"Crack—"
A sharp snap rang out, and the whole world fell silent. Fordring's hair was still blowing in the wind, but it had stopped in place, because the wind had died. No, it wasn't just the wind. The falling snow, the swinging swords, the beads of sweat, the flowing blood—everything in the world had frozen at that very moment. When light and darkness met, what collided was not merely Ashbringer and Frostmourne, two peerless artifacts, but also the Holy Light and the forces of death. Their clash brought the entire world to a halt for one second.
When sound returned to the world, the silence gave way to chaos once more. The howling wind, the warriors' battle cries, and Bovar's anguished shout all erupted at once. But though the world had returned to normal, Frostmourne—now reduced to fragments—could not be restored.
Bovar stared blankly at the half of Frostmourne left in his hand, unable to tell whether he felt anger or sorrow. Countless Scourge undead were just as stunned. Suddenly freed from Frostmourne's control, they had no idea what to do.
But soon, their brutality and bloodlust took over. They attacked every living being and undead in sight. Their souls gave their bodies just one command: destroy.
The undead's savage emotions flooded into Bovar's mind, but the agony he had always feared never came. This time, Bovar was like a bystander, watching the souls—pure, yet savage—boil, clash, fight, and die within his soul.
After being freed from Frostmourne's control, Taelan stopped attacking Fordring and turned on the surrounding Scourge instead. He hadn't suddenly turned benevolent; he was absorbing the souls of the other Scourge.
He held an undead creature up before his eyes. Its soul slowly lifted from its skull, then became streaks of blue light that flowed into Taelan's