"Azeroth is too dangerous. I am never, ever coming back here again!" The new-ish leader of the Dreadlord clan, Kathra'natir, transformed himself into a bat the size of a grumpy calf, flapping his leathery wings so frantically he threatened to rip them clean off. He tore through the dense forest, a blur of airborne panic.
Behind him, several demon guards, clearly regretting their life choices, fled with him, looking far less impressive than they normally would. And behind them came a relentless, terrifying pursuit: a gaggle of Heroic Spirit warriors, their thunderforged bodies glowing with crackling blue lightning.
Battle axes, wrapped in arcs of blue thunder, were casually lobbed through the trees by those terrifying martial spirits. From time to time, the demon guards unlucky enough to be struck let out ear-splitting, genuinely undignified screams. After the scream, there was the sickening splat of something heavy falling, usually followed by the distant sound of thunderforged boots getting closer. This made Kathra'natir work even harder, squeezing every last ounce of physical strength from his miserable bat form, his wings leaving afterimages in the air. He was a flying, screaming blur of pure, unadulterated fear.
Not long ago, Kil'jaeden had sent him to the front line of this glorious "invasion" of Azeroth. Kathra'natir remembered with a shudder how many of his dreadlord colleagues had simply disappeared in Kalimdor, swallowed by that wretched continent. Even a powerhouse like Archimonde had somehow managed to get himself permanently "disassembled" on Mount Hyjal. But what truly twisted Kathra'natir's demonic guts was that the whereabouts of these fallen colleagues were completely unknown! He didn't know whether they were merely killed or, infinitely worse, imprisoned. The truly terrifying part was that their souls didn't return to Argus to be reborn! This was the dreadlord's ultimate nightmare! If he was really just imprisoned, that would be fine. He'd eventually see the light of day again after the Legion inevitably captured Azeroth. But he was utterly terrified that this world possessed some horrifying, arcane means that would actually deprive him of even the chance of rebirth. That was just rude.
But the Legion leadership, particularly Kil'jaeden, was completely fed up with the dreadlords' perceived incompetence. Even if Kathra'natir tried to subtly disobey Kil'jaeden's ridiculously suicidal orders, his own highly motivated (and utterly terrifying) people would cheerfully drag him forward and carry them out.
Therefore, Kathra'natir had deliberately chosen the eastern continent, hoping to find a less-monitored exit, and meticulously avoided the northern Lordaeron region. He'd instead come to the land of this kingdom that had once been so easily crushed by the orcs way back when. "Surely," the new leader of the Dreadlords had mused, "I have a starship at my disposal! Given the primitive technological level of the natives of Azeroth, how could I possibly lose?!"
He had been so, so wrong.
The Dreadlord's Very, Very Bad Flashbacks
Not long after the battle had started, a huge, entirely unexpected ground artillery piece had miraculously blown up one of his frigates. Fortunately, he'd reacted in time and intensified the counter-attack, successfully obliterating the offending ground fortress. The mission, he'd thought, was about to be completed when—oh, joy—thunder clouds had appeared in the sky, inside the portal!
And what kind of monsters came out of those thunder clouds? Monsters that laughed in the face of the Legion starship-level protective shields! Monsters that cut a starship's armor with a single sword like it was wet parchment! Monsters that tore his flagship apart with their bare, glowing hands!
"This information! This terrifying information must be told to Lord Kil'jaeden! I need a raise! And a vacation!" "With such a huge number, an unexpected raid would definitely cause huge, catastrophic losses to the Legion! Not that I'm complaining, mind you, just observing!"
Kathra'natir vividly recalled the horrific moments within the warship, where the ridiculously bearded, bald Lothar had shattered the swarm of stinking bats that Kathra'natir had attacked with all his strength, with one casual sword swing, and then simply cut him in half! If it weren't for the incredibly painful, disgusting, but ultimately useful life-saving skills of his clan that allowed them to transform themselves into thousands of tiny, squirming bats, he might have died right there along with the starship, just like that arrogant Eredar captain.
"WHAT?!"
There were sporadic, utterly pathetic screams coming from behind him. And now? Now there was no demon, not a single one, left around Kathra'natir. They were all gone. Probably turned into charcoal.
"Damn it!"
Feeling the dull, throbbing pain in his chest, the Dreadlord did not dare to turn back and fight. He could only split the group of bats again, sending them fluttering wildly in all directions, while his real, bruised body quietly, humiliatingly, hid itself in a small, damp tree hole. Kathra'natir used every secret skill he had learned throughout his miserable, long life, and lay dormant for a day and a night, praying to any dark power that would listen, to avoid the Throne of Heroes' relentless search.
The forest was dark, oppressive, and finally, mercifully, the terrible, thunder-blessed pursuers left.
Trying desperately to calm his violently beating, aching heart, he now had to think about how to explain his spectacular failure to Kil'jaeden. It would be best, he decided, to blame Zakun for the entire mistake! He had long been annoyed with those arrogant fel lords anyway.
As he thought about it, the Dreadlord breathed a shaky, shuddering sigh of relief. He might live!
"Oh, so he's hiding here. And he's an old acquaintance. How quaint."
A teasing, utterly familiar voice sliced through the silent forest, causing Kathra'natir, who had just breathed a sigh of relief, to feel his heart leap into his throat again, threatening to escape through his mouth.
"Let me see who it is! Ah, a Dreadlord! What a treat!"
Another familiar voice, even more chilling! It was Lord Tichondrius! But… how? He was supposed to be dead!
"Oh! Is it Kathra'natir? The little lord! Still failing, I see!" And there it was again! Another familiar, utterly mocking voice! It was Lord Anetheron!
"It seems that our Wings of Holy Light has a new, very surprised member, hahaha!"
Lord Sargeras above! Why was Lord Mephistroth here too?! This was not just bad; this was a family reunion from hell, and he was the main course!
Kathra'natir's heart finally died. Again. For good this time.