"Archbishop Faol, what's going on? Why are there so many undead troops in the city?" Uther swung his warhammer, striking down the densely packed undead around him.
Faol said nothing at first, staring blankly at the Royal Palace. "Uther, we can't keep this up. We must find a way to evacuate the people in the city."
"But Archbishop Faol, what can we do? With only the people from the Holy Light Grand Cathedral, we simply don't have the means!" Uther looked just as anxious.
Faol sighed helplessly. "It seems our kingdom's prince has fallen! I'm afraid His Majesty is probably beyond saving as well!"
"Why would Arthas do this? Why?" Uther roared in bewildered fury, swinging his warhammer as though he meant to vent all his anger on the Undead Army.
Arthas had been his finest pupil! They had their differences, but those had never diminished his pride in his pupil's excellence. Now, all of it had been shattered!
All he wanted now was to stand before Arthas, jab a finger in his face, and berate him. Why had he done this?
What they failed to notice, however, was that the undead troops in the city had begun converging on them, seemingly guided by an unseen will.
The priests of the Holy Light were gradually losing their strength as well. Every so often, one of the Personal Guards around Uther was dragged down by the undead, only to become undead himself and lunge at his former companions.
That stifled fury left the righteous Uther with nowhere to vent his anger.
"Uther, leave on your own. You must escape. Only if you get out can you save this kingdom. Tell the other human kingdoms of Lordaeron's destruction and have them prepare. This will be a catastrophe that engulfs all of Azeroth."