Xavius had previously allied himself with N'Zoth, but the Old God had been personally dragged from his subterranean prison by Sargeras during the War of the Ancients and brutally executed with a forced infusion of Fel energy. As the weakest of the Old Gods, N'Zoth could bewitch many mortals, but he was nothing in the face of a true Titan.
Within the cosmic hierarchy, only the Void Lords can rival the Titans, yet the Void Lords cannot manifest fully in the physical universe. As beings of a different plane, crossing into the material realm requires staggering amounts of energy; every second they exist there drains an enormous amount of resources to sustain their forms.
In contrast, the Titans are native to the material universe, existing without such energy constraints. Despite being the ultimate cosmic force, they lack any sense of "martial ethics." They have no qualms about personally descending to crush their opponents. It is utterly shameless—the chess player flipping the board to beat the opponent's pieces with their own hands. It is no wonder the Void is so persistent in its invasion; the "thuggery" of Order is infuriating.
To extract Yogg-Saron's soul and obtain Anima—completely killing him at the spiritual level—one rule was absolute: the machinery must be fully automated. No intelligent life could participate in the extraction, or they would risk being corrupted.
The primary weapon of an Old God is the ability to find and manipulate the most vulnerable parts of a heart. No matter how powerful a being is, they can lose themselves in those whispers. Once a crack is found, they become an inescapable rot.
"That is a wise precaution," Hela noted. "We must ensure Yogg-Saron does not mislead the Watchers again."
She wasn't exaggerating. Even Loken, the wisest of the Keepers, had been swayed. To the Titans, Old Gods are barely a nuisance, but to mortals, they are practically gods who "grant every request." Followers rarely care if a god is "good" or "evil" as long as their prayers are answered.
"I plan to build a fully automated facility and set up a barrier to isolate his whispers," Arthas confirmed. "He will stay in his cage, waiting obediently for his soul to be harvested."
Arthas had weighed the risks. Like any being, he could be susceptible to brainwashing, but even the most persuasive whisper is useless against cold, impersonal gears. Furthermore, the cultists Yogg-Saron had gathered—humans, orcs, furbolgs, trolls, and even elves—had already been executed. Their diversity proved just how perverse the Twilights Hammer's reach truly was.
The only lingering regret was the escape of Cho'gall. The ogre-magi had reportedly fled to the Tanaris desert to seek C'Thun. While C'Thun stirred in the south, Yogg-Saron remained bound in the north, his escape stalled by Ulduar's remaining defenses.
"Good. Get the machine operational as soon as possible," Arthas ordered. "In the meantime, you and I will reinforce the barrier."
For three days, the two worked within the depths of the prison. The air was thick with Yogg-Saron's curses. The "Old Silver Coin" who had manipulated the world for eons was now being outplayed by a young upstart, and his rage was so great he could not "sleep."
Sensing his end, he tried to incite his followers worldwide, but his whispers were trapped within Northrend.
"Even if I die, I won't let you win, Arthas! I'll be waiting for you in Hell!"
Yogg-Saron's final roar vanished as the runes flared. The cage became a dimensional mirror—you could see him, but you could never touch or hear him. Before the final blockade took hold, Yogg-Saron surged his remaining energy across the Great Sea. He didn't send it to his followers or his rival C'Thun; instead, it reached a hidden Titan laboratory in Zandalar. Inside was G'huun—the "artificial" Old God created by the Titans to study how to kill their enemies. Odyn had long ago sealed the failed experiment away, but now, it had received a sudden, dark infusion of power.
Half a month later, Mimiron emerged from his workshop. He had built the extraction device with mechanical precision, burying himself in the research of artificial intelligence. Meanwhile, the Garden of Life had returned to its former glory.
Arthas arrived at the temple, greeted by a flower-headed whipper that gestured for him to follow its roots. The rivers flowed again, and the forest thrived. Freya knelt by the water, having reduced her height from ten meters to a more manageable two. Though she still possessed the stature of a muscular giantess, her presence was serene.
She offered Arthas tea brewed with water filtered through the ancient forest.
"Your Majesty, please," she said softly.
Arthas took a sip. Sometimes, only the scent of home—even a home in this world—could ground him. He had a wife and a daughter here; he had taken root. He wouldn't go back even if he could. To be a beast of burden in his old world or a superior being here? The choice was simple.
"The Goddess Ainhara—the World Soul—spoke with me," Freya began quietly. "As a Keeper, my creed was to obey the Pantheon. I knew her when she was still in the underground Harandal region, before she was moved to the World Chamber of Khaz'algar."
She looked down, a rare expression of shame on her face. "I was confused, but I could not disobey the Pantheon. Only now, after receiving the final power from Lady Eonar, do I understand. My mission is to help the World Soul escape her predicament."
Freya shared her concerns about the Pantheon's silence. All nine Keepers had sensed the loss of feedback from the Titans, but only a few—herself, Ra, and perhaps Odyn—suspected the truth. The Pantheon was gone. Destroyed.
"It was Sargeras," Arthas said. "We don't have much time. We must rely on Ainhara's awakening. The prophecy says she will be the most powerful being in existence—one even Sargeras cannot match."
"Yes," Freya agreed. "She told me to rescue her from the World Chamber immediately. Her voice was... desperate."
Freya's shame was a sign of her growing independence. She was no longer a mindless automaton of Order.
"The Pantheon's initial intention was to accelerate her awakening," Freya explained, "but they wanted to force her into a member of the Order. Every World Soul is born pure, without an affinity for any specific Force. But if a Force is infused during awakening—Light, Void, Life, Death, Order, or Chaos—the Titan becomes a manifestation of that power."
"The Goddess told me that if she is not rescued, she will be 'corrupted' by Order. Her potential will be frozen, and her way of thinking will be imprisoned. She will become a mindless tool of the Pantheon's design. It is a terrible fate—a sterilization of the spirit far worse than the corruption of the Void."
The truth was cruel. The Pantheon, the creators Freya loved, were willing to lobotomize their own kind to ensure "Order."
"Then there's no time for sentiment," Arthas stood up, his eyes cold. "Let's make our preparations. We are going to rescue the World Soul."