Chapter 67: Sabellian¹ |
Sabellian, the Black Dragon Prince, soared through the burning night sky, gazing down at Menethil Harbor beneath him.
He was a black dragon older than Nefarian, the elder brother of Onyxia, and a son of Deathwing.
The flames spread beneath him.
On the docks, over a dozen ships had already turned into blazing torches. Masts snapped, sails turned to ash, and hot tar flowed into the sea, igniting a sheet of fire across the water's surface.
Screams, cries, the sounds of running feet, and the clash of swords wove together into a chaotic symphony.
Those green-skinned mongrels.
A flicker of disgust passed through Sabellian's eyes.
Those orcs, always and forever wanting to charge at the enemy, to fight, to kill, to pillage—like a pack of wild beasts.
And that pale, disgusting undead—Death Knight Ragnok—had gone completely insane the moment he saw that blood-red eye symbol, babbling to himself, muttering about everything being ready and starting the operation immediately, like he'd been possessed by some ghost.
Damn it all.
If it weren't for his father's orders, if it weren't for that batch of black dragon eggs, if it weren't for ensuring those eggs—which carried the black dragon race's future—could be safely transported to Draenor, he really wouldn't want to cooperate with these insignificant, annoying insects.
Below, Ragnok and the orcs were already attacking the ships.
They had their eyes on the flagship among those Kul Tiras warships that had been tailing them from afar—the biggest, fastest, and most seaworthy vessel.
Only a ship this large could carry them to the Tomb of Sargeras in the Great Sea.
Their plan was proceeding very smoothly.
The Death Knights had first disguised themselves as humans and docked a ship in the harbor ahead of time.
That ship was packed with heavy explosives procured from the black market—not in the obvious large crates on the deck, but all laid out on the bottom of the hold. Just moments ago, they had detonated that ship.
The violent explosion had torn half the docks apart, blasting the other ships moored in the harbor into scattered wreckage, completely robbing them of their ability to sail.
Now, all they needed was for the black dragons to cause chaos in the city and delay any reinforcements. Once Ragnok captured that flagship, no one would be able to catch up to them. Of course, that was assuming this burning harbor even had any reinforcements to send.
In the distance, three black whelps leaped from a mountain peak, gliding down toward Menethil Harbor. They opened their mouths and spewed scorching flames.
Residential areas collapsed and caught fire, thick smoke billowed upward, and the crowd screamed as they scattered in all directions.
Sabellian watched this scene with satisfaction.
Then, he lowered his head.
Standing before the harbor was a mortal.
A young human, clad in white robes, looking up at him.
Sabellian's brow arched slightly.
Here so soon?
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At the highest point of Menethil Harbor, Count Bertol's manor.
The Count was jolted awake from his sleep.
He was shaken awake by the explosion.
The sound had been so violent that even his manor, built atop the hill, could feel the tremors.
He sat up abruptly and rushed barefoot toward the massive French window.
Then, he froze.
The entire harbor was burning.
Flames shot into the sky, thick smoke billowed, and chaos reigned on the docks.
The faint sounds of screams and battle cries drifted in. Out at sea, several ships had already sunk, and the few that remained were also ablaze.
Count Bertol's face turned pale as paper.
"Vester!" he shrieked, his voice distorted into a sharp screech. "Where's Vester?! Where the hell is Vester?! Defend Menethil Harbor!!"
His personal guard stumbled in, his face filled with terror.
"My Lord! General Vester's barracks... it's pitch black in there!"
"What?!"
Count Bertol's legs gave way, and he collapsed by the window.
"It's over..." he murmured. "It's all over..."
At Vester's barracks, everyone—from Vester down to the soldiers—who had eaten the evening meal's rations were in a deep sleep. The few who were still awake shook them frantically but couldn't wake them up.
It looked like they had been drugged with some powerful sedative. With no other choice, the remaining conscious soldiers had to fearfully grab their weapons and barely form ranks to march out and defend Menethil Harbor.
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Before the harbor.
Allen stood by the burning dock, looking up at the full-grown black dragon that blotted out the sky, not daring to make any rash moves.
A full-grown black dragon.
Those were all named existences from the games, definitely not something he could defeat now. Who could this adult black dragon appearing at Menethil Harbor be?
What should he do?
In the sky, Sabellian dove down.
His massive body descended like a small mountain, wings folded, speed increasing rapidly. Allen didn't even have time to think before instinctively raising his hand—
Anywhere Door!
His body vanished instantly from the spot, reappearing on another pile of ruins thirty meters away.
Boom—!!!
Sabellian crashed onto the spot where he had just been standing. The tremendous impact shredded the harbor's wooden structures, shattered the stone pavement into cracks, sent fragments flying everywhere, and churned up waves of dust.
A massive crater appeared there, and the wreckage of several nearby warehouses was sent flying by the shockwave, like the end of days had arrived.
Having barely regained his footing, Allen raised his hand—Grease!
A large patch of slick oil materialized out of thin air, covering the ground of the crater.
But Sabellian never touched the ground at all. He spread his wings, lifted straight into the air, and hovered mid-air, looking down at the insignificant little human.
His chest swelled as he took a deep breath—
Shadowflame!
Black flames spewed from the dragon's maw, carrying the aura of death and corrosion, sweeping forward.
Allen used Anywhere Door again, awkwardly teleporting to the other side.
The flames grazed past the hem of his clothes and landed on a pile of ruins behind him, instantly turning the wood and stone into blackened ash.
The gap was too vast.
Allen gasped for breath, his mind racing at full speed.
Allen was torn, wondering if he should use his strongest offensive spell—Chain Lightning.
But his energy and mana were limited; he didn't think that lightning bolt could instantly kill a full-grown black dragon. Even if it could injure him, it definitely wouldn't kill him.
If Chain Lightning failed to kill him and he got enraged...
With his current energy and mana, could he keep dodging with Anywhere Door forever?
Sabellian hovered in mid-air, his amber dragon eyes looking down from on high at this mortal scurrying in panic.
"Pathetic insect."
His voice was deep and heavy, arrogant and contemptuous.
"You think these little tricks can keep you running for long?"
He raised a dragon claw and grabbed casually. A nearby warehouse that hadn't completely collapsed was flipped over, wooden debris flying everywhere.
"Your mana will eventually run out," Sabellian said as he slowly descended. "And I can play with you all night long."
He lashed his tail sideways. A thick mast snapped in two on impact, crashing onto a pile of ruins.
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On the flagship, the battle was in full swing.
Jaina had previously declined Count Bertol's invitation and didn't stay the night at his mansion. Instead, she returned to her own ship to be with her warriors.
Her family's fleet was here, making it the safest place—it was just terribly unfortunate that this was the fleet under attack.
Jaina stood on the deck, her hands raised high, chanting incantations. A Blizzard answered her call, blocking the enemies and stalling their assault.
Before her, a large group of orcs and Death Knights were frantically charging the ship's sides.
Swords clashed, blood splattered, and the roar of battle was deafening.
Although Jaina was still young, the Blizzard she summoned was not to be underestimated, stubbornly holding back the enemy's advance.
But there were too many enemies.
More orcs climbed over the corpses of their comrades to charge forward. The Death Knights were especially impervious to blades, each assault claiming the life of another sailor.
Jaina's face was pale; her mana was nearly depleted.
¹(TN: The name is literally "Sabellian", a black dragon character from Warcraft lore.)