At the very pinnacle of Icecrown Citadel, on a platform of swirling, frozen energy, Arthas Menethil, the Lich King, sat in regal splendor upon his throne!
He was clad in the legendary armor, each plate engraved with grotesque skulls, radiating an aura of death, chilling cold, and profound solitude. In his right hand, he held the cursed runeblade Frostmourne, its surface shimmering with malevolent energy, a silent promise of oblivion.
Suddenly, a change rippled through his ice-encrusted form. The Lich King stirred, his slightly closed eyes slowly opening, two piercing beams of ghostly blue light igniting within the sockets of the Helm of Domination!
The Lich King Arthas had awakened!
Arthas rose from his throne, his towering figure accentuated by the imposing armor, radiating a chilling aura that swept across the frozen citadel. His eyes, burning with cold, unholy fire, gazed northward, seemingly piercing through the swirling clouds and the raging blizzard, focusing on the fierce battlefield that raged below.
His voice, a hoarse, guttural growl that echoed with the power of the damned, broke the silence. "Frostmourne... is hungry!"
The Lich King's awakening sent a shockwave of dark energy through the undead army, invigorating their ranks and bolstering their resolve. He projected his will to the undead generals engaged in the brutal battles on the periphery, his commands resonating in their minds, driving them to greater acts of savagery.
Arthas was filled with a chilling confidence. Having absorbed the power left behind by the ancient orc shaman Ner'zhul, his strength had surged, stabilizing at the formidable mid-stage of a demigod. Combined with the seemingly endless legions of the Scourge at his command, he believed that no force in this world could stand against him!
He was on the verge of claiming dominion over Azeroth, of becoming the undisputed King of the Undead, and then, the world!
And the first step in his grand conquest was to completely annihilate the annoying Alliance Northrend Expedition, to crush their resistance and extinguish the flame of hope they dared to carry!
"Servants! Soldiers of the Scourge!" Arthas roared, his voice echoing across the frozen wastes. "Eliminate the living before you! Crush their bones, rend their flesh, and extinguish their pathetic lives! Let their screams be a testament to my power!"
At this moment, the previously somewhat divided factions within the Scourge, the rebellious Knights of the Ebon Blade and the treacherous San'layn, found themselves united by a common purpose, their individual ambitions subsumed by the will of their awakened master.
Dar'Khan Drathir, the cunning San'layn King, unfurled his blood-red cloak, his eyes burning with dark ambition. Using the swarms of gargoyles and the skeletal bone dragons in the sky as cover, he led the Blood Council and his elite vampires in a daring assault against the four Alliance airships soaring above the battlefield.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the Lich King's most powerful and terrifying champions, exchanged grim glances. Highlord Rivendare, the master of death and decay; Thassarian, the relentless human death knight; Mel'dura, the enigmatic Nightborne death knight; and Korialstrasz, the corrupted red dragon, simultaneously mounted their skeletal warhorses, their hooves striking sparks against the frozen ground. They drew their weapons, their blades dripping with unholy energy, and charged towards the ranks of the Silver Hand and the Knights of the Temple, leading thousands of elite Death Knights in a devastating assault!
At this time, the Alliance forces had been engaged in a brutal and protracted siege of the Dark Cathedral. The Stormwind Kingdom's Seventh Legion and the Gilnean Brigade, having borne the brunt of the initial assault, had been rotated out, replaced by the fresh Stromgarde First Legion and the Kul Tiran Ashen Knights, their ranks bolstered by seasoned veterans and zealous recruits.
The formations of the Silver Hand and the Knights of the Temple, supported by the thunderous fire of the steam tanks, stubbornly held the front line against the relentless tide of undead.
Danath Trollbane, wielding the legendary shield Truthguard and the holy longsword Oathbinder, fought with the fury of a cornered lion, beheading grotesque zombies, shattering brittle skeletons, and cleaving through foul-smelling abominations one after another. As a high-ranking general of the Alliance and Galen's cousin, he understood the vital importance of his mission. He had to fully engage and hold back the main force of the undead, creating a window of opportunity for Galen's daring decapitation operation!
Thinking of this, Danath struck the Truthguard shield with the Oathbinder longsword, the sound echoing across the battlefield, a defiant challenge to the undead horde. He roared with unwavering resolve, "Dogs of the Scourge! Is this the best you can muster? Don't you have anyone stronger to throw at us? Hahaha! Come and face the might of Stromgarde!"
The Four Horsemen, who were in the midst of their charge, had long since identified their primary targets within the paladin formations: the legendary Uther the Lightbringer, the stern Saidan Dathrohan, the valiant Danath Trollbane, and the steadfast Gavinrad the Dire. Danath's defiant roar served only to confirm their suspicions, drawing their attention like a beacon in the darkness. They turned their skeletal warhorses, their eyes burning with unholy fire, and charged directly towards the paladin leaders!
"Pitiful paladins!" Rivendare sneered, his voice a chilling rasp that echoed across the battlefield. "You still harbor the delusion that you can resist the might of the Lich King's most powerful knights! The Light cannot save you now! Your faith is a lie, and your lives are forfeit!"
Rivendare charged straight towards Danath, his blade dripping with necrotic energy, while the Nightborne and high elf death knights among the remaining three Horsemen respectively targeted Uther and Saidan Dathrohan, their movements swift and deadly. Thassarian, his face a mask of cold fury, engaged Gavinrad, their clash a whirlwind of steel and unholy power!
In the skies above, the San'layn vampires, led by the cunning Dar'Khan, infiltrated the Alliance airships from below, their movements swift and silent. Dar'Khan chose the flagship, the mighty Skybreaker airship, as his primary target. Just as he was about to command his subordinates to sabotage the engines and unleash chaos upon the unsuspecting crew, flames erupted around several of the San'layn, their bodies engulfed in holy fire!
"Long time no see, Councilor Dar'khan," a voice called out, laced with righteous fury and a hint of grim satisfaction. "I'm so lucky to have waited for you here. The citizens of Silvermoon City are waiting for me to bring your head back to them, as a trophy of vengeance!"
The new Kirin Tor councilor, Aethas Sunreaver, the fiery leader of the Sunreavers, appeared before the San'layn King with a squad of elite Spellbreakers, their arcane blades glowing with holy energy, their expressions grim and determined. He greeted Dar'Khan with the most polite tone he could muster, delivering the most brutal and vengeful greeting!
Behind the Alliance lines, the situation was rapidly escalating. Noticing the sudden and dramatic increase in the Scourge's resistance, the ferocity of their attacks, and the coordinated assault on their airships, Turalyon realized the gravity of the situation. He correctly surmised that the Lich King had awakened, likely due to Galen and his team's infiltration into the citadel. According to their carefully laid plans, Turalyon knew that he had to act swiftly, to reinforce their assault and increase the troop deployment to support Galen's mission.
"Order the Stratholme Battlegroup, the Hearthglen Battlegroup, the Moonglade Company, the Clearspring Company, Stromgarde's Second and Third Legions, the Sunfury Legion, and the Twilight's Hammer regiment to move out and join the assault!" Turalyon commanded, his voice booming across the battlefield, his orders relayed by swift messengers and magical communication.
"Also," he added, his gaze hardening with determination, "have Prince Varian Wrynn and Prince Liam Greymane prepare to re-enter the battle at any moment! Their strength and leadership will be crucial in this final push!"
While the fate of Azeroth hung in the balance on the chaotic battlefield outside, a different kind of confrontation was unfolding within the cold, silent walls of Icecrown Citadel.
Inside the citadel, Tirion Fordring, his face grim with righteous fury, had already subdued Professor Putricide, pinning the mad scientist to the ground with his armored boot. The power of the Holy Light, radiating from Tirion's very being, was continuously pouring into the professor's twisted body, causing him unimaginable agony!
The professor, his body wracked with pain, let out a series of prolonged and miserable screams, his voice echoing through the grotesque laboratory.
Tirion, seemingly having long reached his limit of patience with the professor's incessant wailing, and disgusted by the scientist's depravity, finally silenced him. With a swift and decisive wave of the Ashbringer, the legendary blade of pure light, he severed the head of the biochemical madman, ending his reign of terror and grotesque experimentation!
After the death of Professor Putricide, Galen and his team wasted no time in their pursuit of the Lich King. They quickly left the Scourge laboratory, their footsteps echoing in the silent corridors, and continued their search for the passage that would lead them to the upper levels of the spire, to the very heart of Icecrown Citadel.
"Ah, the self-proclaimed righteous Light has finally arrived," a voice echoed through the citadel, a voice that was both chilling and mocking, filled with ancient power and malevolent intent. "Grand Marshal Galen Hellscream, I have waited for you for a long time. Come, come before me... I will mercifully grant you and your pathetic warriors the final death you so desperately seek!"
The voice belonged to Arthas, the Lich King himself. His words, amplified by the dark magic that permeated the citadel, resonated deep within the souls of Galen's team, a chilling promise of the horrors that awaited them.
Immediately afterwards, a blinding flash of cold white light erupted on the bridge in the center of the citadel, illuminating the path forward. A shimmering portal, crackling with arcane energy, opened before them, a gateway to the Lich King's Frozen Throne!
Everyone in the team turned their eyes towards the heights of Icecrown Citadel, their gazes fixed on the swirling portal, the entrance to the Lich King's icy domain.
That was their ultimate destination, the end of their long and perilous journey!
The twenty-five warriors, the elite of the new generation of the Alliance, wiped their weapons clean, their faces grim but resolute, their eyes burning with determination. They waited for Galen's order, their trust in their leader unwavering.
They knew that outside, on the frozen plains of Icecrown Glacier, hundreds of thousands of Alliance troops were engaged in a desperate battle, holding back millions of undead, sacrificing their lives to create this opportunity, this narrow window of hope for them to strike down the Lich King!
The outcome of their battle, the clash between this small band of heroes and the Lord of the Scourge, would determine the fate of all of Azeroth, the future of the living world!
Galen looked at the firm, unwavering eyes of these warriors. Most of them were young, the cream of the crop, the elite of the new generation of the Alliance, ready to face the ultimate evil.
Galen knew, deep in his heart, that it was unlikely that they would be able to defeat the Lich King on their own. The purpose of bringing them along was not solely for their combat prowess, but also for him to act as a mentor, a guide, leading them to face the Lich King, allowing them to witness firsthand the immense power of a demigod of death.
After all, Galen still lacked that arrogant and invincible domineering aura, that presence that commanded respect and inspired awe.
He couldn't help but ask himself: who else, possessing such a powerful "cheat" like the Heart of Origin, would still choose to develop alongside the natives of Azeroth, to forge alliances and build a future together?
In the end, he knew that he still wanted to witness the awakening of the strongest Titan, Azeroth herself, the sleeping goddess, and he wanted to tie the fate of the natives of her world to his chariot, to ensure their survival and prosperity.
Was he being too cowardly? Too cautious?
Galen shook his head, a faint smile gracing his lips.
The smile, though subtle, broke the tense atmosphere that had gripped the team, easing their anxieties and bolstering their courage. The young warriors felt a surge of relief, their spirits lifted by the confidence of this undefeated war god of the Alliance!
"Since the Lich King has so graciously invited us to his abode," Galen said, his voice ringing with confidence and determination, his eyes blazing with righteous fury, "then let us go, warriors of Azeroth! Let us bring the light of justice to the heart of darkness!"