Looking on from a distance, Mimiron had been reduced to a pile of scrap metal. He couldn't believe his ultimate attack had been so easily countered. What was most infuriating was that his opponent was still eating, completely oblivious to the surrounding destruction, treating his workshop like a restaurant! If they had seriously prepared a counter-strategy, he could have accepted defeat. But they were clearly just playing with him.
It felt no different than being toyed with like an idiot.
The core was eventually removed and placed into a new mechanical body, reviving the crippled Mimiron to full health.
"Your methods are far too dirty. You've won. What do you want? I don't have any gold coins for you. If it's gold you're after, go somewhere else."
How desperate must one be to utter such words? Unable to win the battle and unable to drive them away, Mimiron was utterly defeated. As for dying in battle? That was impossible. He had already been ambushed and killed by Loken once; he remained in a daze, his mind filled with a lingering horror of death. He simply had no fight left in him.
At the crucial moment, Freya appeared to resolve the situation. It seemed she had reached an agreement with the Goddess of the World Soul, and the Titan faction was now leaning toward Azeroth's side; otherwise, she wouldn't have been there.
"Mimiron, you have lost your mind. I am here to help you."
"Who are you? You look familiar... Oh, blast it, I can't remember you at all!"
Having lost part of his memory, he genuinely couldn't recall her. This was the consequence of surviving Loken's sneak attack. It was the same reason he had been hiding in his workshop tinkering with machinery—it was an instinctive search for a safe haven.
As a green light enveloped Mimiron, a peaceful aura of life brought him back to his senses. His murky, light-bulb eyes grew bright.
"I remember now! I finally remember! It's Loken! That bastard Loken ambushed me! He seized control of the Forge of Wills and is churning out massive numbers of steel soldiers. He's joined Yogg-Saron! We have to stop him! Has the beast been released?!"
As expected of a Guardian, once he regained his senses, his sense of responsibility returned.
Arthas dispelled his portal defenses, finished his delicious meal, and felt a bit sleepy. A full stomach often has that effect. He silently relayed an order to Hela, instructing her to find an opportunity to eliminate Odyn. Odyn's task of restraining Loken was complete, and Loken had already killed the Observer, Algalon; both threats were neutralized.
Now, only Yogg-Saron remained. Arthas remembered the Soul Furnace device previously transported to Lordaeron. What if that machine were installed in Yogg-Saron's cell? If activated, it could extract and refine the Old God's very power and soul. The idea had potential. Rather than risking a head-on confrontation with a freed god, it was better to slowly drain him dry.
The battle outside had reached its tipping point.
Odyn had witnessed Loken's rebellion firsthand. As the Chief Prime Designate, Odyn was determined to punish the traitor. He originally intended to arrest him, but a special soul recently ascended to the halls: Skovalde, the Vrykul King of the Broken Isles. Skovalde advised Odyn to act decisively and kill the traitor immediately to seize control of the steel army.
The enraged Odyn accepted the counsel. Using the last of his Guardian power, he struck down a massive Faceless One Overseer with lightning, though he lost an arm to the creature's dying counterattack.
"You won't succeed, you fool!" Loken spat, refusing to surrender. Lightning crackled around him. "You're being used! Do you want to know why you were trapped in that dimensional cage? Ha! I instigated Hela to do it! Your arrogance will be your grave. I'll be waiting for you in hell!"
Loken began to surge with unstable energy—a self-destruction sequence.
"Master, run! I'll hold him off!" Skovalde cried, raising the Shield of Aggramar to block the blast. Odyn didn't hesitate; he thought it only natural for a servant to sacrifice himself.
But as Odyn turned to leave, a long sword pierced his heart—the central hub of his energy supply.
"You!"
"Go to hell! My master is Hela, not you, you grumpy old geezer!" Skovalde snarled. He was Hela's pawn, and the Vrykul were already under the shadow of her undead army.
Skovalde shoved the wounded Odyn toward the detonating Loken and retreated behind his shield. A massive storm of lightning engulfed the Prime Designate. Odyn sank into darkness, his soul seized by a six-winged Val'kyr and dragged toward the Shadowlands.
With Odyn and Loken gone, Arthas turned to Freya.
"The battle outside isn't over. We need to regain control of Ulduar and use the steel soldiers to extinguish the remaining Faceless Ones. I've investigated the prison; the seal is broken. Yogg-Saron's mental influence is spreading unchecked."
Freya hesitated but eventually nodded. "Okay. After we deal with Ulduar, we need to talk."
"No problem," Arthas replied.
The group descended into the underground prison. The deeper they went, the more nauseating the atmosphere became. The whispers of the Old God echoed in their ears—a mental barrier that could drive even Titan Keepers mad.
However, after absorbing the Heart of Y'Shaarj, Arthas was effectively the most powerful "Old God" present. Yogg-Saron's whispers were nothing to him. With a simple blessing, he dispelled the unease felt by Vereesa and the others.
They reached a vast interior space—a cage hollowed out of a mountain. In the center sat a murky pool of water, covered in sickly green bubbles.
"Is this the prison? I can't see anything," Vereesa whispered.
Suddenly, the shadows within the prison thickened like ink. A malice originating from the dawn of the world gripped their hearts. Arthas pulled the women close, radiating Holy Light to push back the dark.
Yogg-Saron, the Beast of a Thousand Mouths, was awakening.
A colossal wave erupted from the pool, crashing against the observation window. A distorted figure emerged—a mass of twisted tumors and shadows, covered in writhing blue veins and void crystals.
Most terrifying were the mouths. Some were large enough to swallow mountains; others were densely packed like a honeycomb within the folds of his flesh. Countless tentacles, dripping with black blood, lashed out at the glass.
"My God... is that Yogg-Saron?!" Vereesa screamed.
Yogg-Saron was pleased. Fear was the tribute he craved. But then, the finishing blow came.
"It looks really... ugly!"
The silence that followed broke Yogg-Saron's "defenses" more than any sword could. People feared his strength, but no one had ever dared call him ugly.
His tentacles lashed out in a fury as a series of indistinct Void languages erupted into a roar.
"Who are you calling ugly?! You wretched ant! You're the ugly one! Your whole family is ugly!"
The enraged god roared. Scarlet eyes appeared all over his body, each gaze slicing through the air like a cold blade. One giant mouth opened to reveal a swirling vortex of the Void, filled with the tiny, eternal screams of those he had devoured.
Any other mortal would have been paralyzed, but Vereesa stood her ground. With Arthas by her side, she felt she could face the entire Burning Legion without flinching.
"You're ugly! If you weren't, you wouldn't be so agitated. I clearly hit a nerve. Ugh, so all the Old Gods are this hideous? How disgusting!"