In Arthas's twisted mind, these five remaining figures were nothing more than a pathetic, final act of defiance. He would crush them utterly.
"Rise, my legions!"
With a guttural roar, Arthas summoned a horde of undead Vrykul onto the platform, a grotesque tide that surged towards Rexxar and Jaina!
Forced to defend against this new threat, Rexxar bellowed a war cry and called upon Misha, his loyal bear, to join the fray.
Arthas, his gaze burning with cold fury, turned his attention to Old Chen and Tirion. "Only you two insects remain. Prepare to be extinguished."
Then, Arthas unleashed his full, terrifying power. Gripping Frostmourne with both hands, he became a whirlwind of death, the rune blade a blur of black energy.
CRACK!CRACK!CRACK!
Old Chen barely registered the onslaught. A black shadow flashed before his eyes, and then agony erupted.
PFFT!
A torrent of panda blood erupted from his mouth. He was sent flying, crashing into the icy platform with a sickening thud.
Old Chen lay broken and paralyzed, his hands clutching the shattered remnants of his monk's staff. Only his legendary resilience and raw toughness had saved him from instant death.
Tirion, witnessing his comrade's near-fatal beating, was horrified. He desperately channeled a surge of Holy Light, sending it towards the fallen pandaren.
"You dare to look away from your own doom?"
Arthas pressed his attack, relentlessly driving Tirion back. He abandoned the courtly swordsmanship of his youth, relying instead on the brutal, overwhelming power of a death knight. He sought to crush Fordring beneath the sheer weight of his superior power.
Here, on the Frozen Throne, where the power of death reigned supreme, Arthas was unstoppable. He reveled in his dominance, the black energy of Frostmourne crackling around him like malevolent lightning, suffocating Fordring in its oppressive embrace.
"Hahahaha!"
Victory was within his grasp. Arthas battered Tirion to the ground, again and again, each blow a hammer strike against the paladin's dwindling defenses.
Tirion, clinging to life by the thinnest thread of Holy Light, was like a battered raft caught in a raging storm.
A wave of dark satisfaction washed over Arthas.
Here, he was a god.
"Fordring, your weakness...your pathetic struggles...your cries of pain...they are the sweetest symphony to my ears! They are proof of my ascendance!"
"I will raise you as my champion, my most favored death knight. You will witness the rebirth of this world, remade in my image. You will not be spared a single moment of its glorious transformation!"
CRACK!
With a final, shattering blow, Arthas shattered Tirion's golden shield. He plunged Frostmourne into the paladin's chest, the rune blade piercing his heart with the same cold finality as it had his father's.
Arthas wrenched Frostmourne free, his gaze sweeping over Jaina, who fought with desperate courage against the undead horde.
His eyes were devoid of all emotion, all warmth. He felt no remorse, no lingering affection.
He was no longer capable of such feelings. Galen had long since taken his heart, and severed the tether between him and the fragmented spirit of Sylvanas.
Raising Frostmourne high, Arthas channeled the full, terrifying power of the blade. Black tendrils of energy erupted from its tip, reaching out like grasping claws.
The dark energy snaked across the platform, binding the living and the dead. Jaina, Rexxar, the fallen heroes – all were caught in its unholy embrace.
"Behold! The greatest warriors of Azeroth! Chosen by Galen, they dared to stand against me! But was it truly justice that drove them? I think not!"
"Galen...you have forged these weapons. You have given me the greatest gift a king could ask for...you have given me the strength...the courage...to reshape this world. And now, you will be rewarded for your...generosity!"
Arthas poured more power into Frostmourne, the sky above the Frozen Throne darkening, twisting into a vortex of shadows.
"Watch as I raise them as the Scourge's most elite officers...my most loyal servants! They will become the instruments of my will, the harbingers of death and chaos!
"The world you cherish, Galen...it will fall by their hand. And you...you will be the first to fall before them!"
Arthas's laughter echoed across the frozen wasteland, a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph. "Hahahaha! The irony...it's delicious!"
"No!"
"This cannot be! How can their souls be gone?"
Heh!
It would be strange if their souls were still there.
The moment each warrior had fallen, Galen had felt it through the Origin Heart. He had claimed their souls, every single one, denying Arthas his prize.
Seeing that the moment was right, Galen gathered the full power of the Holy Light within him. He unleashed it in a blinding wave, shattering the death energies that bound him to the ice, and then, with a mighty heave, he shattered his icy prison.
The ice exploded outwards, a shower of glittering shards that rained down upon the Frozen Throne.
Arthas's head snapped towards Galen, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You...you manipulated their souls? I underestimated you, Galen."
"The Holy Light protects them," Galen said, his voice calm, yet resonating with power. "They are beyond your reach."
"No! It's impossible! The Holy Light cannot save them from me!" Arthas roared, his composure finally cracking. "Where was the Holy Light when I needed it to cleanse the plague from Stratholme? Where was it when I needed the power to defeat Mal'Ganis? Where was it when I needed to heal Muradin? The Holy Light is a lie! Only Frostmourne...only death...is real!"
His voice echoed, a tormented scream in the howling winds of the Frozen Throne.
Galen remained unmoved.
Sincerity brings about spirituality, he thought. If you lack the faith, the devotion of a Fordring, an Uther, a Turalyon...you cannot expect the Light to answer your call. Like a sapling in the shade, you simply failed to reach the sun.
"That's because you were unworthy."
Galen smiled, his gaze sweeping over Arthas and the cursed blade. Then, he drew the Ashbringer.
"Now...look at me."
In a moment that would be etched into the very fabric of the cosmos, Galen unleashed his full, divine might.
Avenging Wrath erupted, and then, the Guardians of the Ancient Kings.
One pair of wings...
Two pairs of wings...
Three pairs of wings...
Six wings of pure, radiant light!
And behind him, a golden giant, nearly fifteen feet tall, materialized, clad in shimmering armor of pure light.
"The Holy Light simply...refused you."
Galen's words, spoken with quiet authority, were the final blow to Arthas's already shattered sanity.
He roared, leveling Frostmourne at Galen.
"Die!"