Wrath of the Light

Chapter Sixteen: Falric's Hour

He was worthy of Frostmourne. He claimed the sword as his own. Or perhaps, it claimed him.

Truthfully Arthas did not remember the return journey. He came walking from the waygate holding his blade in hand and marveling at it. A man who had remained loyal to him through much approached. Was his name Falric? Yes, that was it. He could hear the sound of battle raging from the base.

'Prince Arthas!' cried Falric. 'Where is Muradin? We can't hold out for much longer.'

'Muradin is dead.' said Arthas, feeling some regret. 'But take heart captain. The enemy will not long stand against the might of Frostmourne.' He made his way forward, and Falric followed looking concerned.

Entering the base, Arthas saw that Falric had been right. A section of wall had been caved in. The undead streamed over it, their way barred by the stalwart forces of Lordaeron. His men fought tooth and nail to hold them back. Riflemen stood on the walls, firing, while canon shot into the ranks of the encroaching hordes. The bodies of countless undead lay scattered across the field. Commoners were dragging bodies back behind the line to save them from despoilment. And far beyond the battle, Arthas saw him.

Mal'ganis was watching, directing his forces against the Alliance. The Dreadlord Mal'ganis was the one behind all of this. He'd made Arthas slay his people, and caused untold ruin. Because of him, those closest to Arthas had one by one betrayed him. If not for the Dreadlord, so much that had been lost would still have existed. Their eyes met. The Dreadlord smiled.

Hatred filled Arthas heart, and he rushed forward. As he passed his dead comrades, he raised Frostmourne and summoned the light. The many dead soldiers rose to new life as Arthas passed through his forces and entered the fray. He rushed past a host of ghouls and abominations and halted. Spinning Frostmourne around, he faced the rest of his enemy.

The ghouls exploded into a mass of blood as across the undead lines his enemies knew fear. Arthas laid about him, slashing down everything in sight. He cleaved apart the hosts of the undead like a hot knife through butter. Raising one hand, he summoned down a pale light to obliterate an entire line of the undead. His forces rallied behind him. Yet they could not keep up with his advanced as he charged forth towards Mal'ganis.

Once again the Dreadlord fled, disappearing into green mist. Yet Arthas knew somehow where he had fled, and he did not mind waiting a bit longer. Instead, he fell upon the remaining undead, hacking through them. Dozens fell with one sweep of his blade as a smile came to Arthas' face. He waded through them, hacking and slashing without end. More and more came out of the passes to meet him and each one met a similar fate. Crypt fiends launched their dark magic at him to no avail, and he tore through them as well. Arthas didn't care. The blade in his hand was perfect! It was everything he could have ever desired in a sword! With this, he would undo all of his enemies!

A vast host of undead clustered around him, rushing at him from all sides. Arthas' smile never dimmed as he drove the blade into the ground. The light rose around him and obliterated all of them in an instant. From the battlements his men watched, looking with awe and horror at what was occurring. Arthas felt a twinge of annoyance at this. It was true that with Frostmourne he could defeat the entire enemy army alone. Yet they should be doing something!

'Falric!' he called. 'There is an undead bastion to the east of here! Take all the knights and raze it to the ground! Let none survive!' It didn't occur to him to ask how he knew these things. Only that the complete annihilation of his enemies must be done.

'As you will my King,' said Falric, recovering somewhat, 'I mean, my Prince.' He turned to a soldier. 'You, ready a horse and gather the knights! We march!'