clan's cooperation would have a hand to its return."
Wrathjaw begrudgingly complied as he signaled Mazrigos to signal the retreat while Mal'Ganis and Detheroc conjured portals to make their escape from there.
Arthas felt his heart being ripped apart from here. He had ended Uther's life before. And his decision to send him to the dungeons, may have sealed his mentor's fate. "NO!" he cried out in despair, as he charged towards the retreating Dreadlord. "Uther!"
Jaina grabbed Arthas's arm to keep him from charging after them. "We can't," she gasped, her own heart breaking at the sight. "The portals are closing! We'll be trapped with them if we go now!"
The rest of the Silver Hand could only watch helplessly as as they tried to follow behind Arthas.
But Tichondrius wanted to send a message first and foremost. And the attack was only an example.
"A parting gift, for you, Arthas," he sneered, raising his hand to conjure several meteor-like objects that streaked through the sky and struck the heart of the city in several fiery explosions.
"The throne room!" Saidan yelled in shock as he regained his bearings. "It's where the king was last seen!
This act only horrified and enraged the defenders as many began to scramble back to the Capital city while Arthas hatefully looked at the Dreadlord. "TICHONDRIUS!" the Prince roared, the ground trembling with his fury as the dust and debris began to settle. He began to have the horrifying conclusion that his father, the king, could be dead.
"You monster," he added amidst the turmoil. "You will pay for this!"
Without another word, he sprinted towards the city, Jaina and the Silver Hand knights following closely behind. The sight of his once-mighty capital in ruins filled him with a grief so profound it threatened to consume him. His mind raced with the thought of his father's fate, his heart heavy with the weight of his failure.
As they approached Lordaeron Keep, the chaos grew louder, the smell of burning wood and screams of the dying reaching their ears. Arthas pushed himself to run faster, his determination to save his father overcoming his fear.
The doors to the keep lay in shambles, and as Arthas burst inside, his heart sank at the sight of the destruction within. The once-grand hallways were now filled with the wreckage of his homeland's pride, the echoes of battle still lingering in the air.
"To the throne room, now!" he bellowed to his comrades, not daring to let his hope die just yet. They charged through the wreckage, their footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the shattered keep.
Tichondrius had made his escape through the closing portal, the fading light revealing the unconscious form of Uther in his clutches. The prince felt a cold rage building within him, a rage that would not be quenched until the Dreadlord paid for his treachery.
But first, he had to find his father.
Arthas and the knights pushed through the debris to look for any sign of life. They heard a faint cry of pain, and there, through the dust and rubble, he saw his sister, Calia, who is now marred by grime and bruises. "Arthas!" she sobbed, stumbling towards him. "Father is still there!"
The words struck Arthas and his fears realized. He didn't waste a moment, sprinting to her side and looking the area she indicated. There, they found him, King Terenas, unconscious and pinned under a massive support pillar that had crushed the throne room. "FATHER!" he cried out in anguish.
Garithos and Saidan rushed to his side. "Help me!" Arthas bellowed, his voice thick with emotion. Together, the three men heaved with all their might where the pillar groaned as it shifted, revealing the king's crumpled form.
"He's alive," Arthas murmured in relief as he applied the gentle warmth of the Holy Light. The king's chest rose and fell shallowly which was a result of the severity of his injuries. "Healers, now!" he called out, signalling a few soldiers to rush over to find him while the Prince continued to provide first aid.
Arthas didn't know what to think at this point.
He had killed his father in his previous life, but his decision to spare Kel'thuzad only led to his father's critical state and the invasion of the capital.
So did he do the same for Uther, but his decision to send him to the dungeons to make sure Kel'thuzad does not escape only resulted of him running into Tichondrius this time.
Arthas felt like he wanted to slam his head onto a wall after he kept thinking back of those decisions he had made.
His father's eyes barely opened, and he looked up at his son with a gaze that seemed to see through the veil of time. "Arthas..." he rasped in relief.
"Father, I'm here," Arthas tearfully choked out. "You're safe. The enemy...they're no longer here."
It was a half-truth and a half-lie. He couldn't bring himself to tell his father the truth.
Terenas reached a trembling hand to his son's cheek. His touch was like a knife to Arthas' heart, reminding him of the love that his father unconditionally shown him even after all that he had done. "I'm so sorry, Father," he choked out as he held Terenas closely amidst the tears. "I'm so sorry for everything."
The king's grip tightened, a hint of understanding in his gaze. "You are... you are my son," he whispered . "And I... I am proud of you."
The words hit Arthas like a blow, his sorrow and regret threatening to overwhelm him. He held his father's hand, his own trembling, as the healers arrived and began their work. While he watched in anguished silence.
Jaina leaned in closer to comfort him, as did Muradin and Falric when Arthas broke down. The soldiers who were with them, as well as the Silver Hand knights looked at the scene with sorrow as with vengeance for what the Scourge had done to their kingdom.
This was only the beginning for Arthas. And he very well knew that each step will be more treacherous than the last.
Spectre: Next stop will be in preparation for Quel'thalas.
