Supreme Beings of Azeroth

Trigger warning: Incest. Nothing overtly graphic, but I feel I should give people a proper warning. I will mark the particular area for those who wish to skip it.

Katrana's voice was akin to a banshee's wail, echoing through the stone corridors of Stormwind Keep, sending shivers down the spines of anyone unfortunate enough to overhear her rage. Her fury was palpable, a storm of indignation, focused solely on Mathias Shaw. She paced like a caged lioness, her eyes blazing with barely contained rage as she spat venom at the head of Stormwind's intelligence network.

"Useless moron!" she shrieked, her voice a weapon honed to a razor edge against the man. "What use is the SI:7 if you cannot focus on just two people? You better find a way to spy on them or I will make sure you'll regret being born!"

The troublesome pair had caused quite a ruckus in the Undercity and now were on the way to their next stop, the Horde capital, Orgrimmar, where they no doubt would do more unforeseen actions.

Shaw stood across from her, a statue of calm amidst the tempest. His expression was carved from granite, his eyes cold and unyielding against her blazing inferno. "I told you they caught the spy and we are yet to determine safe methods to get close to them. I won't risk the lives of my subordinates because of your impatience, Prestor," he replied frigidly, his face betraying no emotion.

"Watch your damn tone!" Katrana hissed, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat, her fingers itching to unleash her wrath, ready to remove Shaw's head with a single swipe as her magic roared to end the man.

"I recommend you do the same. Bolvar is petitioning the king to remove you from the position of royal advisor. You are walking on thin ice, Prestor. Don't make me add to the Regent Lord's concerns and report your 'concerning' behavior." Shaw didn't lose his composure, calm as always.

"Oh, is he now?" Katrana sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. "That dullard can't protect his own backside, let alone the nation." She hissed, each syllable a carefully crafted insult against her foe. "We already know what happens when a paladin takes charge. Maybe you should ask him if he plans to follow Arthas' path."

"I don't see any correlation. Is this all?" Shaw yawned, a calculated insult, dismissing her concerns as if swatting away an irritating fly, something she hated.

"Find a way to spy on them," she repeated, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And, Shaw, if I were in your shoes I wouldn't try anything against me, lest you want the situation to devolve into civil war." Katrana gave a sinister smile to the man, knowing she still held him. "I have worked hard to keep this nation prosperous and would rather it not get ruined by idiots who cannot think. Need I remind you who increased the budget of the SI:7?" She used the dragon eye amulet hung on a golden chain around her neck to influence the man, pushing forward her magic once more.

Shaw was becoming increasingly resistant to her attempts to control him, which could end in disaster and ruin her carefully crafted plans. Something that was unacceptable.

"As if I could forget. I will see what can be done," Shaw replied, his voice a mix of resignation and duty.

"Good. Now leave!" Katrana barked, waving him away with a flick of her wrist, as if shooing a pesky fly. Shaw left without a backward glance, eager to distance himself from the volatile storm of unreasonable demands and blazing hatred that was Katrana Prestor.

Left alone in her office, Katrana seethed, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. 'Useless, all of them are useless. Brother was right, I should have given up trying to control the SI:7 and dismantled them when I had a chance.' Her mind raced with thoughts of power and betrayal, her ambitions spiraling through her mind like smoke.

The actions of the mysterious pair, Ainz and Buku, were a thorn in her side, their unpredictable nature threatening to unravel her carefully laid plans of decades of work. They had almost eliminated the forsaken which was a necessary counterbalance to the Alliance. She was already so close to becoming a proper queen, she could almost taste it in the air, half-feeling the throne already beneath her. Just a few more years and she would marry Anduin, orchestrate a tragic accident, and finally rule over the pathetic humans. The dwarves would be simple enough to handle after that, their stubborn pride no match for her cunning and abilities, and she would begin to properly reign as befitting her greatness.

If not for the undead-controlled north, the fallen human kingdoms could potentially rebuild and ruin her and her brother's plans, and thus they had to remain stable to maintain the status quo.

'I should consult him on the matter.' She finally decided, her resolve hardening like the strongest steel. She strode from her office, making sure the castle guards noted her departure as they cleared the way for her. Once she was outside the castle, free from any prying eyes, Katrana teleported to her brother's domain, the ashy Burning Steppes south of the Blackrock mountain. The land was scorched and barren, a hellish environment where only the strongest survived and almost nobody thrived. Ash hung thick in the air, swirling around her like a malevolent mist of death. Most of the vegetation had burned away long ago and the charred remains of long-dead trees stood grim, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky as they crumbled with age.

With a long exhale, she shed her human visage, her form rippling and expanding as she transformed into her massive natural form. Her wings unfurled with a mighty snap, each scale glistening in the dim light like finely polished obsidian. She stretched her wings, feeling the familiar power course through her veins, and let out a roar that echoed across the desolate landscape.

As used as she was to her visage, the natural form of a dragon just felt right. She took flight, flying towards the volcanic mountain in the distance. The land below was a patchwork of ash and stone, dotted with orc encampments here and there. These orcs had sworn fealty to her brother Nefarian, the current ruler of the black dragons and the eldest son of Deathwing who was also the strongest dragon still around.

Well, only if her father was still alive, but at this point she couldn't tell since he had been gone for years, nowhere to be found. It was better this way. She would co-rule the world with Nefarian as their plans slowly came to fruition not overshadowed by her father's iron rule over her dragon flight.

The volcanic mountain rose before her in just a few moments, its slopes dotted with streams of molten rock that glowed like fiery veins. She circled the peak, her keen eyes easily spotting the side entrance into the blackwing lair. About a kilometer above the ground, a balcony, large enough to let a full-grown dragon land and enter with ease, awaited.

Katrana, or Onyxia as her dragon name, landed on the stone slabs with a crushing impact, her massive claws sending cracks spiderwebbing through the stone slabs. Folding her wings against her sides, Onyxia strode into the lair, her presence commanding and fierce towards all nearby lesser beings, not that there were any.

"Ah if it isn't my beloved sister." came the familiar, sardonic voice of Nefarian, known to others as Victor. His voice resonated through the cavernous space, carrying both warmth and malice towards his sister. The lair was filled with the stench of sulfur and smoke, the air charged with arcane energy, as though the very stones hummed with latent power.

Onyxia shifted back into her human visage as Katrana, her appearance elegant and refined. She approached her brother, who sat regally on a stone throne, his fingers deftly tinkering with a glowing magical orb. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, a sly smile playing at the corners of his lips as he greeted her.

"I have news, brother." She announced, her voice smooth and confident as she crossed the distance between them with familiarity.

"Oh? Do tell," he replied, his eyes glinting with curiosity as he stood up, the orb forgotten on the throne behind him. If his beloved had information she deemed interesting, he wanted to know about it too.

Katrana began to rant, her frustration bubbling over, "Two powerful individuals showed up out of nowhere and ruined my plans! Those useless fools at SI:7 couldn't even spy on them properly."

The incest part starts!

As she spoke, Nefarian met her halfway, his presence imposing. Without warning, he roughly grabbed her waist and pulled her close, his grip firm and possessive as his lips reached for hers.

"Brother," she let out a playful gasp, feigning surprise at his boldness.

Nefarian ignored her antics and ran his fingers through her hair, his touch tender and commanding as it should be between mates. With a swift motion, he drew her in for a kiss, his lips capturing hers with a fierce intensity.

"I don't think it's a good time for mating," Onyxia mumbled between kisses, though her protest lacked conviction. She returned his affection with equal fervor, her teeth grazing his lower lip until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. Their kisses were aggressive and full of a fiery passion that mirrored their personalities, deep and half-insane.

Her brother had long been her one and only consort, a bond forged as much from necessity to survive as from shared ambition to rule. Only together could they create offspring strong enough to carry their legacy, and she saw no problem with their relationship whatsoever. Even if other dragon flights mostly looked down on mating with their clutch mates, she dismissed such concerns with a flick of her tail. They could complain when they were dead.

"You promised me another clutch. We need to get our numbers up and fast." Nefarian reminded her, breaking their kiss with a growl of impatience, drawing more blood.

Incest Part Ends!

"I know, but some other time. We have a problem on our hands." She replied, biting her lip, her eyes flickering with both mischief and genuine concern.

"How bad can it be? What could two mortals possibly do?" Nefarian questioned, his arrogance palpable.

"I'm not sure they are mortals," Onyxia explained, her voice tinged with a bit of irritation, pushing him aside. "They used visage forms and single-handedly ruined my riot plan by slaughtering all the prisoners."

"Mildly troublesome…" Nefarian tapped his foot, a thunderous sound that echoed through the lair seemingly forever. "Why not just kill them?"

"I can't risk my position and do it openly. Besides, I heard they almost killed the Banshee Queen."

"They are quite the troublemakers." Nefarian chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "I could send Firemaw to deal with them directly. Where are they now?"

"On their way to Orgrimmar," Onyxia replied, her scales shimmering as she shifted back to her dragon form. "I feel a bit peckish. I hope you don't mind if I hunt some of the dwarves infesting your lands."

"You'll be doing me a favor. Eat as many as you want." Nefarian waved her off, heading back for his throne.

With a mighty beat of her wings, Onyxia launched herself into the sky, her massive form casting a tremendous shadow of doom over the scorched earth below. The thought of a dwarven feast brought a wicked gleam to her eye, and she let out a roar that sent any nearby creatures scurrying for cover. As she soared over the barren landscape, she relished the hunt, her heart pounding with the thrill of it all. For now, she would satisfy her hunger and leave thoughts of troublesome mortals for another day. It was time to remind the mortals just how powerful dragons were.

Soon she would have to return to Stormwind to parade around as Katrana Prestor, but for at least a short while, she could afford to be Onyxia. The war between her brother's forces and the armies of the Firelord Ragnaros had raged on for a few years, with Nefarian controlling the ogres and Blackrock orcs while the fire elemental ruled over the dark iron dwarves. Each side controlled half of the Blackrock Mountain and engaged in perpetual war for total domination.

She understood why Nefarian was so eager to mate. He needed more dragons to ensure his rule, and even adolescent ones were powerful warriors on the battlefield. Not to mention, he was trying to infuse them with the energies of dragon flights in his attempts to create chromatic dragons, superior to any other dragon out there in existence. The more she laid now, the more warriors he would have later to field.

After flying for about an hour, she finally spotted her first prey. A cluster of dwarves, their armor glinting like dull gems in the ash-strewn landscape, moving in formation below as they hunted orcs. Onyxia descended with frightening speed, the air whistling past her scales as she snatched up the creature in her jaws with ease. She contentedly chewed on the meal, breaking its armor like paper as the dwarf let out one last dying scream. He would be the first of many she feasted upon today, including the ones panicking below.

With relish she chewed, savoring the crunch of metal and bone on her tough fangs. The taste of fear, seasoned with a hint of desperation, was delicious on her tongue. This was but the first course of her feast, a mere appetizer to the buffet that lay ahead. She scanned the ground below for more victims, her sharp eyes picking out every detail of the terrain.

'There's something so satisfying about a well-cooked dwarf,' she mused to herself, recalling an old dragon joke about dwarves and their propensity to dig their own graves - literally. Her laughter echoed through the sky, a chilling sound that sent shivers through any living creature within earshot as they fled for safety.

The name of the world the Legion had conquered ages ago was long forgotten to history, irrelevant to what it is today. Its barren lands were filled with the rampaging energies of the fel magics, as what life still existed was turned into demons.

Varimathras appeared on the top of the citadel, his brethren standing in a half circle. Delivering the letter to Thrall had given just him enough time away from Sylvanas' sight to avoid raising any suspicions from the city ruler. Even though she saw herself as cautious and clever, the undead elf was easy to manipulate and guide toward the direction beneficial to the Legion. The foolish mortals didn't know that demons couldn't be slain in the material realm, the only permanent death being death in the twisting nether.

The nathrezim, better known as dreadlords, were the intelligence agents of the Legion, with nothing escaping their sight no matter the job or faction. This particular group was tasked with both assisting and keeping an eye on him. The Legion didn't tolerate betrayal, and far too many had been caught double-dealing in their own interests, doomed to permanent nonexistence.

Each dreadlord had a different shade of skin, ranging from reddish-purple to grayish-purple. All of them shared similar large wings and crooked horns that cast jagged shadows on the ground, sights that would frighten any other mortal.

"Welcome back, brother. We investigated your claim." Drurtakh, the leader of the group, greeted him, his voice smooth and oozing with malevolent intent.

"Not even lord Kil'jaeden knows who or what those two are," Hul'sar added.

"Troubling. Could they be from shadowlands?" Varimathras stretched, savoring the fel-filled air as it filled his lungs, eyes flaring up with the surge of energy. As a properly summoned demon, he could remain in Azeroth permanently, but at the same time, he didn't have much time to spend in places filled with fel. He'd take what he could get.

"Possible, but unlikely. We would have known if something powerful broke the barrier of death," Another dread lord stated, his voice seemingly as deep as the abyss.

Varimathras considered this, his mind churning with possibilities. The uncertainty about these mysterious figures gnawed at him like an itch that couldn't be scratched, an itch that only grew with time. He reveled in the chaos and unpredictability, but this... this was a wild card he wasn't sure how to play. "They need to be controlled. Perhaps used as conduits to open a gate for invasion." Varimathras suggested. Summoning a demon to guide Ainz and Buku wouldn't be hard. With a little finesse, they could be manipulated into summoning a dreadlord themselves, and the rest would fall naturally.

"Not before the Lich King is dealt with. The traitor needs to be removed before the invasion is attempted again. Lord Kil'jaeden wants results." Drurtakh reminded him.

"The plague research is going according to plan. Sylvanas will not get in the way. Dispatching her at the moment is not beneficial." Varimathras smirked.

"Don't grow overconfident. She almost botched our plan once. Regarding these newcomers, we'll get a tome of summoning in their hands and work from there. Dealing with them is not your responsibility. We'll update you if plans need to be adjusted to account for their actions." Drurtakh extended his hand, producing a tome bound in demon skin. The cover writhed subtly, as if alive, pulsing with dark energy. "Hul'sar, you will be in charge of this operation."

Hul'sar grabbed the tome, dragging his fingers over its surface as the book glowed with a sickly green hue. The symbols etched into its cover shimmered ominously, hinting at the dark secrets contained within. With a snap of his fingers, he teleported away, leaving only the faintest trace of fel in his wake.

"I have everything under control," Varimathras stated coldly, his words lingering in the air like a chill, before he, too, teleported back to Azeroth. He arrived at the apothecary quarter of the Undercity, where the shadows seemed to cling more tightly, whispering of the secrets they held.

Here, the apothecaries loyal to him worked tirelessly on the plague that could kill both the living and the undead, trying to perfect an ultimate weapon against anything that could stand in the Legion's way. The lab was a warren of bubbling cauldrons and flickering candles, casting a dim, eerie light over the proceedings.

A rotting, hunched-over figure stirred in the dim light of the apothecary's lab. Dressed in a thick cloth robe that clung to its skeletal frame like a shroud, the figure's movements were deliberate and measured. The mask it wore resembled a beak the size of a human face.

"No updates as of now. Get me test subjects. Both kinds." The grand apothecary spoke absentmindedly in a voice that crackled like dry leaves before a fire, his gaze never leaving the bubbling concoctions that hissed and seethed before him.

"You'll get what you need soon enough," Varimathras replied smoothly. His sharp senses noted a familiar, elusive presence in the shadows - Sylvanas. Though she was an expert in stealth, her skill was no match for his perceptive awareness. As always, he pretended not to notice her and played along, internally chuckling at her foolishness.

"Human or animal?" Varimathras asked.

"Either will do; humans and elves are better test subjects." the alchemist added without a hint of concern, his focus unwavering as he stirred a cauldron filled with a sickly green brew that bubbled and hissed with an unsettling eagerness. Varimathras had trained the apothecary not to talk aloud about subjects that might raise even the tiniest of suspicions of his true allegiances.

"I recall forbidding you from using elves for tests." Sylvanas made herself seen, appearing right behind Putress.

The apothecary did not flinch. His movements remained steady, as if he were a mere cog in an unfeeling machine. "Dark Lady, scourge is scourge. Humans, elves, orcs, trolls, all the same," he replied, giving little regard for her wishes, his voice dripping with a chilling indifference.

Sylvanas's eyes narrowed into slits, her voice hissing with barely contained fury. "Don't test my patience, Putress. Varimathras, no elven test subjects!"

Varimathras, ever the master of manipulation, gave the apothecary a curious glance. Putress's reckless disregard for Sylvanas's orders worked in his favor this time. His indifference, bordering on negligence, shielded him from any suspicion of disloyalty.

"I am well aware of your orders, my lady," Varimathras replied smoothly. "A trap near Androhall is about to be strung. We will ensure that our plans remain discreet."

Varimathras, ever the schemer, ensured that Sylvanas's rage was directed at the apothecary, rather than at him. He was just a subordinate, nothing more.

As Sylvanas left, her shadow stretching long and menacing, Varimathras's lips curled into a cold smile. The apothecary's careless attitude was a double-edged sword—dangerous yet invaluable. With Sylvanas's ire momentarily appeased, Varimathras could focus on the greater machinations at play. The storm of chaos they were orchestrating was far from over, and every piece on the board had its role to play, from the weakest test subjects to the strongest warriors.

Edited by NabeisWaifu and aidan_lo.

Proofreading by IAMTHEPLOKOKIOPO, Malguis, and aidan_lo.

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