The Lich King

Arthas slowed Invincible and ascended the spiraling ice stairs along the edge of the Frozen Throne's tower. Amid the swirling souls and endless cold winds, he heard faint singing.

More precisely, it was a dirge.

A dirge for a fallen prince and a lost kingdom.

As the dirge rang out, wind and snow howled across the glacier, and sunlight turned pale beneath the gloomy clouds.

Light reflected off the ice and snow in dazzling flashes. Everything seemed to grow unreal, and before Arthas's eyes, a blurred human silhouette gradually came into focus.

The two of them walked one behind the other along the path to the top of the Frozen Throne. The figure was almost exactly the same height and build as Arthas.

Following behind him, Arthas could even make out the snowflakes clinging to his armored boots and the footprints they left in the snow.

Yet when Arthas reached the places the other man had passed, the snow was undisturbed again, showing that no one but him stood in this land of death.

The man ahead wore black plate armor engraved with skulls. His tattered blue-and-gold cloak had been stained black by dried blood.

At Arthas's signal, Invincible whinnied and entered a bank of shadowy mist, disappearing from the Physical World. The prince landed in the snow and followed the figure upward.

Slowly, the figure stopped and looked up at the summit of the Frozen Throne once more. His steps slowed, but this apparent hesitation lasted only a few seconds.

The weapon in his hand was the very same cursed blade Arthas held: Frostmourne.

Watching the figure approach the top of the Frozen Throne, Arthas quickened his pace until he was only a few meters behind him.

Just as he was about to catch up, the figure suddenly stopped and turned to look at Arthas.

Pale skin, unkempt stubble, lifeless gray-white hair, and... a face identical to Arthas's own.

A complicated emotion showed in "Arthas's" eyes. Was it regret? Excitement? Or exhaustion after endless slaughter and madness?

"Arthas" met Arthas's eyes, yet he seemed not to see him. Instead, his gaze passed through the prince to the endless road behind him.

The way back could no longer be found. Only profound darkness lay within sight.

"I have come."

A familiar, hoarse voice rang in Arthas's ears, but it did not sound as though someone else had spoken. It sounded more like Arthas talking to himself.

After those words, everything about "Arthas," even the wind and snow around him, froze in place.

Arthas sighed, then slowly stepped forward and swept a hand toward this "Arthas," who resembled a monochrome reflection of himself.

The figure rippled like a still pool disturbed. Then, like fine sand scattered by the wind, he slipped through Arthas's fingers and vanished into the snowstorm.

-This was not a trick of the Lich King, but a true vision seen by the living in this place where reality bordered death.

Arthas watched his other self accept his fallen fate and finally choose to ascend the Frozen Throne, becoming one with the Lich King.

Though he was no longer that "Arthas," seeing his own apparition take that step still left him with a tangle of emotions.

Fate was the most unpredictable script of all. Even the Bronze Dragonflight, watching from the audience, would ultimately become part of the play. No one had ever unraveled that vast web.

Once the apparition of "Arthas" scattered on the wind, Arthas drew a deep breath and looked up at the enormous ice crystal atop the Frozen Throne.

It was shadow ice from the Twisting Nether, and sealed within it was a soul burdened with grievous sins, the very catalyst for the Burning Legion's corruption of the orcs-Ner'zhul.

The former chieftain of the Shadowmoon Clan and elder shaman of the orcs had countless ties to their downfall. He had also single-handedly brought about the destruction of their homeworld, Draenor.

Before Draenor reached the brink of collapse, the old shaman had obtained an artifact called the [Scepter of Sargeras]. Its primary function was to tear through the space between the Twisting Nether and the physical universe, opening semipermanent portals.

By then, Draenor had been corrupted by fel beyond salvation. Ner'zhul tried to open portals across the Astral Plane to find new worlds the orcs could invade or inhabit.

His plan ultimately failed. Perhaps the Scepter of Sargeras falling into his hands had been a trap from the very beginning.

Ner'zhul had failed to consider what Draenor could withstand. That world on the verge of collapse could not endure so many astral portals, and those massive gateways, similar to the [Dark Portal], eventually triggered an enormous explosion.

The entire planet of Draenor was torn apart in the explosion, leaving only a few shattered continents floating in the endless void.

The explosion also brought Ner'zhul to the attention of Kil'jaeden the Deceiver, a leader of the Burning Legion. The Legion's leader was already furious over the orcs' failed invasion of Azeroth.

Using magic beyond mortal comprehension, he tore Ner'zhul's body apart, preserved his soul, and handed him over to the nathrezim. Endless torment awaited him.

Suffering a fate worse than death, Ner'zhul begged the demon lord for a chance to redeem himself through service. Kil'jaeden promptly killed him, then resurrected him in another spectral form.

The Deceiver sealed Ner'zhul's soul inside a vast crystal of shadow ice, forging it into an eternal prison. He then hurled him into Azeroth to build an army of death and undermine the world from within.

Five nathrezim descended upon Azeroth alongside him as his "jailers," both to supervise Ner'zhul and to prepare for the Burning Legion's next invasion.

Ner'zhul thus named himself the "Lich King" and, with the dreadlords' assistance, began building an undead army. He called it the "Scourge," meaning a scourge upon all living beings.

But Ner'zhul had no genuine desire to be the Burning Legion's lackey. He merely feigned obedience under the pressure of Kil'jaeden's immense power.

A turncoat would always be a turncoat. Once Ner'zhul gained enough strength, he began planning to purge the Legion's spies from the undead Scourge.

The dreadlords were busy carrying out Kil'jaeden's orders. Combined with Ner'zhul's earlier groveling, this had caused them to let their guard down completely.

Now Ner'zhul had learned to merge the consciousnesses and souls of the undead to strengthen himself. Through the power radiating from the shadow ice of the Frozen Throne, he could spread his consciousness to almost every corner of Azeroth.

That was why Kel'Thuzad could hear the Lich King's summons from as far away as the Eastern Kingdoms.

Standing before Ner'zhul, the Lich King, Arthas also felt the immense pressure emanating from him.

Ner'zhul's body had long since been obliterated, and his soul was imprisoned in the ice. Frozen alongside him was a suit of pitch-black armor.

No, pitch-black was not quite right. The armor seemed to absorb all light and thought. An ordinary person who stared at it for even a short while would feel their soul being torn apart.

"You think wielding Frostmourne gives you the right to face the Lich King's might?!"

Ner'zhul's soul-whispers echoed in Arthas's ears. The voice carried magic steeped in hatred and resentment, attempting to influence his mind.

But Arthas had long known the day would come when he faced the Lich King. He had already tempered his mind until it was as indestructible as elementium.

The Lich King's whispers were like fierce winds howling between mountain peaks, unable to shake them in the slightest.

"Your mind is indeed strong. But can you face the darkness within your heart?"

The Frozen Throne suddenly vanished from view, and Arthas found himself on a chaotic battlefield.

There, his family and dearest friends were being slaughtered and defiled by the Scourge. They fought bravely, only to fall at last beneath a sea of undead.

And the butcher wielding Frostmourne was Arthas himself.

"You... betrayed the Holy Light..."

Uther lay on the ground, covered in blood. The Holy Light had failed to protect the Grand Knight. After falling, he rose again as an agent of darkness, turning his warhammer on his former comrades.

The liches drew Jaina's soul from her corpse and transformed her into a maddened banshee through a ritual filled with pain and torment.

Scourge death knights cut off Muradin's and Brann's heads and mounted them on spears. While defending his son and queen, the king of Stormwind City was struck in the heart by dark magic and fell forever. Queen Tiffin and Prince Anduin were mercilessly murdered by the Scourge as well.

The corpse of Ranger-General Sylvanas hung high on the outer wall of the floating fortress Naxxramas. When Arthas looked over, he found the bodies of countless other Alliance heroes displayed there as trophies.

And before Arthas stood King Terenas, his own father, whose chest he had pierced.

The hellish scene would have broken the spirit of any brave soldier. Yet Arthas stood in the middle of the battlefield without showing the slightest fear or distress, even as his father's blood still dripped from Frostmourne.

"A fine display. It seems you put quite some effort into preparing it."

Arthas remained expressionless. If an illusion like this could make him submit to the darkness within, how could he possibly live up to his other identity?

"If I were merely a paladin, seeing everything I loved defiled like this would probably leave me consumed by uncontrollable guilt."

"But, Ner'zhul, what I have experienced and imagined is far darker than this!"

Arthas's tone was unremarkable, yet Ner'zhul, watching from the shadows, sensed something amiss.

Blue light began spilling from Frostmourne in the prince's hand. The vivid glow of souls flowed like fireflies, and one corner of the illusion began to crumble.

Another scene took its place.

Within an endless void, one half was filled with emerald-green fel flames, while the other held nothing but a boundless purple-black abyss. The Lich King instinctively reached out with his mind to probe the unfamiliar space.

Bang!

The illusion sustained by the Lich King abruptly shattered. Arthas caught one broken shard of it and watched it dissolve completely in his hand.

"Your curiosity is as excessive as ever." Arthas put away Frostmourne, took the warhammer from his back, and advanced toward the shadow ice crystal, step by step.

With every step, the pressure exerted by the Lich King grew stronger, but none of it could halt Arthas's advance. Instead, his probing a moment earlier had wounded the Lich King's own mind.

He had looked directly at something he should never have seen. That will of madness and destruction had nearly overwhelmed his defenses.

Though wounded, Ner'zhul still possessed power far beyond mortal limits. Upon the Frozen Throne, he could crush even an ordinary demigod on the level of the soul.

But he had encountered Arthas, an unusual "paladin." Unlike other paladins, whose faith in the Holy Light made them overly rigid and righteous, Arthas concealed a truly dark heart beneath his radiant exterior.

Where the Holy Light could not reach, shadows would inevitably gather.

As an embodiment of both the Holy Light and death, Arthas had begun manipulating death and toying with souls even earlier than Ner'zhul. Ner'zhul's understanding of his weaknesses was fundamentally mistaken.

That went doubly for his understanding of darkness-Arthas knew far more about the dark side of the world than Ner'zhul did.

He even knew Ner'zhul's weaknesses, one of which was his curiosity.

Had he not possessed such intense curiosity about the void, often using his shamanic soul abilities to wander the Astral Plane, the orcs would not have drawn the Burning Legion's attention so quickly.

Arthas had exploited the higher order of his own power to invade Ner'zhul's illusion in turn, showing him a glimpse of its source.

Naturally, the Lich King had been unable to resist sending out his soul energy to investigate, allowing Arthas to turn the tables on him.

"Do not celebrate too soon... human. Sooner or later, you will belong to me!"

Ner'zhul's voice seethed with anger and resentment. He had been tortured to death, then resurrected as a specter imprisoned within armor and ice. His world had been brutally destroyed, and his hatred was the source of his strength.

Accompanying the Lich King's whispers, an enormous arm formed of ice and shadow thrust out of the glacier, followed by another on the opposite side.

Though his body was firmly imprisoned and unable to move, that did not mean the Lich King could not affect matter through the power of his soul. The Frozen Throne, situated in the gap between worlds, was the source of his power.

"I am the only master here!"

Arthas's gaze turned icy as he gripped the Revenge of the Holy Light with both hands. Against a puppet formed from an extension of the Lich King's power, Frostmourne, which had yet to absorb a great many souls, would be of little use.

The last few battles had already exhausted the souls he had gathered. As for Mal'Ganis's soul, Arthas had another use for him and had no intention of wasting him on Ner'zhul.

So he decided to use the Holy Light to send this lost, wandering soul on his final journey.