World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Unchained King
Prologue: A Soul That Refused to Die (fan made)
When the champions of Azeroth defeated the Jailer within the Sepulcher of the First Ones, they believed many ancient evils had finally come to an end.
They were wrong.
As Zovaal fell, countless souls imprisoned within the Maw were scattered across reality. Most returned to their rightful place in the Shadowlands.
One did not.
A single fragment of Arthas Menethil escaped.
Not the remorseful fragment seen during the Jailer’s defeat.
Not the prince.
Not the paladin.
The monster.
The piece of Arthas that embraced Frostmourne.
The piece that murdered his father.
The piece that smiled as kingdoms burned.
The true Lich King.
That fragment vanished into the darkness between worlds.
And it waited.
The Frozen Throne Awakens
Three years after the Shadowlands closed, strange storms began gathering over Northrend.
The skies above Icecrown darkened.
Snow fell black as ash.
Undead creatures long thought destroyed began rising from forgotten graves.
The Knights of the Ebon Blade sent scouts into Icecrown.
None returned.
Then one night, every death knight on Azeroth heard the same voice.
A voice they had hoped never to hear again.
A voice like steel scraping against ice.
“My champions… return to me.”
Bolvar Fordragon felt it immediately.
The call.
The domination.
The hunger.
Something had awakened beneath Icecrown.
Something impossible.
Frostmourne Reforged
Deep within the shattered caverns beneath the Frozen Throne rested the fragments of Frostmourne.
For years they had lain dormant.
Now they began moving.
One by one.
Piece by piece.
The shards floated through the darkness.
Bound together by shadow.
By hatred.
By death itself.
As the final fragment locked into place, the cavern shook.
The sword screamed.
Not metaphorically.
Actually screamed.
Millions of trapped souls cried out from within its blade.
A skeletal hand emerged from the darkness.
Then another.
Ancient armor forged from frozen death wrapped around a towering figure.
Blue eyes ignited beneath a crown of black ice.
Arthas Menethil opened his eyes.
And smiled.
There Must Always Be a Lich King
The world had learned a terrible lesson after the Helm of Domination was destroyed.
There did not need to be a Lich King.
The Scourge could survive without one.
But what Azeroth never learned was something far worse.
The Scourge had spent years evolving.
Growing.
Adapting.
Waiting.
Without a master, the undead had become wild.
Yet beneath Northrend, they had slowly gathered around whispers.
Whispers of Arthas.
Whispers of their king.
Now he had returned.
Not as a servant of the Jailer.
Not as a pawn of the Burning Legion.
Not controlled by Ner’zhul.
For the first time in history, Arthas stood alone.
Completely free.
Completely evil.
And more powerful than ever.
The Fall of Icecrown
Bolvar assembled the Ebon Blade and launched an assault against Icecrown.
Thousands marched.
Death knights.
Champions.
Dragonriders.
Mages.
Paladins.
Veterans of countless wars.
None were prepared.
When Arthas appeared atop the Frozen Throne, the battlefield froze solid.
Literally.
Entire armies became statues of ice.
Bolvar charged first.
Their blades collided.
Shadow against shadow.
Frost against flame.
The battle lasted less than a minute.
Arthas shattered Bolvar’s weapon.
Crushed his armor.
And raised him into the air with a single hand.
“You wore my crown.”
Bolvar struggled.
“You were never worthy.”
Frostmourne pierced his chest.
The Highlord of the Ebon Blade fell.
And rose moments later.
As Arthas’s first new death knight.
The New Scourge
The old Scourge had relied on necromancy.
The new Scourge relied on domination.
Every soul slain by Frostmourne joined Arthas instantly.
No resurrection required.
Entire armies vanished overnight.
Cities reported citizens walking into the wilderness after hearing voices in their dreams.
The dead marched willingly.
The living followed unwillingly.
The Scarlet Crusade was annihilated.
Silvermoon came under siege.
The Ghostlands erupted with undead dragonhawks.
Even the Dragon Isles felt the spread of death.
The Aspects gathered and realized a horrifying truth.
This was not the Scourge.
This was something new.
Something stronger.
Something closer to what the Jailer himself had envisioned.
The King’s Return
News spread throughout Azeroth.
Arthas Menethil had returned.
Many dismissed it as impossible.
Until he marched into Lordaeron.
The ruins of his former kingdom stood silent as thousands watched.
Arthas approached the throne room where he had murdered his father.
For the first time in decades, he sat upon the throne.
The undead knelt.
Darkness spread across the city.
Then his voice echoed across the kingdom.
“Citizens of Lordaeron.”
“I have come home.”
The dead erupted from every graveyard in the nation.
Millions answered his call.
The Last Alliance
With Azeroth facing extinction, old enemies united.
The Horde.
The Alliance.
The Dragonflights.
The Earthen.
The Ebon Blade.
The Illidari.
Even former enemies joined forces.
A final assault was launched against Icecrown Citadel.
The greatest army ever assembled.
At its center stood King Anduin Wrynn.
As the armies approached, Arthas appeared above the Frozen Throne.
Floating.
Suspended in a storm of death magic.
Behind him loomed Frostmourne.
Now larger than before.
Cracked with cosmic power stolen from the Shadowlands.
Anduin shouted across the battlefield.
“Your reign ends today!”
Arthas laughed.
The same cold laugh heard at Stratholme.
The same laugh heard before Lordaeron burned.
“No.”
The sky darkened.
Ice covered the world.
Millions of undead rose from beneath the snow.
Arthas raised Frostmourne.
“Today…”
The dead answered.
“…it begins.”
Epilogue: The Age of the Damned
The story ends with defeat.
Not victory.
Not hope.
Darkness.
Icecrown expands across Northrend.
The undead sweep across kingdoms.
Stormwind prepares for siege.
Orgrimmar closes its gates.
The Dragon Aspects vanish.
And in the frozen darkness of Lordaeron, Arthas sits upon a throne of ice.
The true Lich King.
Unchained.
Unforgiven.
Unstoppable.
His glowing eyes gaze across a dying world.
And his final words echo into the night.
“This world was mine once.”
“Soon… it will be mine again.”
The screen fades to black.
WORLD OF WARCRAFT
WRATH OF THE UNCHAINED KING
“There must always be a Lich King.”