Arthas collapsed, a broken figure, from Invincible's back.
The skeletal warhorse, its wing and leg scorched by the dragons' fiery breath, crashed to the ground, its unnatural strength finally failing.
The dragonfire continued to rain down. The golden dragons landed in a triangular formation, their eyes fixed on Arthas, a cage of living light.
The Holy Light seared him, burning away the last vestiges of his corrupted power. Even with Frostmourne, his body was failing him, the power of death being consumed by the relentless purity of the dragons.
Finally, his strength gave out. Arthas knelt, a broken king, and Frostmourne slipped from his charred, lifeless fingers.
He reached for it, a desperate, futile gesture, but a golden foot, guided by Galen's will through the Guardians of the Ancient Kings, landed on the rune blade, pinning it to the icy ground.
"No!"
The Holy Light foot severed the connection between Arthas and Frostmourne. He felt his power draining away, the lifeblood of his dark existence flowing out of him like a ruptured artery.
"Give me back the sword!" he screamed, his voice raw with desperation.
Frostmourne was his. It had given him power, twisted and corrupted though it was. For that power, he had slaughtered his own people, destroyed his kingdom. He was nothing without it.
"Your sword...this sword never belonged to you," Galen said, his voice ringing with finality.
Arthas looked up, his face a mask of shock and disbelief.
PFFT!
Ashbringer, the blade of light, struck true. It pierced Arthas's chest, mirroring the death of his father. Holy Light flooded his body, burning away the corruption, destroying his soul.
The wound was fatal. The power of death within him was no match for the purifying fire of Ashbringer. The Helm of Domination, his symbol of power, slipped from his head, falling to the ice near Galen's feet.
PFFT!
Arthas was not a true death knight, not one of the resurrected. His body was...unique. Now, blood, real blood, gushed from his mouth.
"It...is...over..."
"Before me...there is only...darkness..."
The Lich King's white hair, once a symbol of his power, now danced wildly in the icy wind, framing a face gaunt and pale. The blue glow faded from his eyes, revealing the man beneath the monster. He gave up the fight, accepting his end.
Perhaps it was the loss of Frostmourne, but his mind cleared in his final moments.
His life flashed before him, a fleeting dream. His birth, a moment of joy for his father. His youth, a time of hope for Lordaeron. His fall, a tragedy that had plunged his kingdom into darkness and despair.
"There is no eternal kingship, Arthas," Galen said, his voice soft, yet firm. "It is finished."
The light faded from Arthas's eyes. His head drooped, his body slumped, and he fell, lifeless, onto the cold stone.
On the Frozen Throne, the second Lich King was dead.
"Detecting a demigod-level soul. Collect it?"
"Collect," Galen commanded.
A translucent soul, the essence of Arthas Menethil, rose from his body and vanished, claimed by Galen's power.
Galen sighed, a complex mix of emotions swirling within him. He stood alone in the center of the Frozen Throne, the wind whipping around him.
"My son. The day you were born, the very forests of Lordaeron whispered the name: Arthas.
My child. I watched with pride as you grew stronger, becoming a weapon of righteousness.
Remember, we have always ruled our kingdom with strength and wisdom.
I also know that you will use your great power cautiously.
But the truest victory, my son, is stirring the hearts of your people.
There will be a day, my son, when my life will reach its end. And you shall ascend the throne."
The words of King Terenas, a memory of a time that was lost, echoed in Galen's mind.
Yes, it's over.
In this world, as in the world he remembered, the Lich King was defeated. And he, Galen, had been the one to end him, here, on the Frozen Throne.
Galen looked up, closing his eyes against the stinging snow. He let the ice crystals fall on his face, melting against the warmth of his living flesh.
Then, he opened his eyes, his gaze hardening with purpose. The battle was over, but the war was far from won.
He knelt, and from his bag of holding, he began to lay out a series of arcane materials, carefully arranging them into a complex pattern.
A resurrection circle.
Galen possessed several resurrection spells. The Holy Paladin's resurrection could restore life to those who had died recently, like the fallen heroes of the raid.
But the resurrection circle, a technique developed by the legendary Aegwynn, could restore life to a soul that had been dead for far longer, provided the body was intact, and the soul was whole.
And, crucially, the body did not have to be the original.
With Arthas's corpse lying nearby, fresh from death, Galen had the perfect opportunity.
As the circle glowed with power, Galen retrieved a ball of pure energy, a captured hero spirit from the Halls of Origination.
He placed the spirit into Arthas's body, and resumed the ritual.
Powerful magic flowed, repairing the damage to the corpse, restoring life to the dead flesh. And then, the body stirred. The eyes opened.
"Kel'Thuzad greets his master, and thanks his master for granting me new life!"
Galen had not restored Arthas. He had given Arthas's body to Kel'Thuzad, whose soul Jaina and the others had recovered from Naxxramas.
"Without a master, the Scourge will crumble. Their numbers are diminished, thanks to my efforts, but it would be a waste to let them fall into chaos. They need a Lich King, a single, powerful will to control them."
Galen bent down, and picked up the Helm of Domination.
"This helm represents a cruel fate. It no longer belongs to the living."
"It is your burden now, Kel'Thuzad."
"No one is more suited than you."