Galen had anticipated Arthas's brutal assault. The moment Arthas unleashed the full, terrifying might of his frost, a chilling realization pierced Galen's mind like an icy shard.
Galen knew Arthas's tactics intimately. Despite the death knight's ascension to demigod status, despite the complete fusion with the old shaman's power, Arthas still bore the scars of their past encounters. Galen had outmaneuvered him too many times, leaving a deep-seated psychological vulnerability.
Driven by this lingering fear, Arthas resorted to a savage, direct approach: he entombed Galen in a prison of absolute zero.
Arthas's plan was brutally efficient. He would systematically annihilate Galen's elite strike force, one by one. Then, with a sweep of Frostmourne, he would corrupt their souls, transforming them into his own death knights. These newly forged abominations would then turn on their former leader, a legion of the damned unleashed upon Galen.
A flawless reversal. Offense became defense. Any strategy Galen could conceive, Arthas could twist and weaponize.
Within seconds, Galen grasped the horrifying scope of Arthas's design. Reacting with astonishing speed, he erected a shimmering Divine Shield and layered it with a crackling Ice Barrier. The icy prison became a hollow, fortified shell.
He could feel the raw power of the ice that bound him, a confluence of frost and death energy. But Galen was a demigod of the Holy Light. He began to unravel the death energies, burning them away with radiant power, weakening the icy cage.
Let him have his moment, Galen thought, a grim amusement flickering within his icy tomb. They'll be back. And the loot...oh, the loot...
While Galen plotted, the battle raged. Fording was hurled aside like a broken doll. Bridget and Tylan were grievously wounded, their life force draining away. Renault fell, struck down in a brutal, decisive blow. Only Darian, shielded by his brother's sacrifice, remained unscathed.
"No!"
Darian's cry was a raw, visceral sound of anguish, the sound of a young heart shattering under the weight of unimaginable loss.
As Arthas prepared to deliver the killing blow to Darian, a trio of reinforcements crashed into the fray: the hulking tauren, Orin; the legendary brewmaster, Old Chen; and a ferocious wild boar druid, their combined assault momentarily halting Arthas's advance.
Then, a figure emerged from the chaos, a woman cloaked in the crimson robes of a priest.
Darian's eyes widened with desperate hope. "Sally...please...save Renault!"
Mighty-Whine, her face a mask of grim determination, nodded. A blinding wave of Holy Light erupted from her, a tangible force of divine will.
She slammed her staff into the frozen ground, the impact resonating with celestial power. "Arise, my champion!" she bellowed, her voice echoing across the battlefield.
"To fight for you, my lady!"
In a flash of golden radiance, Renault's broken body was bathed in healing light. Wounds closed, bones knit, and the spark of life reignited within him.
Darian watched in stunned disbelief as his brother rose, seized his warhammer, and roared back into the heart of the battle. Relief washed over him, and he joined the desperate struggle.
Unfazed by the renewed assault of over twenty warriors, Arthas remained a figure of chilling calm.
"You think numbers can overwhelm me? How pitiable!"
As a demigod, he shrugged off the lesser magics and arrows of the lesser warriors. His attention was fixed on the legendary figures, the only ones capable of even scratching his armor.
"He's...unstoppable," Tirion murmured, his face etched with grim realization. Arthas toyed with them, a predator toying with its prey.
The rank-and-file warriors were not only ineffective, they were a liability. Their weakness hampered their allies and made them easy targets, draining the healers.
"Fall back! Bridget! Orin! Get out of here!" Tirion roared, his voice laced with bitter frustration. "Those below legendary rank, retreat! He's too powerful! This is a slaughter!"
Arthas's eyes narrowed. The old lord of Lordaeron saw his plan.
"Too late," he hissed.
Raising Frostmourne, Arthas channeled the blade's unholy power. His left hand gestured, and the air itself began to scream. A vortex of pure winter erupted around him, a storm of death and ice.
"Howling Blast!"
A wave of absolute zero erupted outwards, an unstoppable tide of frost that consumed all in its path.
The melee fighters were the first to fall. The wild boar druid, Istaria; Bridget; Tylan; the tauren, Orin; and the lumbering Gammon – all were instantly transformed into grotesque ice sculptures, their screams frozen in time.
Only Old Chen, with a desperate flurry of drunken rolls, managed to escape the immediate blast, but the creeping frost pursued him, threatening to engulf the entire platform.
When the storm subsided, the carnage was complete. Only Tirion, Jaina, Rexxar, Old Chen, and a high elf mage who had retreated to the edge of the platform remained.
They stared in horror at the frozen tableau of their fallen comrades.
Galen, trapped in his icy tomb, was presumed lost. Of the twenty-five, only five remained.
Galen was shocked. Wiped out? That fast?
But five was enough. Five could still turn the tide.
Using the Origin Heart's connection, Galen reached out to his loyal followers, Old Chen and Rexxar.
"The Lich King's attack draws upon the tormented souls within Frostmourne, amplified by his frost magic," Galen's thoughts echoed in their minds. "He cannot repeat that feat so easily. Weaken him. Separate him from that cursed blade. It is the source of his power!"
The pandaren warrior, Old Chen, roared a challenge, leaping back into the fray with a whirlwind of drunken fury. His right leg, a blur of motion, briefly transformed into the spectral image of a dragon's head.
Despite his seemingly clumsy bulk, Old Chen moved with astonishing speed, closing the distance to Arthas in the blink of an eye.
Arthas snarled, raising Frostmourne to intercept the blow. He had not expected such resilience, such defiance, from the remnants of Galen's forces.
"Fools! You cannot defy death! Feel the wrath of Frostmourne!"
But the survivors were far from broken. Tirion, his face a mask of righteous fury, charged in behind Old Chen, the Ashbringer held high.
Beside him, Rexxar's mighty bear roared, a whirlwind of claws and teeth, tearing at Arthas's defenses.
And from afar, Jaina's Frostbolts and the high elf mage's fireballs streaked towards their target, a desperate barrage of arcane power.
Once again, Arthas found himself besieged, outnumbered, but far from outmatched.
With the weaker warriors gone, the legendary figures could unleash their full power.