"Damn the Light! Damn you, Galen! You cannot stop the inevitable! Feel the wrath of Frostmourne!"
Arthas roared, his voice a tortured scream.
Consumed by rage, fueled by the sting of underestimation and a lifetime of resentment towards the Holy Light, he unleashed the full, unbridled power of Frostmourne. His heart, or what remained of it, overflowed with bitterness and despair.
The ground itself seemed to writhe in agony. Black, undulating ripples spread across the platform, a tide of frost, death, and disease that threatened to engulf everything.
Even Galen, a demigod paladin, felt the oppressive weight of this evil. His legs grew heavy, as if bound by chains of shadow.
Galen's expression hardened. Seeing the unstoppable wave of corruption spreading across the Frozen Throne, he acted decisively. He channeled his power, casting Consecration.
A radiant circle of pure Holy Light erupted beneath his feet, a five-meter sanctuary that pushed back the encroaching darkness. The platform shuddered as the divine power clashed with the unholy tide.
Then, Arthas swung Frostmourne, unleashing a torrent of black energy directly at Galen!
"Hmph!"
You think you are the only one with an artifact?
Galen met the attack head-on. Locking his gaze on the deathly energy, he swung Ashbringer with all his might.
After activating Ashbringer's Awakening, a blade of pure, incandescent Holy Fire erupted, nearly ten meters in length, cleaving through Arthas's attack and nullifying it completely.
Using the cover of the blinding light, Galen, shielded by the golden giant of the Guardians of the Ancient Kings, surged forward. His six wings of Holy Light beat with celestial power, propelling him towards Arthas with incredible speed.
CRASH!
Ashbringer and Frostmourne collided, the sound echoing like the clash of thunder and the shattering of worlds.
Arthas's demigod strength was a twisted thing, born of stolen power and dark pacts. He relied on the Scourge, on Ner'zhul's reckless augmentation, and on the soul-devouring might of Frostmourne.
Frostmourne was not a weapon of brute force. Its true power lay in its ability to obliterate life, to consume souls, and to command the undead. Its secondary power was its chilling frost. Forged from otherworldly materials, it was an artifact of immense power, rivaling even the creations of the Titans.
Arthas had not summoned his undead Vrykul. He knew that in this battle of demigods, lesser beings were mere fodder, a drain on his already stretched power.
But Ashbringer...Ashbringer was a different beast entirely. Forged from Titansteel, infused with the essence of a Naaru, it was a weapon of pure light, the "fire of joy," and the perfect counter to Frostmourne's darkness.
With each clash, Galen's superior power resonated through Arthas, shaking him to his very core.
The two demigods became locked in a furious close-quarters battle, a whirlwind of black and gold. The platform of the Frozen Throne became a stage for their cosmic duel, each blow a testament to their immense power.
The golden giant, Galen's avatar, moved with him, a seamless extension of his will. It healed, it struck, it disrupted, making Arthas's struggle even more desperate.
In the end, Galen prevailed.
Ashbringer pierced Arthas's chest, a wound that should have been mortal.
Both were demigods, but Galen's power was more complete, more grounded in a true, uncorrupted source. His foundation was stronger.
Arthas fought with increasing desperation, with a growing sense of panic. The feeling of being outmatched, of being utterly dominated, was unbearable.
Since claiming Frostmourne in Dragonblight, he had been unstoppable. He had cut down dreadlords, destroyed Lordaeron, shattered Silvermoon, ambushed Dalaran, and razed Suramar. Every victory had been absolute, unchallenged.
"Get out of my way!"
Arthas roared, forcing Galen back with a desperate surge of power. A wave of raw soul energy erupted from Frostmourne, a chaotic storm that threatened to consume everything.
Sensing the danger, Galen retreated, activating a partial Divine Shield to protect himself.
The purple soul storm ripped across the platform. The twenty-two fallen heroes were hurled to the edge, their corpses tossed aside like broken toys.
Arthas intended to reclaim them, to bind their empty shells to his will.
Jaina and her two companions, caught in the blast, were left battered and broken, clinging to the edge of death.
Empowered by Frostmourne, Arthas not only repelled Galen but also healed his own grievous wound. His shattered breastplate remained, but the hole in his chest was gone.
The surge of power from Frostmourne renewed Arthas's confidence.
"Arise, Invincible!"
With a command, a skeletal warhorse, wings of bone and shadow, emerged from the depths below the platform.
Arthas mounted the creature, and Invincible soared into the air!
From his aerial vantage point, Arthas unleashed a barrage of dark energy, each blast a strike from Frostmourne, aimed at Galen below!
Damn it!
He's taken to the skies!
This is getting ridiculous!
Galen had seen enough. The raid was in ruins. He had learned what he needed to know about his own power. This trip to Icecrown had served its purpose.
He would end this. Now.
"It's over, Arthas. Calia...I will avenge her. I will end this tragedy."
Galen's words ignited a new fury in Arthas, a rage that eclipsed all others. He unleashed the full power of Frostmourne, the dark energy pouring down like a torrential storm.
Galen, unfazed, activated a full Divine Shield, the golden barrier shimmering against the onslaught. His lips moved, and he spoke a single, commanding phrase: "Airspace Lockdown!"
As his words echoed across the Frozen Throne, the sky above erupted in a blinding display of divine power.
A dozen portals tore open in the darkness, each a gateway of pure white light.
And from those portals emerged a legion of celestial beings.
Golden dragons, magnificent and terrible, poured forth from the heavens. The three demigod dragons – Nefarian, Sabellian, and Onyxia – led the charge, followed by a dozen more adult dragons of legendary power.
Their golden scales shimmered, their massive wings beat with the force of a hurricane, and their very presence pushed back the darkness, confining Invincible, and Arthas, to the platform.
"No!"
Arthas's face twisted in horror.
"This...this is impossible!"
For the nth time that day, his world shattered. Faced with the might of the Holy Dragons, he could only desperately pull at Invincible's reins, dodging the blasts of sacred dragonfire.
He was forced back, grounded once more on the platform.
"Arthas...you are a pathetic creature," Galen said, his voice filled with a pity that cut deeper than any blade. "You were meant to be a king, a wise and just ruler. Instead, you became a puppet, a prince controlled by a conspiracy and a sword. Your soul...consumed."