(AN: Just finished another version, which for me works. Hope you enjoy this one.)
Elias—no, Arthas Menethil—sat upon the throne he had carved from frost and will, one gauntleted hand resting lazily on the armrest.
The air itself seemed to bend around him, heavy with death magic, cold enough that even Thor's breath came out in faint mist.
Before him stood Earth's mightiest heroes.
Steve Rogers held his ground at the front, shield lowered but ready.
Tony Stark hovered slightly above the ground, helmet retracted but eyes locked on Elias.
Natasha and Clint flanked the group, silent and watchful. Bruce Banner stood tense, hands twitching slightly at his sides. Thor gripped Mjolnir, jaw tight.
And to the side, leaning with deceptive ease, stood Loki—newly freed, yet uncharacteristically quiet.
Steve broke the silence.
"What's your plan now?"
Arthas did not move at first. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, ice creaking beneath him.
"I'll remain here… for a week," Elias answered calmly, his voice layered with something ancient and cold. "After that, I return home."
A faint ripple of unease passed through the group.
Before anyone could respond, a streak of light tore through the sky.
It hit the ground with a thunderous impact behind them, sending shards of ice skittering outward.
Carol Danvers rose from the crater, glowing faintly, eyes already locked onto the throne.
"Well," she said flatly, brushing frost from her shoulder, "that saves me the trouble of tracking you down."
No one spoke.
Her gaze shifted briefly to the Avengers—then back to Elias.
"You raised the dead civilians," she continued, her tone sharpening. "S.H.I.E.L.D. wants answers."
A pause.
"So do I."
Arthas remained seated, expression unreadable beneath the helm.
Carol took a step forward.
"So," she said, crossing her arms slightly, "care to come with me freely for questioning?"
A faint glow began building around her fists.
"Or is it gonna be the hard way?"
Steve immediately turned toward her.
"Why are you provoking him?"
Carol didn't even look at him.
"I clearly am not," she replied, voice clipped.
"I just want him to follow me back to Fury and answer questions about why he could raise the dead."
Tony scoffed lightly, shaking his head.
"Yeah, because that sounded like a polite invitation."
Thor stepped forward slightly.
"You would do well to temper your tone. This one is no ordinary foe."
Carol finally turned, looking at them—really looking at them now.
And what she saw… made her expression shift.
From neutral. To unimpressed.
"To him?" she said, gesturing vaguely toward the throne. "Or to you?"
Clint frowned. "That's not helping."
"No," Carol shot back, "what's not helping is all of you acting like this is the end of the world again."
Natasha narrowed her eyes. "You weren't here."
Carol's expression hardened.
"Yeah. I wasn't."
A beat.
"And somehow," she continued, voice rising slightly, "you still struggled against the weakest force in the galaxy."
That landed really hard.
Tony straightened. "Okay, she's like a brat."
"All you had to do," Carol cut him off, "was destroy the mothership."
Bruce blinked. "We didn't know that."
Carol let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.
"You didn't—?"
Her composure cracked.
"Everyone in the galaxy knows that!" she snapped, her voice suddenly loud against the frozen wasteland.
"That's a basic knowledge of the Chitauri forces!"
Steve's jaw tightened. "We were dealing with an alien army for the first time—"
"And you figured nothing out?" Carol shot back.
"No strategy? No intel? You just—what—punched until something worked?"
Thor's grip on Mjolnir tightened. "You insult warriors who fought to protect their realm."
"I'm stating facts," Carol said coldly.
"If I had been here, that invasion would've lasted five minutes."
Tony folded his arms. "Yeah, we've all heard the highlight reel."
Clint muttered, "Loud and clear."
The tension spiked.
Power began to gather again around Carol, faint but noticeable.
Thor stepped forward. Tony's mask closed. Bruce inhaled slowly. Natasha shifted her stance.
Clint's right hand hovered near his remaining arrows.
Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained.
And atop the Frozen Throne, Elias watched the drama unfold.
Honestly, he thought, this would've been perfect with popcorn and soda in hand right now.
He leaned slightly against his throne, gauntleted fingers tapping once against the ice as the argument escalated, his unseen gaze moving between them like a spectator at a performance.
They were dangerously getting close to a clash.
A fight between them would certainly erupt and later make people question them.
But then a voice cut through everything.
Sharp and authoritative.
"Enough."
All of them hear Nick Fury's grim and unimpressed voice through the comms.
"I don't know what kind of circus this is turning into," Fury said, his voice carrying easily across the frozen field, "but you might want to remember—"
"—the man in armor who raised the dead is currently watching all of you."
A brief pause.
"Play this opera with great entertainment."
Silence fell, and all eyes turned back toward Arthas.
His head tilted a bit, acting innocently.
"What?"
A low, amused chuckle echoed from him.
Arthas leaned back slightly, one gauntleted hand propping his chin as he regarded them all like actors on a stage.
"I must say…" Elias began, his voice smooth, carrying easily across the frozen expanse. "I'm impressed."
No one moved. His helm tilted ever so slightly.
"A little more," he continued, almost thoughtful, "and I might have become a fan."
That did it.
Carol's patience—already worn thin—finally snapped.
"Yeah," she muttered, light flaring around her, "we're done here."
She shot forward like a comet.
"The hard way it is."
"Carol, wait—!" Steve called out.
"Don't—!" Tony added.
Too late.
She crossed the distance in a blink and drove a full-force punch straight at Arthas' face and stopped.
Arthas hadn't moved. Only his index finger was raised.
Pressed lightly against her fist.
The impact that should have shattered mountains… went nowhere.
Telekinesis coiled around her arm, her body—locking her in place.
Carol's eyes widened slightly, and in that frozen moment, a translucent prompt appeared before Elias' vision.
[Task #2
Objective: As a Villain, you must act as one!
Details:
Proceed to the Battle of New York timeline and raise the dead civilians using the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis.
Status: Completed
Reward: Regeneration of Muzan Kibutsuji
Punishment: negated ]
Elias immediately stopped time in alarm.
Carol was frozen mid-strike. The Avengers were mid-motion.
Even the drifting frost in the air hung motionless. Elias blinked once behind the helm.
He read the notification again, uninterrupted this time.
Then exhaled in relief.
"Thank goodness," he muttered under his breath.
"Just regeneration… not the full demon package."
That would've been a problem. But this? This he could live with, or rather, not die with.
At least now he won't die so easily, just like Deadpool and Wolverine.
Yeah… he could work with that.
Then, another prompt.
[Task #2
Objective: As a Villain, fight the heroes in front of you.
Details:
Use the Frostmourne to turn the Chitauri bodies into an undead army. Use the souls already available inside the blade since the Chitauri bodies do not have one. Since you are a villain, you cannot win and can only retreat if your army of undead is defeated.
Reward: ???
Punishment: ??? ]
Elias stared at it longer this time.
"…Seriously?"
He sighed in surrender.
"Well," he muttered, "I really don't want another punishment."
Time resumed.
—CRACK—
With a casual flick of his finger, Carol flew away.
A blur of force sent her rocketing across the battlefield, crashing through one building—
—and slamming into another.
The impact echoed like thunder.
Dust and debris exploded outward as her body embedded into concrete.
The Avengers froze. Then everyone adjusted themselves, ready for anything.
Natasha narrowed her eyes at Arthas.
"We need to calm this down. Now."
Steve raised a hand slightly, stepping forward.
"Everyone—stand down."
Then, he spoke to Arthas.
"Listen," Steve called, voice steady despite the tension.
"That wasn't supposed to happen. She just suddenly lost control."
Tony added, "Yeah, flying at a dark wizard isn't standard team protocol."
Thor lowered Mjolnir slightly, though his grip remained tight.
"If there is to be battle, let it not be born of misunderstanding."
Clint muttered, "Pretty sure we're past that."
Natasha spoke firmly, eyes locked on Arthas.
"You don't want this to turn into something bigger."
Loki, off to the side, smirked faintly.
"Oh, I think he very much does."
All eyes turned back to the throne. Arthas rose slowly.
The ice groaned beneath his weight as he stood to full height, presence expanding—pressing down on them like a storm about to break.
"I am…" he began, voice colder now, "…annoyed."
"Go ahead," he said, almost casually. "Defeat your foes once more."
A faint tilt of his head.
"Entertain me, heroes."
A ripple of energy surged and Frostmourne appeared in his grasp.
The runeblade pulsed with a sickly, soul-drinking glow.
Tony took a step back. "Okay, what is he doing now?"
Clint shook his head slightly. "I don't know, but I've got a really bad feeling about this."
Steve stepped forward again, urgency creeping in.
"Wait—listen to me," he said, raising both hands slightly. "You don't have to do this. Whatever you think this is—whatever you're trying to prove—"
Thor added, "Lay down your blade. There is no honor in this path."
Bruce spoke carefully, "If you escalate this, people are going to get hurt. A lot of people."
Natasha's voice was quiet, but firm. "This isn't gonna end well."
Arthas said nothing.
He began to speak. Not English. Not anything in this world.
A deep, guttural chant—ancient, heavy with power. The language of Azeroth rolled off his tongue like a curse carved into reality itself.
Frostmourne pulsed brighter. The air grew colder.
And then, across the battlefield
The fallen Chitauri… moved.
At first, it was a subtle twitch. A jerk. Then, they rose.
Bodies that had lain lifeless began to push themselves upward, movements unnatural, broken—yet driven by something beyond death.
Those with intact forms staggered to their feet, their glowing eyes reigniting with a sickly, unnatural light.
Their armor hung in pieces. Their flesh—gray, cracked, lifeless. And yet—they stood.
The ones that weren't whole began to move too.
Severed limbs dragged themselves across the ground, clawing forward with jerky, grotesque motion.
Torso halves twisted and lifted, supported by nothing but dark magic.
Heads, separated from bodies, rolled—then turned, empty eyes burning with that same cold glow.
The battlefield transformed.
An army of the dead.
Like something ripped straight from a nightmare—or a battlefield in a world where death was only the beginning.
They resembled the Scourge of Azeroth—undead soldiers bound not by life, but by will. Hollow. Obedient. Relentless.
More and more rose.
An entire fallen army… reborn.
The Avengers stood in stunned silence.
Clint whispered, "Okay… I officially hate this guy."
Tony's scanners flickered wildly. "Yeah, that's—nope. That's very, very bad."
Thor stepped forward, lightning beginning to gather. "Then we shall strike them down again!"
Steve tightened his grip on his shield.
"Avengers…"
He looked at the rising dead.
Then at Arthas.
"…assemble."
Arthas Menethil sat back down on the Frozen Throne he manifested, he plunged Frostmourne in front of him, and watched.
In his mind, he was actually thinking something else.
'I wonder if Ancient One is waiting for the time stone. Well, I'm sure she can wait a bit more after this.'
End of Chapter