The Capital City of Lordaeron, once the crown jewel of the Alliance and the pride of humanity's kingdoms.
Now, it had been reduced to a scorched wasteland where undead and demons ran rampant. The successive devastation wrought by the Scourge and the Burning Legion had left the city in ruins; not a single living soul remained on its streets.
Arthas and Kel'Thuzad had been separated and were unable to regroup. However, unlike Arthas, Kel'Thuzad's power was not directly bestowed by the Lich King. Therefore, even as the Lich King's strength waned and his control over the undead faltered, Kel'Thuzad remained fiercely loyal, and his personal power did not diminish in the slightest.
This was the fundamental difference between the two: power earned through one's own cultivation cannot be easily stripped away, while power borrowed from an external source can be snatched away in an instant.
"Flee, your Majesty! I will find a way out and rendezvous with you outside the city. I have prepared ships at the Lordaeron harbor; head there immediately once you break through," Kel'Thuzad said, nodding to Arthas. His massive undead frame immediately drifted into the distance. They had to move separately now, praying that Arthas would survive.
"Very well, Lich. Good luck. I will see you outside the walls," Arthas replied, charging out of the Dreadlords' encirclement without looking back. Though his strength was fading, his essence as a Death Knight remained, and Frostmourne was as sharp as ever.
On the shattered streets, Arthas Menethil—former Prince of Lordaeron, now the Lich King's champion Death Knight—spurred his undead steed, Invincible, through burning ruins. He struggled through waves of demons and hostile undead.
His power was leaking away like water from a punctured bladder. The heavy damage the Lich King had sustained was feeding back to him through their mental link; every swing of Frostmourne felt heavier than the last. Once, these low-tier demons wouldn't have even caught his eye, let alone the low-level undead controlled by the Dreadlords. (It should be noted that Dreadlords also possess the ability to control undead, as they hail from the Shadowlands and brought necromantic technology to the Legion in the first place.)
The three Dreadlords of the Burning Legion—Balnazzar, Detheroc, and Varimathras—stalked him like inescapable shadows, commanding infinite demonic legions and turncoat undead to hunt him down. Without the Lich King's backing, Arthas's combat effectiveness had plummeted. Forget facing a Dreadlord; a mere swarm of common undead could now spell his end.
"Arthas! You and your weakened master shall be crushed by the Legion's wrath!" Balnazzar's screech echoed through the air. Infernals crashed down like meteors, forcing Arthas into a desperate dodge.
As his power drained, Arthas found himself unable to command his own troops; they were being turned against him by the Dreadlords' shadow-death magic. The Lich King's faint, frantic voice echoed in his mind: Return to Northrend! Hurry back! If he could not reach Northrend soon, Arthas would lose everything.
"Haha, Arthas, it seems your reign was as brief as it was hollow. You should not have betrayed the Legion, and you certainly shouldn't have dared return. Your rule is as fake and fleeting as your power," Varimathras sneered.
Under Lord Kil'jaeden's orders, the renegade Night Elf Illidan had attacked the Frozen Throne with the Eye of Sargeras, causing Arthas's power to hemorrhage. Now, they only needed to finish off this Death Knight, and the Lich King would become a toothless tiger—or worse. A puppet, a dog who dared betray the Great Burning Legion and obstruct their master's plans.
"For the Lich King!" Arthas roared, Frostmourne flashing with a cold light as it froze and shattered several pouncing Felhounds. But his movements were visibly sluggish, and new gashes had appeared on his armor.
Arthas remained fiercely brave, but the Dreadlords were cunning. They didn't show themselves to fight him head-on. Unless they were certain the Death Knight was completely defenseless, these shadow-dwelling assassin-mages would not appear. Frontal combat was beneath them.
Arthas was in unprecedented peril. His undead guards were dwindling; his loyal Ghouls and Crypt Fiends fell one by one under the pincer attack of demons and rebel undead. He had to break out! The Lich King was calling; Northrend needed him! He could not die here.
But the Dreadlords had no intention of letting him go. The circle was tightening. Despair began to take root in Arthas's heart; he even began to wonder if he would die here. Dammit, he hadn't yet taken Rhodes's head! He hadn't yet turned Jaina into his Frost Witch! He hadn't yet turned all of Lordaeron into an eternal kingdom!
By the time he neared the city gates, not a single loyalist remained by his side. Arthas was truly alone. A swarm of Doomguards and several hideous Abominations surrounded him. The first champion of the Lich King felt his arms trembling. His grip on his blade faltered; he was at his wit's end.
Just as Arthas reached the limit of his strength and prepared for a final, suicidal stand, a shrill, familiar scream pierced the air from his flank. Several translucent Banshees shot into the demon ranks like arrows. Their wails caused the demons to flinch, their spirits reeling from the psychic shock.
"King Arthas! This way!" An urgent Banshee materialized, her form more solid than the others. She pointed toward a relatively quiet alleyway. "Lady Sylvanas sent us to assist you! Follow us, quickly!"
A spark of surprise and relief flashed in Arthas's crimson eyes. There was a way out after all! Sylvanas—the Windrunner Ranger-General he had personally transformed—was the Banshee Queen and a loyal servant of the Lich King.
"Ladies, help me break through! I must reach the outskirts at once. Take me to your mistress," Arthas shouted, swinging Frostmourne as he spurred Invincible to follow the Banshee unit.
"Follow us, King Arthas. we will lead you to her."
Under their guidance, Arthas navigated a labyrinth of back alleys and sewers, successfully losing the densest concentrations of pursuers. The Banshees used their powers to cut down interfering demons and even used special means to seize control of some rebel undead, bolstering Arthas's meager forces once again.
Finally, they burst through a derelict sewer exit, clearing Lordaeron's high walls and reaching the open countryside. Though he no longer needed to breathe, the cold air felt refreshing—but Arthas didn't relax. The Dreadlords wouldn't give up so easily.
"Lady Sylvanas is gathering forces in the canyon near Deathknell. She learned of the Dreadlords' treachery and has assembled warriors who remain loyal to the Lich King and yourself. She ordered us to escort you there; it is safe, and we can plan your retreat to Northrend together," a Dark Ranger said, appearing suddenly before him.
"Excellent. Lead the way, ladies. We must reach Northrend. You shall all accompany me to face the Lich King," Arthas said, nodding without a hint of suspicion. The Lich King had warned him that a brutal battle awaited in Northrend; he needed every bit of strength he could gather.
The Banshees led the way again, with Arthas close behind. Invincible's hooves thundered over the withered grass toward the shadowed pass known as the Canyon of Deathknell.
Arthas did not know that the bell was not tolling for the Dreadlords—it was tolling for him, the fallen Prince of Lordaeron!
At the other end of the canyon, the Death Knight Straker stood like a black wall, leading his fifty newly upgraded Blood Dread Death Knights. He stroked the cold bone of his Bone Dragon mount, his eyes fixed on the canyon entrance, his lips curled into a savage, battle-hungry grin.
Beside him stood Sylvanas with a massive force of Banshees and Dark Rangers. These Banshees were the ones converted from Rhodes's Wights. Rhodes checked the stats of this new hybrid unit through the system:
Wight-Banshee (Special Hybrid)
HP: 25 | Speed: 7 | Attack: 9 | Defense: 9 | Damage: 6–8
Skill: Banshee Wail. Deals damage to living units and inflicts Silence/Curse.
Skill: Siphon. Drains mana from enemies and slowly heals nearby undead allies.
Though the conversion time had been too short for them to learn the "Possession" skill, their sheer numbers made them a terrifying force.
Further away, in the shadow of a small hill, Rhodes—disguised as a common zombie—leaned lazily against a rock. He watched the scene through a magical water mirror as if waiting for a blockbuster movie to start.
"The stage is set, and the actors are in place... Arthas, enjoy your 'welcoming ceremony'!"