Dreadlords had emotions.
Dreadlords got bored.
And yes...
Dreadlords needed hobbies.
Ulthalesh’s hatred for Sargeras was genuine. That hadn’t changed in tens of thousands of years.
But that didn’t mean the former king of the Nathrezim had spent millennia trapped inside a scythe, glaring into the darkness and plotting revenge every waking moment.
When the Artifact Weapon had a master, life was easy.
Manipulating them provided endless entertainment.
When it didn’t...
Well, one had to improvise.
Technically, Evenson was Ulthalesh’s current owner.
The first time the dreadlord had noticed him, however, the young warlock had been preparing to bite his finger and perform a blood-binding ritual with The Complete Warlock Spellbook.
Ulthalesh had watched silently.
This kid is years away from even thinking about using me.
At least a century, if he has any sense.
So the dreadlord had settled in for a very long wait.
Fortunately, the scythe contained countless souls accumulated over the ages.
Enough to invent... entertainment.
Eventually, Ulthalesh founded the Ulthalesh Cup Hearthstone Championship.
After tens of thousands of preliminary matches...
Thousands of elimination rounds...
The grand finals had finally begun.
Which explained why the Artifact Weapon hadn’t answered Evenson’s summons.
The ritual wasn’t merely struggling because the Chitauri souls were poor-quality sacrifices.
Ulthalesh had effectively muted every incoming call.
Unfortunately...
Evenson responded the way any determined warlock would.
He increased the sacrifices.
Increased the ritual’s power.
And eventually yanked the dreadlord out of the equivalent of a disconnected internet cable.
Thus...
For the first time...
Master and Artifact truly met.
Evenson blinked.
(⊙_⊙)
Ulthalesh blinked back.
(←_←?)
No!
Ulthalesh’s thoughts exploded into chaos.
I was two turns away!
Two!
I had lethal next round!
Who disconnects someone during the finals?!
Then another realization struck.
Forget the tournament.
My image!
Across countless ages...
Across countless wielders...
This was, without question, the single most embarrassing first meeting in Ulthalesh’s existence.
Blood-red mist erupted once again.
When it condensed a second time...
The invisible card table had vanished.
In its place stood an imposing dreadlord phantom.
Arms folded.
Head tilted proudly upward.
Voice sharp and commanding.
"M-M-Mortal!"
"What b-business could possibly justify summoning me?"
Evenson stared expressionlessly.
A little late to salvage your dignity, don’t you think?
He understood needing a hobby.
Playing Hearthstone for a few thousand years?
Sure.
Entirely reasonable.
But...
Without saying a word, he walked into the ritual circle.
He grabbed the floating scythe.
Turned it over.
Examined both sides.
Tapped it experimentally.
Then...
To everyone’s utter disbelief...
He swung the legendary Artifact Weapon over his head and repeatedly smashed it against the rooftop.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Apparently satisfied, he casually tossed the scythe aside.
Then he reached into his storage space and withdrew a familiar skull.
Only one person could explain this insanity.
Sachiel floated into the air the instant he appeared.
"Young warlock, this is only our second meeting."
His jaw clicked irritably.
"Would it kill you to bring the rest of my spine next time?"
"I’m already down to two pieces."
"Keeping half of me stuffed in storage feels unnecessarily insulting."
His complaint lasted approximately three seconds before he noticed Evenson’s newly branded arms.
The green flames in his eye sockets flickered.
"Oh?"
"So you’ve become rather close to my two foolish apprentices."
"They actually branded you with their personal marks."
Evenson glanced down at the runes.
If Sachiel sounded impressed...
Then the Eredar Twins’ gift was clearly more significant than he’d realized.
Still...
That wasn’t today’s mystery.
He leaned toward the floating skull.
"Sachiel."
"Take a look at Ulthalesh, the Deadwind Harvester."
"...Is it genuine?"
Sachiel tilted himself forty-five degrees.
"...Have you suffered brain damage?"
"Who would bother forging a counterfeit this powerful?"
"Of course it’s real."
Fair enough.
Evenson had personally felt the overwhelming pressure radiating from the weapon.
If that had been a fake...
He didn’t even want to imagine the real thing.
"...Then."
He grabbed Sachiel and pointed him toward the newly manifested dreadlord.
"...Who’s that?"
Sachiel looked.
Then slowly looked back.
The flames in his empty eye sockets practically spelled out the word idiot.
"Who else would it be?"
"Ulthalesh."
Evenson clutched his head.
It felt like reality itself had struck him.
"...She’s Ulthalesh?"
"...The King of the Nathrezim?"
Yes.
She.
That single word completely shattered every expectation he’d ever had.
The towering, monstrous figure from Ulthalesh’s first appearance had changed.
Now the dreadlord stood only slightly taller than an ordinary human.
That wasn’t the shocking part.
The curved horns remained.
But flowing hair framed an elegant face.
Long bangs drifted across refined features.
Dark dreadlord armor emphasized a distinctly feminine silhouette.
Combined with the unmistakably female voice...
The legendary King of the Nathrezim...
Was a woman.
"This has to be some kind of joke."
Evenson pointed accusingly.
"Dreadlords are born from fear itself."
"They don’t exactly reproduce the conventional way."
"I thought they were effectively sexless."
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"...Please don’t tell me this is just an extremely committed disguise."
Sachiel’s jaw dropped.
"You... honestly didn’t know?"
His tone made Evenson feel astonishingly uncultured.
"Before joining the Burning Legion, Nathrezim society contained both sexless and female dreadlords."
"And it was a matriarchy."
Evenson’s mouth slowly fell open.
Wide enough to fit an entire bowl.
Sachiel continued.
"Dreadlords excel at controlling minds."
"Female Nathrezim possess that gift to an even greater degree."
"But they’re extraordinarily rare."
"When Sargeras conquered our race..."
"There were only three female dreadlords in existence."
"Ulthalesh was the strongest among them."
"They resisted Sargeras more fiercely than anyone."
"They knew he’d never allow them to survive."
"Why?" Evenson asked.
"Wouldn’t Sargeras want more powerful followers?"
Unless...
"...Were they actually capable of threatening him?"
That sounded absurd.
Sargeras was the fallen Titan who destroyed the Pantheon.
Surely...
Not even female dreadlords...
Sachiel hesitated.
"...In a sense."
Ulthalesh herself answered.
"Our society was matriarchal."
"My kind possesses absolute authority over ordinary Nathrezim."
She spoke calmly.
"The relationship is similar to that of a broodmother and her swarm."
"Regardless of time or circumstance..."
"The loyalty of every ordinary dreadlord belongs to me before anyone else."
She smiled faintly.
"That was something Sargeras could never tolerate."
The Burning Legion had no room for divided loyalty.
Sargeras demanded absolute obedience.
Anyone capable of commanding his own servants more completely than he could...
Had to disappear.
Evenson nodded slowly.
"...That makes sense."
Then another thought occurred to him.
"Wait."
"When I first summoned you..."
"You looked like a normal dreadlord."
"Why change?"
Ulthalesh answered without hesitation.
"Don’t you think that form looks more intimidating?"
"...Honestly?"
Evenson nodded.
"It does."
The towering, bald, bat-winged nightmare was unquestionably more terrifying than the elegant demon standing before him now.
Ulthalesh chuckled.
"Exactly."
She folded her arms confidently.
"Winning at Hearthstone is thirty percent skill..."
"...and seventy percent psychological pressure."
"If your opponent fears you before the first card is played..."
"...you’ve already won."
She smiled proudly.
"That’s the secret behind every one of my Ulthalesh Cup championships."
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