The black dragon prince Sabellian soared through the burning night sky, looking down upon Menethil Harbor below.
He was an older black dragon than Nefarian, the brother of Onyxia, a child of Deathwing.
Flames spread beneath his feet.
At the docks, more than a dozen ships had already turned into blazing torches. Masts snapped, sails burned to ash, and molten tar flowed into the sea, igniting a sea of fire across the water's surface.
Screams, cries, running footsteps, and the clash of blades intertwined into a chaotic symphony.
Those green-skinned bastards.
A trace of disgust flashed through Sabellian's eyes.
Those orcs were always itching to charge forward and fight to the death—killing, looting, like a pack of wild beasts.
And that pale, disgusting undead—Death Knight Ragnok—had gone completely mad the moment he saw that blood-red symbol. Muttering to himself, babbling about everything being ready and the operation starting immediately, like he'd been possessed by some kind of ghost.
Of course, the most important thing was that these damned insects were always trying to order him around. Absolutely unforgivable.
Damn it.
If not for Father's command, if not for that batch of black dragon eggs—if not for the need to safely transport those eggs carrying the future of the black dragonflight to Draenor—he wouldn't want anything to do with these annoying, insignificant insects.
Below, Ragnok and the orcs were already attacking the ships.
They had set their sights on the flagship among the Kul Tiras warships that had been trailing them from afar—the largest, fastest vessel, the most suitable for long-distance voyages.
Only something of that scale could carry them across the Great Sea to the Tomb of Sargeras.
Their plan was going extremely smoothly.
The Death Knights had first disguised themselves as humans, docking a ship in the harbor ahead of time.
That ship had been packed with heavy explosives obtained from the black market—not in obvious crates on deck, but entirely spread across the bottom of the hull. Just moments ago, they had detonated it.
The violent explosion had blown apart half the dock. The other ships anchored in the harbor were blasted to pieces, completely losing any ability to sail.
Next, all that was left was for the black dragons to create chaos within the city and delay reinforcements. Once Ragnok seized the flagship, no one would be able to catch up to them. Of course, that was assuming this burning harbor would still have any reinforcements left.
In the distance, three black whelps leapt from the mountain peaks, gliding toward Menethil Harbor. They opened their jaws, spewing scorching flames.
The residential district collapsed into fire, thick smoke billowing upward as crowds screamed and fled in panic.
Sabellian watched the scene with satisfaction.
Then he lowered his head.
At the edge of the harbor stood a mortal.
A young human in a white robe, head raised, staring directly at him.
Sabellian's brow lifted slightly.
So fast?
...
At the highest point of Menethil Harbor stood Lord Bertholdt's manor.
The Lord jolted awake from his sleep.
He had been awakened by the explosion.
The blast had been so violent that even his manor atop the hill had felt the tremor.
He leapt to his feet and rushed barefoot toward the massive floor-to-ceiling window.
Then he froze.
The entire harbor was burning.
Flames shot into the sky, thick smoke churned, and chaos reigned at the docks.
Screams and battle cries echoed faintly. Out at sea, several ships had already sunk, while the rest burned.
Bertholdt's face turned as pale as paper.
"West!" he screamed, his voice shrill and cracking. "Where is West?! Where the hell is West?! Defend Menethil Harbor!!!"
His attendant stumbled in, face filled with terror.
"My lord! Admiral West's camp… it's completely dark!"
"What?!"
Bertholdt's legs gave out, and he collapsed by the window.
"It's over…" he muttered. "It's all over…"
In West's camp, from the admiral to the soldiers, everyone who had eaten the evening meal was fast asleep. The few who remained awake shook them desperately, but none could be roused.
It was as if they had been knocked out by some powerful drug.
With no other choice, the remaining conscious soldiers fearfully took up their weapons, barely forming ranks as they moved out to defend Menethil Harbor.
...
At the harbor.
Allen stood at the edge of the burning dock, staring up at the colossal adult black dragon blotting out the sky, not daring to act rashly.
An adult black dragon.
Those were named figures in the game—absolutely not something he could defeat right now. So which adult black dragon had appeared in Menethil Harbor?
What should he do?
In the sky, Sabellian dove down.
His massive body descended like a falling mountain, wings folding as his speed increased. Allen didn't even have time to think—he instinctively raised his hand—
Dimension Door!
His body vanished instantly, reappearing thirty meters away amid another pile of ruins.
BOOM—!!!
Sabellian slammed into the spot where he had just been standing. The immense impact tore apart the wooden structures of the harbor, shattered the stone ground into fragments, and sent debris flying in all directions, waves surging outward.
A massive crater formed there, while the surrounding warehouse ruins were blasted away by the shockwave, as if the end of the world had arrived.
Struggling to regain his footing, Allen raised his hand again.
Grease!
A wide patch of slick oil appeared out of thin air, coating the ground within the crater.
But Sabellian never landed.
With a single beat of his wings, he rose back into the air, hovering as he looked down at the tiny human.
His chest expanded as he drew a deep breath—
Shadowflame!
Pitch-black fire poured from his jaws, carrying the aura of death and corruption as it swept forward.
Allen cast Dimension Door again, scrambling to teleport to the other side.
The flames brushed past his sleeve, landing on a pile of rubble behind him and instantly reducing wood and stone to charred ash.
The gap was too large.
Allen panted, his mind racing.
He hesitated, wondering whether to use his strongest offensive spell—Chain Lightning.
But his stamina and mana were limited. He didn't believe that lightning could instantly kill an adult black dragon. Even if it injured him, it certainly wouldn't be enough to finish him.
And if Chain Lightning failed to kill him—and instead enraged him…
With his current stamina and mana, could he keep escaping with Dimension Door forever?
Sabellian hovered in the air, his amber dragon eyes looking down arrogantly at the fleeing human.
"Insignificant insect."
His voice was deep and heavy, filled with arrogance and disdain.
"You think such tricks can let you escape for long?"
He raised a claw casually and tore apart a half-collapsed warehouse nearby, splintering wood flying everywhere.
"Your mana will run out eventually," Sabellian said as he slowly descended. "And I can play with you all night."
His tail swept across, snapping a thick mast in two as it crashed into the ruins.
...
On the flagship, the battle raged.
Jaina had declined Bertholdt's invitation earlier and had not stayed at his mansion, instead returning to her own ship to remain with her soldiers.
Here was her own fleet—the safest place. Though now that very fleet had become the target of the attack, which could only be described as extremely unlucky.
Standing on the deck, Jaina raised both hands high, chanting under her breath. A blizzard answered her call, blocking the enemy and delaying their advance.
Before her, a large number of orcs and Death Knights were charging relentlessly at the ship's railing.
Blades clashed, blood splattered, and the sounds of battle roared deafeningly.
Though still young, the blizzard Jaina summoned was formidable, firmly holding back the enemy's advance.
But there were too many enemies.
More orcs stepped over the corpses of their comrades and surged forward. The Death Knights were even worse—impervious to weapons, each charge taking another sailor's life.
Jaina's face turned pale. Her mana was nearly exhausted.
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