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BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Multiple shockwaves rippled across the battlefield as Alastor and Arthas moved at incredible speeds, exchanging blows with their respective blades.
Alastor frowned as he parried the runeblade and launched a counterattack.
His strength and speed have greatly improved to match my own.
Not to mention his stamina, resilience, and recovery might be even greater due to his new nature as Undead… but that's not all…
Thankfully, it was not on the same level as Grimgor's monstrous strength — but it was still more than enough for Arthas to contend with him physically.
At the moment, both Alastor and Arthas were probing each other.
Alastor had yet to determine whether this was Arthas or Frostmourne's true limit
If Arthas was holding back, revealing his full strength too early — such as enhancing himself with Psionics — could lead him straight into a trap.
Alastor's expression darkened slightly as he reflected on the sheer power granted by Chaos and similar corrupting forces.
In exchange for servitude and sanity…
They truly did offer immense power.
He would never disparage his friends — nor the man Arthas once was — but as Alastor grew he began to understand just how far apart he stood from the rest of his kind.
Arthas had once been skilled and powerful even among the Royals of Azeroth.
But there was a very clear difference between champions…
Especially demigods.
Even without his Psionics, Alastor was a being crafted by the Emperor of Mankind — birthed to unite and lead humanity into a new age alongside his brothers.
His very starting point was on a completely different level from even the most talented mortals, though Alastor himself never looked down on them.
Because of that, he had always believed it was his duty — not just as royalty, but as a knight — to shoulder greater responsibility.
His parents didn't raise him to be a callous coward, Justifying selfishness behind flimsy excuses about not knowing others like it was suppose to add credibility to their cowardice.
Which was why the fact that Frostmourne — whatever cursed artifact it truly was — could elevate Arthas to stand on equal footing with him…
Was deeply concerning.
And yes, Now Alastor was certain of one thing.
Frostmourne was not a Chaos relic.
Even from a few brief clashes, the suppressive effect it exerted on Warp-based phenomenon made that clear.
Unfortunately…
That was far from the end of the problem.
After their latest clash, Alastor disengaged and glanced down at Dawn, his expression darkening.
The blade's edges were slowly frosting over.
With each strike exchanged with Arthas, he could feel that same cold, corrupted energy seeping deeper into his prized weapon.
He attempted to purge it using his own magical energy — even applying Tactile Telekinesis — but at best he could only slow the spread.
He couldn't even stop it, Much less remove it.
If this continued, the creeping frost would eventually erode the blade's integrity… and shatter it.
Alastor prepared to call upon his Holy Light to cleanse the corruption—
But then he felt it.
A pulse.
From his soul.
He paused in surprise.
It was the same mysterious flames he had awakened during the Siege of Stormwind.
They — or perhaps someone — gently urged him to use his "gift" instead.
The sensation felt… familiar.
Warm.
Reassuring.
Like the presence of his family, his closest friends… and those he loved.
Alastor hesitated for only a brief moment before tightening his grip on Dawn.
"Is that all you have, Alastor!?" Arthas laughed mockingly. "To think I would live to see the day I crush that damned arrogance of yours."
"By throwing away everything that once made me — and so many others — respect you?" Alastor replied, his voice cold.
"DO NOT PRESUME TO KNOW ME!?" Arthas roared.
"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"
With a furious shout, Arthas unleashed a barrage of razor-sharp ice spikes.
Alastor dodged and sidestepped them effortlessly before leaping back to create distance.
"My fault?" he asked, confusion flickering across his face.
"YOUR FAULT!" Arthas bellowed.
"From the very first day I met you in Dalaran!"
"I was beloved! I was respected! I was the pride of my people, my family, and my order!"
"Yet everything began to fall apart the moment YOU appeared!"
"People kept comparing us more and more with each passing day! I trained under the Lightbringer himself! I served the Silver Hand for years!"
"And yet the moment you stepped into the Chapel of Light, it was YOU who was made a Saint by the Light itself — not me!"
"Haven't I been loyal!? Haven't I been diligent!?"
"SO WHY WAS I CAST ASIDE FOR THINGS YOU DIDN'T EVEN EARN!?"
"BUT NO!"
"You weren't satisfied with just taking my pride and my respect!"
"You had to watch me writhing on the ground!"
"You even stole the woman I loved, You took Jaina from me!"
As Arthas raged and attacked, Alastor's expression grew colder as he dodged until with a lightning spell he successful had both of them separate.
"I never once looked down on you-No… I never ONCE looked down on Arthas Menethil."
"He was a man and friend I respected greatly."
"A man who embodied what it meant to be a true paladin, a great prince to his people, a greater man to his family and friends."
Alastor's gaze hardened.
"But now I understand…"
"My friend died long ago."
Arthas' eyes widened.
At that moment, the temperature around them suddenly spiked.
Flames erupted around Alastor, cloaking him from head to toe in a blazing aura.
Dawn was engulfed in radiant fire — orange flames streaked with red and gold — instantly burning away the creeping frost and purging the corruption within the blade.
Nearby, Jaina and Rhonin had just finished eliminating the Black Mages and daemons maintaining their side of the breach, successfully sealing it.
They were about to turn their attention to the remaining Undead inside the barrier—
When they suddenly froze at the massive shift in Alastor's presence.
Both turned, wide-eyed, toward the battlefield where Alastor and Arthas clashed.
"Since when could Al do that!?" Rhonin exclaimed in shock.
Jaina was equally stunned.
She had never seen Alastor wield such power before.
But unlike Rhonin, she sensed something within those flames.
Life.
Vibrant, Resilient and Unyielding.
"You are not Arthas!" Alastor declared.
"I reject you — and everything you have become!"
"You and those you consorted with have brought nothing but ruin and damnation upon our home!"
"And THAT alone is reason enough for me to destroy you…Monster!"
Alastor swung Dawn in a wide arc—
Unleashing a massive wave of blazing fire that surged toward Arthas.
Arthas felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of the flames. In response, he swung Frostmourne, unleashing a massive wave of frost and ice to counter the incoming attack.
The two forces collided violently, devastating the surrounding battlefield. Any Undead caught in the aftermath were instantly obliterated.
But Arthas was shocked.
In that clash, Frostmourne had failed to exert its usual suppressive effect on magic and magical phenomena.
If anything…
The flames were completely unaffected.
They burned straight through Frostmourne's power.
Arthas didn't have time to process it.
In the very next moment, Alastor burst through the storm of ice and fire, his fiery aura surrounding him like a protective cloak with his sword already raised to strike.
Arthas reacted instantly, swinging Frostmourne to meet the attack.
But the moment their blades collided—
He was forced to disengage, using the momentum, Arthas allowed himself to be pushed backwards to create distance.
Frostmourne screamed in his mind in both Pain and Rage.
The moment it touched Dawn—or rather, the flames enveloping it—the blade reacted violently.
But it wasn't just Frostmourne.
Alastor felt it too.
His flames stirred, almost… startled, as if they had recognized something within the Runeblade.
Regardless, one truth became immediately clear.
Frostmourne and Alastor's flames were antithetical to one another.
Each sought to utterly destroy the other.
And their wielders were beginning to reflect that same hostility.
Arthas more so than Alastor.
The flow of power from Frostmourne grew increasingly violent and domineering, as if commanding its "servant" to annihilate Alastor at all costs.
Alastor, in contrast, felt something far more controlled.
Another pulse from his soul.
An emotional echo.
A warning.
The Runeblade was dangerous.
If possi-No It needed to be destroyed.
Without hesitation, the two resumed their clash.
Their strikes became faster.
Heavier.
More destructive.
One side filled with blazing fire while the other was frigid cold.
But while Alastor remained composed—
Arthas began to lose himself.
With each passing exchange, his movements grew more erratic, more frenzied.
More than once, Alastor had to intercept attacks that would have struck Jaina, Rhonin, and the other mages nearby.
Time blurred.
Neither of them could tell how long the battle had gone on.
The battlefield around them had already transformed into a chaotic domain of extremes.
One side burned with molten heat, the ground itself reduced to flowing lava as the stone and soil melted.
The other side was locked in bitter cold, coated in thick, jagged ice.
And even that did not remain constant.
In one instant, a section would be frozen solid—
Only to be consumed by fire in the next clash.
The area of destruction continued to expand, forcing the surrounding mages to retreat further and further away.
Any Undead that failed to escape met a brutal end—
Shattered by freezing cold…
Or reduced to ash by searing flames.
Mad beast, Alastor growled inwardly.
He launched a roaring tornado of fire toward Arthas.
Arthas countered with a powerful blast from Frostmourne, dispersing the attack—
Only to realize, too late, that it had been a feint.
Alastor appeared at his flank in an instant.
His blade cut cleanly across Arthas' chest armor and reached undead flesh.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!"
Arthas let out a soul-piercing scream as the flames tore through his undead flesh without mercy.
Desperate, he forced the mysterious fire out of his body, using his own Death energy—and even siphoning power from nearby Undead—to purge the lingering flames.
But the momentary distraction cost him.
Alastor drove a powerful kick straight into his torso, launching him backward.
Arthas was sent flying—
Straight through the barrier.
The impact shattered a section of it like glass.
But unlike the earlier breaches, this one repaired itself almost instantly.
With a snarl, Arthas rose to his feet.
He quickly realized he was now outside the barrier.
His side of the breach (and likely the other one as well) had already been sealed.
Which meant—
His forces inside had been eliminated.
Without a constant influx of Undead, the remaining Scourge within the barrier would have stood no chance against Dalaran's mages—
Especially not against Archmagi.
Arthas looked up just in time to see Alastor approaching him as he passed through the barrier like passing through water while he was still cloaked in his fiery aura with Dawn's flames still burning bright.
For a brief moment—
Arthas seriously considered retreating.
As much as he hated the idea.
But just as he took a step back to regain his footing…
A dozen powerful arcane blasts—each at least the size of a literal Cargo container—were launched toward Arthas, while a shimmering purple barrier formed behind him, cutting off his retreat.
Arthas scowled, preparing to handle the incoming spells. He didn't take them too seriously, relying on his suppressive effect on magic and his own formidable magical resistance.
That confidence vanished instantly.
His eyes widened as he staggered after parrying the first blast. He barely managed to deflect the second before abandoning the idea entirely and dodging the rest.
"What in the name of the gods!?"
Each blast was packed with an absurd amount of Aether energy. Their mana density far exceeded what their size should have allowed.
"Oh? You dodged that?"
Arthas turned toward the voice.
A beautiful white-haired woman descended leisurely from the air, stopping a few feet away from Alastor. She regarded Arthas with mild curiosity—like one might observe a particularly interesting rodent.
Arthas immediately grew wary.
The sheer amount of Aether energy emanating from her was staggering—and yet she controlled it with the precision of a master artisan.
By the gods… who is this woman?Even Kel'Thuzad didn't radiate this level of power.
Unfortunately for him—
Things only got worse.
"Huh. Didn't think we'd have more guests at the party," Rhonin remarked as he appeared beside Jaina in a flash of Blink. The two took position on Arthas' opposite flank.
Now surrounded, Arthas immediately reached out mentally to Kel'Thuzad, urging him to assist in their escape.
The response came quickly.
Just not in the way he expected.
A body slammed into the ground nearby, kicking up dust and forming a crater.
From within it emerged the battered skeletal form of Kel'Thuzad—missing one of his arms.
"Huh… is that Kels? is it just me, or did he get more handsome after losing all that flesh from his ugly mug?" Rhonin quipped, though the disdain in his expression was unmistakable.
Arthas, however, was anything but amused.
Seeing his second-in-command in such a state shocked him.
Kel'Thuzad slowly rose to his feet as what appeared to be a silver spike dissolved from his body.
"Kel'Thuzad, what is going on—!?"
"The situation… has taken a turn for the worse," the Arch Lich rasped as he moved closer to Arthas, never taking his eyes off the enemies that attacked him.
From another direction, two more figures approached.
Tyrande, holding a silver-and-navy bow—Elun'tara—and beside her, Alleria, her own bow already drawn and aimed.
If Arthas had still been alive, his face would have paled.
A demigod.Two Archmagi.A monstrously powerful sorceress.A ranger-captain.And a Night Elf priestess of terrifying presence.
All of whom had their eyes focused on him.
All who wanted him dead and gone.
Even Frostmourne seemed to recognize the danger.
The blade ceased its aggressive influence and instead shifted it's approach—supporting Arthas rather than driving him forward.
Arthas was surprised by the change… but didn't question it.
It was their best chance.
"Kel'Thuzad—be ready!"
Alastor's instincts flared.
Something was wrong.
"Attack him now!"
He raised Dawn, flames roaring along its edge as he prepared to strike—
But Arthas moved first.
Driving Frostmourne into the ground, the Runeblade erupted with a ghastly blue glow.
A massive wave of freezing energy surged outward freezing the ground and air—
And with it…
Came the screams.
The bloody countless screams!!!
The voices of those slain by Frostmourne since its awakening—souls bound eternally to the cursed blade.
A cacophony of agony.
Men. Women, Children of different races.
All merged into a horrifying, discordant chorus.
The sound didn't merely echo through the air—
It pierced the soul.
With it came overwhelming waves of emotion:
Fear.Despair.Hatred.Rage.
All drawn from the final moments of Frostmourne's victims.
Alastor gritted his teeth.
This wasn't something that could be blocked by covering one's ears.
He glanced around.
Alleria, Jaina, and Rhonin had dropped to their knees, desperately clutching their heads as they tried—futilely—to block out the noise.
Tyrande and Aegwynn fared better—
But even they struggled, their expressions tense as they endured the assault.
Seeing some of his closest people in such a state—
Alastor snapped as Rage surged through him.
Ignoring the pain clawing at his own mind, he raised Dawn and roared.
The flames along the blade flared violently, burning brighter and stronger.
With a furious swing, he unleashed a blazing arc toward Arthas and Kel'Thuzad.
But that single moment—
Was all Kel'Thuzad needed.
Grabbing Arthas, the Arch Lich teleported them both far away while the blazing slash hit empty ground turning the plot of land they just stood on into a burning crater.
Instantly, the screams vanished.
The surrounding fell silent.
Everyone was left gasping, recovering at their own pace.
Alastor exhaled sharply, wiping sweat from his brow before instinctively checking his ears.
"What the hell was that…?"
Aegwynn answered, her tone mostly calm despite the lingering tension.
"A form of Soul Magic."
"I'm familiar with a similar spell called Soul Screech—but what Arthas just used… was a far more advanced variation."
"...Lucky us," Alastor muttered dryly.
Still, his expression hardened as he made a note to find a suitable counter and defence against it.
Soon.
For now, he moved quickly to check on the others.
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