The Silvermoon Section will be divided into two chapters. The other one would be held at Quel'danas.
Iskandar Hero: Their deaths would contribute somewhat into Sylvanas' psyche and character later on. Dalaran is something that I'm still trying to work at on the drawing board.
Falric and Liadrin is something that I'm considering when I first started Quel'thalas. Might need more time to flesh them further, particularly on Falric. Arthas' creating a new 'race' is something I haven't worked on yet.
WeirdBlockPoints: Agreed with the takes shown here! Unfortunately, they haven't gotten to retrieve the corpses back due to the situation they're in. And given what's happening to Sylvanas, it's gonna be more trauma for her later on.
King Anasterian saw the writing on the wall and saw that they're really screwed.
Kalimdor is something I haven't thought of yet. Though at this point, you could tell that the Blackrock Clan have given the Horde a negative perception to the Quel'dorei and the Alliance for their team up with the Scourge.
Splash43: Arthas' powers made him stand out but I need to flesh it out more to describe it properly. Sylvanas will probably have a hard time with Arthas should she knew the truth about his past.
Chapter 26: The Fall, Part 1
After much coordination with the remaining Magisters that still live in Silvermoon, Jaina really needed a break.
She had always wanted to visit Silvermoon, but not in times like this when their very civilization is at stake. With Sylvanas in the medical wing and unable to fight, the defense of Silvermoon falls to Grand Magister Salonar and Ranger-Lord Theron, assisted by elements of the 1st Legion.
As she was walking close to Sunfury Spire, Jaina saw Arthas leaning against the spire's entrance, holding the half-empty bottle of elven wine. He looked even more stressed than usual, adding to the fact that his own personal burdens kept stacking up whenever it could. Frostmourne still out there waiting, the loss of Uther, his father is in a critical state, Lordaeron under siege, and now Quel'thalas, just as he was doing whatever he could in his power to prevent the mistakes he had committed before.
And it was enough for Jaina to approach him in order to help him clear his head. "Arthas," she called out softly, not wishing to startle him.
He turned to face her, looking exhausted but remained determined to keep a keen eye. "Jaina," he greeted with a forced smile that fell shortly with a sigh.
"You shouldn't drink too much," she worriedly advised him as she took a seat beside him. "You'll be needing a clear head for tomorrow."
"I know," he replied in a defeated tone, taking a swig from the bottle before passing it to her. "But it's all so...much," he sighed heavily. "Even after we barely got out of Northrend, it felt as if we're trying to hold back a tide that seems unstoppable."
Jaina took the bottle and placed it at her side. "And Sylvanas?" she asked of him.
"Her condition is stable, but..." Arthas began before he trailed off, looking at gloved right hand. "Her hand...it's started to take on a similar hue to my arm," he revealed, feeling the dread building up within as he thought for the elf. "And I cannot surmise as to what would truly happen to her if she's not careful."
Jaina was shocked, and she leaned in closer so people wouldn't hear them. "What does it mean?"
"I don't know," the Prince admitted. "But t's best if we watch her closely as soon as she woke up." He took the bottle back, his hand shaking slightly. "I...don't want her to suffer as before," he uttered in a slightly desperate tone. "As with countless others."
The Archmage's response was to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You've done so much already," she reassured him. "You've already saved countless lives, including hers. I'm sure we can find a way to help her as to whatever curse that may lurk within her."
Arthas couldn't help but be eternally grateful for her unwavering support to him, always reminding himself that he would do the same for her if she needed him. "I hope so, Jaina...", he whispered.
It was silence after that, as both of them dwelled in their own thoughts of the uncertain future ahead of them. Finally, Arthas broke the silence with a heavy sigh. "We need prepare for the defense of the city," he finally spoke. "With Sylvanas unable to lead, The Quel'dorei were disheartened, but we would need their help somehow."
They could hear the Grand Magister and his apprentice Rommath working tirelessly to set up the portal network that would be their only lifeline to the beleaguered cities of Lordaeron. "The've sent word with other kingdoms to request if they're willing to give their people refuge," Jaina informed him. "The Magisters are coordinating with Lord Fordring and Lord Goodwin, as you instructed."
He appeared relieved to hear that, but knew that many of the officials and the nobility weren't particularly enthusiastic to house and take care of numerous elves in a refugee crisis that they're also having right now. "It is a risk, but we can't abandon them to face the Scourge alone."
"I know," Jaina looked over to the numerous High Elf civilians packing whatever they could pack with them. "But what of the their morale?" she asked, turning to face him. "With Sylvanas injured, their faith in their own capabilities is shaken. How would they be able to go on without her?"
Arthas took a deep breath, expressing his fatigue in doing so. "It is a concern," he admitted, his voice gruff with fatigue. "Her strength was theirs too. We need to bring it back somehow, to show them that they can fight on even without her at their side."
"But how?" Jaina wondered aloud. "How do we give them hope when we ourselves are so weary?"
Arthas looked down, taking back the wine bottle and shaking it slightly to see it slosh as if it were reflecting the tremor in his mind. "We fight for them," he said finally. "We stand as an example, to show what it means to never give up, no matter the cost."
The Archmage couldn't help but admire his determination. Even when he was younger, Arthas always strived to protect his people and those who couldn't help himself, as his actions reflected the man he had grew to be.
The two fell silent for a moment, wondering what lies before them. Until Jaina turned to him softly. "Arthas? Do you remember the day we met?", the Prince turned to her earnest and soft demeanor, as he took his time to remember.
"I do.", he affirmed for her with a smile. "It was when you were visiting Lordaeron when you were en route to Dalaran to finally start your studies there. You were praying there in a chapel."
The Archmage felt like her mind go back to those fond memories. "I remember, you offered to escort me to Dalaran that time, and you convinced me to check out one of the Orc internment camps as one of our first ventures together."
Arthas sighed with regret. "I wish I could've picked a more receptive landmark back then.", he lamented with a light snicker. "But we didn't get to see each other again for seven years until I made it into the Silver Hand."
Yes," she whispered with sadness. "That was the day something within me ignited, something that never truly faded even when we were apart." She paused, looking over at the flurry of activity within Silvermoon's streets. "Those seven years were hard," she continued. "But every time I saw you, every time we had a chance to speak, it was as if we had never been apart. What we had grew in secret, even amidst our duties to our respective peoples."
Arthas nodded slowly, the memory of those moments together bringing a bittersweet smile to his lips. "And I," he said, "I made you promise that you'll never deny me" He took a deep breath. "But I ended up hurt you that night at Winter Veil I was a fool to push you away like that, and among other things."
"But Arthas," the Archmage softly interjected, "you were right. Duty called to us, and we had to answer. But there's one thing that hasn't changed, even amidst all that." She took his cold hand in hers, as Arthas worriedly glanced at it. "I never stopped dreaming of the day when we could be together again, not like this," she gestured to their surroundings.
She wondered if this was the first chance he really had to grieve for hjs life in its entirety. Not for the specifics, she must have had chances to grieve already for so much. "Arthas," she began tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper. "When you became...the Lich King, what did you feel for me?"
Almost on impulse, looked away.. "I can't remember," he admitted, feeling as if the cold he had been so familiar with for years coming back to him. "All I knew was the need to expand my power, to conquer, to control. Every emotion was secondary to that driving force."
Jaina took a deep breath, her hand trembling slightly as she reached into Arthas' neck. She pulled out the locket she had given him so long ago as she held it out to him, remembering the memories of him sneaking to Dalaran to spend time with her in secret. "What about this?" she asked.
Arthas took the locket, grimacing for a moment before he calmed. "I kept it," he murmured. "All these years, through everything, it was with me. Even as I donned the helm that made me the person that I once was "
"But why?" Jaina pressed. "Was it out of spite, or...or was it because somewhere deep down, you still cared?"
Did he...did he really cared? Or did he simply disregard its existence because it no longer meant anything to him back then.
The Prince was silent for a long moment, his thumb tracing the outline of the locket. "I don't know," he confessed. "I don't know if I ignored it or if it was a reminder of what I once had."
She kept looking at his visibly pained grimace, but it was clear that he is trying his very best to move on from the monster he once was. The Prince whom Jaina willingly gave her heart to. Who loved her and whom she loved back dearly.
It was there where she asked, the question she had held onto for so long finally escaping her lips. "Do you still love me, Arthas?"
For a moment, Arthas felt his heart stop.
After she knew the truth, Arthas thought she would only stop at being his confidante and close friend willing to help him. "How could I?" he retorted reluctantly. "I tried to kill you back then, Jaina. How can you even ask me that?"
The Archmage could feel her eyes growing misty, but she held his gaze steadfastly. "Because," she whispered, her voice shaking with the intensity of her emotions. "Because even when you were the Lich King, a part of you held back. You could have killed me, but you didn't. I felt it. I know you were in there, fighting."
The locket fell from his hand, clattering against the cobblestones which Jaina immediately picked up. "But I did," he said, his voice breaking. "I tried to destroy you. How can you still believe that any part of me still cared for you?"
She leaned into him, her hand reaching out to cup his cheek. "Because," she began with determination, "I felt it. That spark of humanity that kept you from going on."
If he was to be honest to himself, he wasn't even sure if he would've spared her life. But for her sake, he would choose to go along with her beliefs
"But what if that was just the last vestige of who I was?" he challenged. "What if that spark was just a lie? As a means to get to you "
Jaina leaned in closer. "It wasn't a lie, Arthas," she whispered. "It was the truth. And now, you have the chance to embrace it fully. To become the man I know you are, not the person you fear you could become."
He closed his eyes, her words echoing through his mind. The memories of his past, the pain and the regret, threatened to take over him once more. But he felt the warmth of her hand, the hope in her voice, and it was like a beacon of light in the darkness.
"I want to," he responded earnestly. "But how do I know if that part of me still exists?"
Arthas realized that her lips was brushing against his ear. "You know because you're here with me now," she whispered. "Because you chose to save me, not just because of the curse, but because cared."
Jaina pressed her forehead gently against Arthas', the warmth of her skin a stark contrast to the icy chill of his. "You've already changed, Arthas," she declared to him . "You've proven that you already had. You're still the man I fell in love with." Her hand reached up to caress his cheek again. "And I'm here for you," she continued. "I won't let you go through this alone again."
In his heart, he wanted to believe to himself that she is there for him and he truly have. After he had separated from her for so long, and knowing the depths she would go to ensure he wouldn't fall again, he wanted to ask that question. "Is there still a chance for us, Jaina?" he asked in her in a hopeful, whispered tone. "Can we ever find our way back to one another?"
Instantly, Jaina nodded with firm conviction. "Of course there is," she assured him. "We have a chance to rewrite what has happened, to have a new future together."
The weight of his past crimes bore down on him, but her touch melted the cold touch of regret that threatened to coat him once mkre. He leaned into her embrace, feeling the warmth of her love seep into his very bones. "And if I slip again?" he asked her fearfully.
"Then I'll be here to pull you back," she promised. "I won't let you go on your own. We're in this together."
With trembling hands, Arthas reached up to cup her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Jaina," he whispered, gathering the strength that he once thought he lost. "You are... everything to me."
Jaina knew that despite the curse that clung to him that served as a reminder of who he was, the man she had once loved was still there. "And you, Arthas," she whispered, "you are everything to me. You are my prince."
He leaned in, their breath mingling in the cold night air. "And you," he began, "you are my queen."
Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, a promise of warmth and light amidst the encroaching cold. It was a kiss filled with the hope of a new future and the vow to never let go. As they pulled away, their eyes remained to one another, reiterating of the bond they have and the promises they made.
"We'll do this," Jaina declared to him unquestioningly. "We'll save the others and make things right. We're in this together. "As she said those words, her hand was tightening around his.
The former Lich King gave her a hopeful smile. "Together," he echoed, feeling his human heart swelling with hope and love for the woman who had never truly left his side. "To a new future together."
The following day...
The siege was going to begin soon. At least one that didn't involve him leading the besiegers this time.
After much discussion amongst the higher ups with the rest of the surviving command apparatus at Silvermoon, they have decided to try and buy as much time as possible for the civilians to be evacuated via both portals and ships belonging to both the Quel'dorei and that of Lordaeron.
The Sunwell is another objective they have to secure somehow. Though protected by numerous wards and barriers, it won't last long. And Arthas knew it.
Through the morning was eerily normal in Silvermoon, it was the upcoming storm that shook the heartof the Quel'dorei defenders as they prepared for the incoming attack. Arthas and Falric made their way along the battlements, surveying the troops that had gathered in response to the city's distress call.
While the well-disciplined ranks of the Lordaeron 1st Legion stood tall, as they have performed admirably in recent campaigns, the High Elf forces looked disheveled and demoralized, many of them being fresh conscripts. The recent raid by the Orcs and Trolls had taken a toll, and the news of Sylvanas being grievously injured along with the horrors that occured at Sunfall had only added to their despair. Falric looked over at Arthas, hoping they would be able to alleviate their despair. "Your Highness, perhaps you could say something to them? To lift their spirits?"
The Prince took a moment to think before he sighed.. "I doubt my words will hold much sway, Falric," he reluctantly uttered. "But for their sake, I will try."
Ever since coming here, their pride and confidence was replaced by fear and uncertainty, wether or not their livelihoods and their way of life would live on. The incoming tide was filled to the brim with undead, orcs and trolls ready to set Silvermoon ablaze.
Their own fears brought back memories when the Horde first invaded Quel'thalas during the previous war, but in that war, at least they had the chance to rebuild. Same cannot be said if the Scourge triumphed here, however.
Many of them were uncertain if they could trust humans. Quel'thalas had indeed abandoned them during the previous war and many felt as if they are left of their own devices. However, the unexpected arrival of Lordaeron's forces have brought them enough time to stand their ground, and many began to look up to them as comrades who had the choice not to aid them, but chose to do so regardless despite their Kingdom needing every man available to defend them.
Arthas stepped forward where many of the Quel'dorei soldiers looked up at him, hoping that whatever strategy he had in mind will save their very civilization as he did before with Sylvanas. He knew that he needed their help as well so he needed to do something. Falric remained a few steps behind, watching the prince with a silent nod of encouragement and he turned to find Jaina joining them, wondering what Arthas had in mind to address the dispirited elves.
"Warriors of Quel'thalas," Arthas bellowed to the Quel'dorei before him, his tone carrying both compassion and sincerity for their well being. "I know the shadows that cloud your hearts today. The absence Lady Sylvanas, is a heavy burden to bear. But let us not forget what she has shown in the face of adversity despite her mistakes. She has led you through battles that would have broken lesser warriors, all for the very essence of your people: your hope and your freedom."
The High Elves remained silent as they continued to listen to the human prince, some looking away in sorrow, others in anger at the thought of their leader's plight.
Arthas raised his hand, gesturing towards the horizon where the enemy is bound to approach them. "Look out there," he called out to them with such zeal. "You see the Scourge, the Orcs, and the Trolls? They may come with numbers that dwarf our own, and they may come with a momentum that seems unstoppable, but remember this: they can never take away what you hold most dear."
The Slves watched him with rapt attention of hope and defiance. "Their strength lies in their numbers, their momentum in their hate, but our strength," he paused, placing his fist above his chest where the heart is, "our strength lies in our belief that we can rise again." He looked across the growing crowd of Quel'dorei. "It is not just your city, your lands, or your honor that is at stake here, it is the very essence of your people: your hope, your pride, your very existence."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. "Sylvanas, she did not fight for personal gain or glory," he reminded them. "She fought for you, for your children, for your futures. And though she may not be with us right now, her spirit is here," Arthas's voice grew stronger, "her will to survive and to protect her people burns brighter than any of us."
"The Alliance may have had its differences with Quel'thalas in the past," he acknowledged, his eyes meeting the gaze of several skeptical soldiers. "But today, we stand united against a common enemy!"
A murmur of agreement began to spread through the ranks. "Our foes may have brought the storm, but together, we will weather it," Arthas declared, raising his fist in the air. "Let them see what it truly means to be a warrior of Quel'thalas!"
The soldiers roared in response, their spirits visibly lifted. Falric and Jaina watched with pride as Arthas inspired them. The prince had come far from the young man who once sought only to protect his own kingdom; now he stood as a leader for all who faced annihilation.
The High Elves' determination to fight renewed. In their hearts, they felt this human prince who had given everything he could and his message resonated with them. "The enemy advances and you tremble.", he continued. "But Sylvanas never feared them, and neither should you. For what they have in material and in numbers, they lack in conviction and care. But not us. We have discipline. We have order. And most importantly, we have passion. We believe! In what we uphold and all that to which we stand. So maintain vigilance and remember what you all fight for. What made you the proud people that you are: For Quel'thalas!"
The High Elves responded with a fervent "Anar'alah belore!" as they sprang into action, bolstering the city's defenses with renewed vigor. Jaina approached him, her cheeks flushed. "Your father and Uther would be so proud of you," she exclaimed with pride. "Those words...they'll hold them together."
The Prince looked down at Jaina's praiss, in a rare show of modesty. "I hope it's enough," he uttered, being aware of his responsibilities. "But words can only carry us so far."
Jaina nodded understandingly. "They're more than enough for now," she assured him, holding his hand. "Courage and compassion are what truly inspires them. And with you leading them from the front, I believe we stand a chance."
The two of them turned to prepare the 1st Legion for the upcoming battle. They knew that the true test of their resolve would come when the enemy was upon them, but for now, he had given the High Elves a reason to hold their ground.
Halduron and Liadrin observed the scene from a distance, looking at the prince of admiration and hope. "He truly is something special," the Ranger Captain remarked to the High Priestess. "To be able to reach out to them like that, when so many of our own kin are lost..."
Liadrin, looking at the Prince with gratitude, fervently nodded. "The Light has chosen him for a reason," she whispered. "Perhaps it is through his guidance that we will survive this dark hour."
At the Medical Wing...
As Arthas and Jaina entered the medical wing, the soft light and the scent of herbs and potions filled the air, a stark contrast to the harsh reality outside the city walls. They approached the pallet where Sylvanas lay unconscious, where her stomach was sown and healed off the fire magic Jaina had applied to her. After all the torture she has been forced to endure, the two were thankful that at least she still lived.
The Archmage looked at the elf face for any sign of change. "Her hand," she whispered, referring on the grayish tinge. "It's similar as your arm."
Arthas leaned in closer. "It seems I've passed some of my arm's power to her when we managed to heal her," he admitted. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
The Archmage looked up at him in concern and realization. "When you transferred a portion of your power to her to heal her, you must have inadvertently transferred to her," she surmised. "It's a small mercy that it hasn't spread further."
"Mercy?" Arthas repeated. "I wouldn't call it that. This is a something I never wanted her to bear."
Jaina took his hand in hers, her thumb brushing over his knuckles, feeling the warmth that contrasted with the coldness of his right arm. "You did what you had to, Arthas," she said softly. "You saved her life."
"But at what cost?" he lamented with anguish. "When she wakes, she will seek vengeance for her fallen comrades because of Kel'thuzad. I fear what lengths she will go to, what she might become because of this."
The room was silent for a long moment. Then, Jennalla burst through the door with urgency. "Prince Arthas, Lady Jaina," she panted, "we've received word. The Scourge and their allies are approaching the city! We're needed at the front at once!"
Arthas and Jaina looked at one another, realizing that the time is now. The elf's fate was in the hands of the healers now, and their own duty called them to the battlefield.
With one last, lingering look at their comrade, they turned and left the room. "We'll come back for her," Arthas promised with Jaina. "But first, we need to make that there's still a Quel'thalas for her to return to."
The day had come. The civilians are being ferried from the shores of Silvermoon by both High Elf and Lordaeron Navies to safety. While the others frantically began to make their way through several portals conjured by the surviving Magisters.
The defenders stood firm. The Quel'dorei, led by acting Ranger-General Lor'themar Theron, Halduron Brightwing, Grand Magister Belo'vir Salonar stood on one side. The others were the Alliance. Arthas stood as Jaina, Falric, Marwyn and Thassarian waited for the impending siege.
One of the sentries reported back to them. "The undead, the Orcs and the trolls are approaching! What are your orders?"
Arthas gritted his teeth. "A wall of water!" he called out to the gathered mages and Magisters. "Now!"
Belo'vir, Rommath, Jaina and the surviving Magisters Yisanan, Senithir, Ainetu and Cillias stepped forward as they focused their energies to the water bank surrounding Silvermoon. It churned before them, rising up into an immense barrier that stretched as far as the eye could see.
"Now, hold it," Arthas instructed, his right arm glowing with an eerie blue light that seemed to pulse with the heartbeat that dwelled within him. As the wall of water reached its zenith, he focused all his power into it.
The water grew colder, the very air around it turning to ice as the frost spread outward from Arthas's hand. Belo'vir and Rommath exchanged a glance, sensing the dark energy that seemed to be a part of the Prince's magic. It was unlike anything they had ever encountered, a blend of Frost and something far more sinister.
But Jaina, her trust in Arthas unshaken, nodded to them firmly. "We need trust him," she shouted over the roar of the water. "Now is not the time for doubts!"
The wall of water froze solid in a blink of an eye, the waves turning to jagged spears of ice that gleamed in the morning sunlight. The Scourge and their allies approached, and the defenders of Quel'Thalas braced themselves for the impact.
From a distance, Kel'thuzad and Dar'khan watched the sudden obstacle with a sneer, displeased that such an obstacle had been imposed when charging at the weakened city is a task that would have been so simple.
"Breaching the walls would not be so simple...", the necromancer mused. "It reeks of the coldest ice that death itself could only offer."
Dar'khan scoffed. "Just to show how desperate Anasterian and his lapdogs have become.", he remarked. "Are we to attack yet?"
Kel'thuzad raised a hand onto him. "At such instances like this, it would be appropriate if the pawns go first.", he pointed out to the Blackrock Orcs and Amani Trolls with them. Dar'khan only gave a small, ghastly smirk in response, deciding to see how these brainless Orcs and trolls do their job.
Wrathjaw, now with a visible scar over his left eye, bellowed in fury as the towering ice wall thwarted his advance as he searched for a weakness in the frozen barrier. He barked orders to his forces, whose expressions were that of confusion and anger. "Catapults and meat wagons, focus your fire on the center!" he roared, his hand slamming down on the bone-adorned hilt of his broadblade.
The mechanics complied and worked onto the siege weapons, hurling fiery projectiles and groaning masses of diseased flesh and boulders towards the gleaming ice. The wall stood firm, the spells of the elven Magisters and the human mages holding it steadfast against the onslaught. Falric and Marwyn, standing tall beside Arthas, took note of the enemy's response and turned to the human and elven leaders. "We must strike back, now!" he exclaimed.
Lor'themar, watching from the battlements, gave his signal. "Archers and glaive throwers, show them the might of Quel'Thalas!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the chilly night.
In unison, the elven rangers and their own heavy behind the walls stationed along the battlements released their deadly barrage, joined by a volley of mortars from the 1st Legion. Arrows and glaives arced through the air like a meteor shower raining down upon the advancing enemy forces where siege weapons crumpled under the relentless bombardment along with numerous undead ghouls, Blackrock warriors and Amani Trolls getting caught by the barrage.
With a signal, Arthas brought his hammer down on the frozen barricade, opening a section of the wall like the gate that caused several shards to burst onto them. They flew into the air, showering down upon the advancing Scourge and Blackrock forces like a hailstorm. Falric and Marwyn watched in awe as the prince stepped through the frosty breach, looking directly at Wrathjaw where he charged alongside his men.
"For Quel'Thalas! For Lordaeron!" Arthas shouted as he led the counter-attack. Falric and the others followed close behind, their own weapons and spells at the ready.
The Fel Orc's strike met that of Arthas' hammer as they circled with one another. "I will enjoy gutting you like a fish for interfering!", he bellowed, raising his broadblade high.
Arthas didn't bother with a response. Instead, he raised his hand where the fallen ghouls, Orcs and trolls were all resurrected en masse as they charged against the incoming onslaught. Behind them, the Lordaeron footmen and Quel'dorei halberdiers formed an unyielding line behind him, shields interlocking as a formidable barrier.
"Forward, my brethren!" Wrathjaw howled. The Orcs and the trolls charged as the defenders of the city held their ground, fighting tooth and nail against the relentless tide.
Rivendare and Barov closely followed behind with a ghostly calm, looking over at Arthas' with a scowl for humiliating them the last time. "The Lich King will be pleased once he has your soul," Rivendare hissed. "Your suffering will be a fine tune to listen to."
Arthas stepped into the fray as he faced Wrathjaw, Barov, and Rivendare. The Fel Orc Warchief charged at him, broadblade swinging in a wide arc that threatened to cleave the very earth in two. Arthas deftly dodged the blow, the wind of the weapon's passage whipping his hair into a frenzied dance around his face. As the blade bit into the ground, he brought his own weapon that seemed to pulse with an unholy light.
The attack sent shockwaves through the field. They watched in amazement as their prince fought not just one, but three of the most powerful adversaries they had ever faced. Rivendare and Barov, moving with the unnatural coordination of the undead, struck from the shadows, their runeblades leaving trails of dark energy in their wake. Arthas, his movements a blur of speed and precision, parried their strikes, weaving a tapestry of light and frost with each swing of his hammer and of his own unnamed runeblade as he wielded them both. The ground beneath them cracked and froze as the two Death Knights' necromantic power collided with his own.
The Prince slammed the hammer's pommel into Rivendare's chest, sending the Death Knight staggering back. He whirled around to face Barov, the hammer's head morphing into a shard of pure, icy light that pierced the night.
The former noble's laugh was a chilling sound. "You will fall like the Lightbringer had, my Prince!" He swung his sword, the blade leaving a trail of frostbitten air as it sliced towards Arthas's head. "Once they dismantled his body, they will dismantle his soul!"
Angered at the taunts regarding Uther , Arthas sent a blast of holy fire from his fingertips, the flame engulfing Barov's weapon and momentarily halting his advance. The Death Knight looked as Holy Light briefly illuminated Arthas' face.
Meanwhile, on the ramparts above, Jaina, Grand Magister Belo'vir, and Rommath stood together. Their spells intertwined in a dazzling display of arcane mastery. Belo'vir conjured Flarecores that streaked through the sky, each one a fiery beacon of hope that crashed into the Scourge lines, incinerating the unholy beasts that approached and blowing them apart. Rommath, with his own staff, cast spells of pure destruction, summoning several flaming pillars at once that obliterated entire groups of Blackrock Orcs and Amani Trolls upon impact impact.
The human Archmage did the same, summoning several Water Elementals, signalling them to charge against the incoming tide of hostiles where they blasted the horde with a powerful wave of water to soak them. Using this chance, Jaina casted a powerful burst of chain lightning that electrocuted dozens of them, while simultaneously casting frost barriers to cover wounded troops as they retreated back to the walls.
The two elves watched her in awe. "I never knew a human could wield the elements so masterfully," Rommath remarked with a blend of reverence and surprise.
"She is truly something," Belo'vir agreed, a hint of pride in his voice. "It's no wonder why Prince Kael'thas spoke so highly of her in the Kirin Tor."
On the other side of the battlefield, Halduron Brightwing and his squad of Dragonhawks soared gracefully through the air, their fiery breath illuminating the night sky like a series of shooting stars. Each fiery projectile rained down upon the Scourge and their allies, incinerating the undead and sending the orcs and trolls scattering in fear.
Falric, Marwyn, and Thassarian formed an unbreakable line along with their men and the Quel'dorei warriors, Solanar and Koltira among them. heir weapons flashing in the moonlight as they met the relentless Falric's shield bashed into the skull of a snarling ghoul, while Marwyn's sword sliced through the decaying flesh of a Nerubian spider. Thassarian, concentrating his focus, sliced apart the incoming arm of an Abomination, leaping forward to plunge his sword directly at its head, causing it to collapse.
"Hold the line!" Falric bellowed. The 1st Legion of Lordaeron stood firm, their shields up and swords ready. The ground trembled as more and more of the enemy threw themselves against the human-elf coalition. Yet, they stood their ground.
Marwyn, surveyed the battlefield. "We must keep pushing them back!" he called out. "For every step we give, we lose more of our kin to them!"
Thassarian nodded, though visibly exhausted. "We have to buy Silvermoon enough time to get their people to safety," he panted.
It wasn't long before they saw more of the Scourge began to charge onto them. And they prepared themselves in what was to come.
Arthas knew he needed to end this, so reached out with his right arm, and touched the ground. Instantly, the earth before Rivendare and Barov erupted in a maelstrom of ice, trapping the two Death Knights in a prison of frozen spikes.
As the Death Knights struggled to break free from their icy confinement, Arthas turned to the fallen Blackrock and undead warriors. "Rise!" he shouted, and with a wave of his hand, the lifeless forms stirred. The soldiers of Quel'Thalas and Lordaeron watched in fear and amazement as the very soldiers that had threatened them moments ago now turned to aid them, their eyes glowing with a turquoise light that seemed to be at odds with those of the Scourge.
Rommath and Halduron, standing a safe distance behind Arthas with Jaina, exchanged concerned glances as they watched the prince wield this strange power. Halduron, remembering that Dar'khan had used such power to murder so many Magisters, found the courage to speak up. "Prince Aethas, are you... one of them?" he asked, his voice strained with disbelief as he stared at the undead warriors that now served under Arthas's command.
Arthas took a brief moment to look back at them, his own eyes glowing with the power he wielded. "I do not know," he replied honestly, though his tone carried a hint of the same dread that gripped their hearts. "Hard to say, but let's say it's something that we'll talk about another day."
With that, he turned his attention back to Wrathjaw, who had recovered from his initial shock and was now charging towards him with renewed fury. The Warchief's broadblade sizzled with the heat of the demonic fires that fueled his rage, a stark contrast to the cold steel of Arthas's hammer. The two leaders clashed once more, their weapons ringing out in a symphony of rage and desperation.
It was now or never.
With a furious snarl, Arthas focused his gaze on Rivendare and Barov, his clenched fist sending forth a storm of ice spikes that pierced the two Death Knights' armor and impaled them to the ground, immobilizing them in an icy tomb. The power of his cursed arm coalesced around Arthas, the runes on his right arm glowing a menacing blue.
Turning back to the snarling form of Wrathjaw, Arthas watched as the Blackrock Warchief's eyes narrowed with rage at the sudden reversal of fortune. "You think you've won, human?" he sneered, his voice a guttural roar that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath them.
The Prince only remained quiet as he waited for the Warchief's charge against him. He brought his massive, burning broadblade crashing down, aiming for Arthas's unprotected shoulder. With a twirl of his hammer, Arthas parried the blow with his runeblade, the force of the impact sending a shower of sparks into the frigid air. Wrathjaw broke the lock between them, poising for another strike
The prince's eyes narrowed, and with a swift pivot, Arthas brought his own weapon, in a perfect arc to meet the descending weapon. The impact was deafening, sending a shockwave through the ice beneath them that caused the ground to tremble.
In a flash of ice and steel, Arthas's right hand was empty and a frozen war hammer materialized in its place. The spiked head glinted in the moonlight, a promise of retribution. He swung the newfound weapon with a strength that seemed to defy the very fabric of reality, the spiked edge catching Wrathjaw off guard and impaling him through his thick armor. The Blackrock Warchief howled in pain and surprise, his massive body lifting from the ground as Arthas held him aloft.
With a powerful heave, Arthas hurled the Warchief into the air, the impaled weapon tearing through the sky. Wrathjaw, his body a macabre display of impaled flesh and armor, managed a final, furious roar before he crashed onto the jagged edge of an icy spike that had erupted from the ground in response to Arthas's power. The impact was sickening, the sound of armor shattering and bone breaking echoing through the battlefield.
The prince watched as the lifeblood of the Fel Orc Warchief painted the ice beneath him a deep crimson. The formidable Warchief of the Blackrock Clan now lay unmoving, a broken and bloodied mess, surrounded by the frozen shards of his own weapon as he groaned in pain.
For a brief moment, the world felt as if it had stopped turning, as if the very fabric of reality had been torn and then stitched back together in the aftermath of their struggle.
The human Prince's chest heaved with exertion, his eyes a swirling maelstrom of blue and white, the power of the curse pulsing through his veins. "This isn't over yet...", Arthas gasped for air as he looked at the battlefield before him.
To the elves, the sight of Arthas emerging victorious was a morale boost as they fought resolutely with their human and dwarf allies. They had a hero in their darkest hour, and they would follow him to the ends of the world if they asked.
The sudden intrusion of the fiery projectiles shattered the precarious calm, sending shards of ice and earth flying in every direction. The warriors of the Alliance and Quel'dorei looked up to see the terrifying spectacle of massive wings, two large horns sticking out his head, and enormous build that was covered in armor was imposing as the power of green energy of unknown origin.
Tichondrius descended from the skies, followed by the other Nathrezim that Arthas instantly recognized to be Mal'Ganis and Detheroc. The Dreadlord's arrival was like a nightmare made flesh, his eyes burning with the cold malice of the grave as he surveyed the battlefield.
Jaina's eyes grew wide as she took in the sight. "No..." she whispered, in horror as both the Quel'dorei and the Alliance felt their spirits overwhelmed by their presence.
Tichondrius landed on top of the icy wall, followed by Mal'Ganis and Detheroc as he looked over to the Alliance and the Quel'dorei before him with a cold, unwavering glare. "In Archimonde's name...", Tichondrius bellowed menacingly, just as three Frost Wyrms and several Gargoyles flew over the Dreadlords. "let none survive!"
Arthas felt their very presence tighten around his soul. And he knew what they needed to do. "All forces, fall back!" he bellowed with a command that shook the hearts of his men, who never saw this reaction from him. "Fall back to Quel'danas! Now!"
Meanwhile...
Sylvanas awoke with a snarl, as she heard the sound of the cries of battle going through the haze of pain and grief that clouded her mind. She bolted upright, her eyes snapping open to the morning sunlight filtered from the window of the healing chamber. The healers rushed to her side, worried for her condition while her fury that burned within her could not be quenched.
"No,..." she growled through gritted teeth, pushing them away. "I...I have...have to go to them."
"Lady Sylvanas, you are not well enough," one of them protested in deep concern as she tried to dissuade her from leaving by holding her. "Your wounds are severe. You need go rest."
"I will not rest while Kel'thuzad lives!" Sylvanas snarled, with a rage that could have set the very air ablaze. She stumbled to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her. The room spun as she tried to regain her balance, but she would not be denied her vengeance.
Anya's screams of terror.
Velonara's blood flowing from her severed throat.
Nathanos' final, painful moments burned in her mind.
And the mocking, sadistic smirk of that wretched Necromancer as he look down at her with morbid satisfaction.
With a grim determination that belied her weakened state, she began to don her tattered and blood-soaked armor, each movement sending fresh waves of pain shooting through her. "I will not let him win," she whispered to herself. "Not today. Not ever. Not when Quel'thalas still needs me..."
The healers watched her in silence, knowing that words would not sway her. They could only offer their support and their prayers as she stumbled out of the chamber.
The sounds of battle grew louder with each step she took, her ragged breaths echoing through the corridors like the last gasps of a dying world. The smell of smoke and blood grew stronger, and she could almost taste the bitterness of defeat in the air. She looked upon the chaos, seeking the one face that would bring her the solace she craved—the face of the monster who had taken everything from her. She looked at her ashen-gray hand, not even caring what it had become as long as she could still hold anything to take that bastard's life...
"Kel'thuzad," she uttered hatefully, promising of a swift and merciless end. "You will pay for what you've done..."
She will have her vengeance, one way or another.
Try and guess what Sylvanas is going to do. And at this point, do you think the Elves are still going for the Horde after all this? Rate and review!
