For The Lich King [DxD X WoW]

Prologue

Just as how life can be so beautiful it could bring a tear to your eye, so can it twist your life so badly in an instant that it makes you want to cry tears of despair.

Just how did it come to his? 

I did everything for them. I fought for them, I killed for them. I had dedicated my life to the light of God.. and yet, why is it that my former comrades in arms raised their swords against me?
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The rain poured hard, the sound of countless speeding raindrops crashing against the ground filled the air, accompanied by the distant sound of thunder. Heavy and fast footsteps clashing against the now mudded dirt along with the occasional splash as said foot stepped hard on a small puddle could be heard.

Then, multiple sounds that had similarities to the first footstep followed. It was clear someone was being chased by a group of people. The footsteps, along with the first one, was accompanied by the clanking and clinking noise of armor.

The one who was being chased panted heavily, a sign that he has been running for a long time now. Exhaustion was starting to chain him down. But he shrugged it off and kept running.

He didn't want to die.

No sane man wanted to die.

But its as if Life wanted him to, for he just reached a dead end at the edge of a cliff. He didn't even noticed he was heading there. How careless of him.

Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, he turned around. If he will die tonight, then he will go down fighting. He could see his chasers close in on him, wielding swords of holy properties. Holy swords.

He once wielded one. But now.. he wield a more wicked blade.

He stretched his right arm out to the side as it begins to glow a bright icy blue. And out came a sword the radiated one thing.

Death.

It was a long sword with icy-blue steel. It had an ox skull at the middle of the hilt, horns twisting around it. The blade had two prongs near the hilt, making somewhat resemble a Zweihänder. The sharp blade had sharp jags on one side, and had runes embedded on the flat side of the blade that glowed a bright aqua.

It was what people of the supernatural world would call a sacred gear.
And it's name was..

Frostmourne.

A runeblade that can wield the power of frost. But it's most terrifying power, is its ability to raise the dead as the wielder's army..

And that whoever is slain by the sword will have their souls trapped within the blade for as long as the current wielder lives.

It was a legendary weapon yes, capable of slaying gods. Most other would see wielding such power a blessing. But for him, it was a curse. It ruined his life, ruined everything he had worked for. His blood, sweat, and tears all for nothing because of this sword.

His faith in God dissipating. As if the almighty being was playing some sick joke on him by giving him this weapon.

But he had no choice. It was his only weapon. And a knight does not die empty-handed. 

And so he raised Frostmourne with two hands and got into a stance, as his chasers finally caught up and stared him down just as he did them. His beautiful blonde hair began turning to a snowy white. His emerald eyes becoming dead and ghoulish.

He never understood why this happens, apart from the fact that it only does when he uses Frostmourne.

"Arthas!" One of the holy knights shouted in anger. The man now known as Arthas was surprised. He wasn't called a heretic for once. "Your heresy ends here!"

They all took a stance of their own, with some being similar to one another. "Tell me.. what wrong have I done?" Arthas asked as his now ashen hair. The air suddenly started getting colder.

"Did you think I wanted to wield such accursed weapon?" His hands trembled. Not out of fear, but out of rage. He was an impulsive man, someone quick to anger. And his rage burned in his ghoulish green eyes.

"I fought for and along side all of you! I fought for the light! If anything, you should all be bowing your heads in respect for all that I have done for all of you!" He shouted as Frostmourne began whispering.. the eyes of the ox skull glowing brightly.

"You defiled the will of God! You stained his legacy and-" "I did no such thing!" Arthas interrupted him, the area beginning to freeze. The rain drops began turning into snowflakes. Their breaths now visible due to the cold.

"You accuse me simply because you hypocrites envied me!" He was also rather arrogant of his abilities. "Are sacred gears not gifts from God? Why then do you follows of the almighty one, discriminate ME simply because of the gift he bestowed upon me?! This.. this is treachery!"

"We need not heed the words of a heretic." One of the holy knights declared. Arthas took a deep breath to try and compose himself. He gave them a cold look.

"So be it then." Arthas said quietly, barely audible to his opponents. 

The entire cliff was basically winter season now. Snow covered the grass, as cold wind blew pass them. And as a single snowflake out of the many landed on the snowy ground, Arthas lunged at the group of holy knights, who prepared to attack the wielder of Frostmourne.
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After an hour, the fighting ceased. Countless bodies lied dead before Arthas. But the Death Knight did not come out of it unscathed. He was stabbed and slashed multiple times. 

And for reasons unknown, their holy swords dealt more damage and more pain that he thought they would. It baffled him. Holy Swords were meant to eliminate evils such as Devils. It was lethal to them.

But he knew for sure he wasn't one, so why did the Holy Swords hurt so much? 

Was he.. truly evil all along? He scoffed at the thought. The clouds had parted along with the rain, but was the cliff was still shrouded in snow and ice. Moonlight  revealed the Knight's heavily bruised body.

But a shadow soon casted over him. The last remaining Holy Knight, who led the others to kill the Death Knight, survived. He was breathing heavily. He too suffered injuries, but unlike Arthas, his wasn't lethal.

He had more than enough energy to strike down the heretic.

Arthas couldn't move his body anymore. Fatigue overtook him as the pain from the holy swords numbed his mind. He just sat there in the snow, waiting for his demise as he closed his eyes.

At least he went down fighting.

The Holy Knight smirked. "So long, Heret-" He was interrupted. The blow never arrived. Arthas opened his ghoulish eyes to see what happened, only to see the knight's body fall limply to the side, his head absent from his shoulders.

Decapitated? No, it couldn't be. His head was nowhere to be seen. 

It's as if his head was completely destroyed down to the subatomic level, leaving no trace behind.

His thoughts were interrupted when a beautiful shade of red entered his peripherals. He turned to see where it came from and saw a young woman with long crimson hair. Her blue eyes that was mix of kindness and mischief. 

He knew what she was based on her presence. A devil.

He would, by instinct, swung his sword at her neck. But he couldn't. He had no strength left and he had lost so much blood now. He was at death's doorstep. Funny how that is, because the Church and the Holy Knights called him a Death Knight apart from the usual Heretic.

His vision was already starting to blur.

The redheaded devil dropped to one knee so that her eyes met with his dying ghoulish ones.

"Do you wish to rest eternally in death, or do you seek to live once more and keep fighting?" She started speaking in a soft and gentle tone. "Does the fire in you burn brightly still, or has it been reduced to embers?"

Arthas tried speaking but found difficulty as he crouched down and threw up blood, losing even more of it.

The redhead instinctively began rubbing his back in comfort. Arthas breathed very heavily, desperately trying to crawl away from Death.

The devil continued speaking. "It would seem your comrades in arms betrayed you simply because of your power." She said as she looked around at the carnage. "Tell me.. do you desire revenge? Do you desire to show them who you truly are? Do you desire to keep living and see everything that this life has to offer with all of it's beauty and horror?" She asked Arthas.

The Death Knight regained enough strength to sat straight and tiredly look at the devil in the eyes. With what little strength he had left, he spoke. "Yes.. I do seek such things..." He answered weakly, his voice becoming a whisper. Yet it hold determination, his ghoulish eyes burning brightly.

The Devil smiled at this. She gently raised her hand in front of him and a glowing red knight chess piece appeared. 

"Then will you fight for me as my knight? Become my sword, and I shall become your reason to live. Allow me to give you second chance at life, a chance to rise to the very top of this world. Become my Devil Servant, become part of my Peerage, become part of my Family, and I promise to give that chance you seek and so rightfully deserve."

Ah, he had heard of this before. Devils after the War between the three factions created the Evil Pieces in order to replenish their numbers by reincarnating other races, mostly humans, into devils. 

Perhaps before being betrayed and hunted down like an animal, then being put down at Death's doorstep, he would have laughed at the offer. He would have insulted her for being trying to convert him into a devil.

But now? 

What was the point of resisting? Refuse it to retain his dignity as a human, as a follower of God? 

To hell with that idea. He didn't care anymore. He wanted to live. He wanted freedom from the Church. And even if he should be condemned to slavery by this Devil, he will one day break free and become a King.

He will live.

He will not die a weakling.

With difficulty, he bowed his head and placed a clenched fist on his left chest. "I.. pledge myself to you.. as your Knight..." He weakly said as he tried to muster as much of his remaining strength in his answer.

The Devil smiled, and began the ritual. "Very well then. From this point forward, you will now be the Knight of the heiress of the Gremory Clan. Hear me my knight, for I am your new master, Rias Gremory."

He felt himself made anew as the Evil Piece went inside his body, changing him. He was being pulled away from the clutches of Death. He was still heavily injured, but that changed soon.

The Devil, now known as Rias Gremory, embraced the Death Knight, using some form of magic to heal him.

He could feel his wounds healing, his vitality restoring. He absolute loathes being pampered like this, much less by some random devil he just met, it was very much out of character for him. But he had no strength left to fight back. He was exhausted. He was tired.

And when a person is consumed by fatigue, they desire only one thing.

Sleep. And sleep the Death Knight did.