The shadow of death hangs over the Zandalar Empire.
Sal hid in a low, dark thatched hut, chewing a piece of hard, moldy dried meat, frowning, and struggled to swallow it.
In troubled times, the guards on the streets fought fiercely among the dead, just to turn each other into hard meat. The Zandalari Empire was in chaos.
There is chaos and the king's law is not there.
No one paid attention to the noble aliens. Thrall encountered crises more than once and saw the desire for food in the eyes of the guards.
Fortunately, Thrall's strength crushed the Zandalari trolls of this era, so he was not reduced to food.
Opposite him lay a Zandalari troll with gray beard and hair. The wrinkles on his forehead were as deep as ravines. He was extremely sick, his skin was red and hot, and he was skinny and skinny.
This was a stubborn troll who refused Thrall's offer to heal him.
"Cough! Cough! The Zandalari Trolls have created a glorious history. No race in Azeroth can compare to us. If you are not convinced, we have the ability to build a city that reaches the sky."
The troll's eyes widened, his pupils filled with pride:
"Thirty-two thousand meters high, even with hundreds of thousands of years of hard work, God can't do it."
"Stupid, stubborn, stubborn, idiot." Sal muttered in his heart. Facing the dying man, Sal was too lazy to argue with him and just rolled his eyes.
"Hey, you live a long life this year." Sal asked.
The troll shook his head, revealing a mouthful of ground black and yellow teeth. The food of the troll civilians was poor, and there were always endless grains of sand:
"I am twenty-nine years old this year. My life has been extremely wonderful. My life has not been in vain."
"I thought I was ninety-two years old." Thrall muttered in a low voice. The Zandalari trolls grew old very quickly after years of hard work that exceeded their physical limits.
"I have no regrets in this life. I will be a Zandalari in the next life and praise the great Emperor Attar."
The old troll wailed loudly with all his strength, finally took his last breath, struggled a few times with his limbs, and became completely silent.
Thrall kicked the corpse disdainfully:
"Hypocritical, you just said that in front of me. You cursed me countless times in private. You told so many lies that you even believed it yourself."
Thrall hates this era. Even he can't convince a stubborn Zandalari troll to learn magic. By Thrall's standards, the Zandalari are complete waste.
"But I can't go back, what should I do?" Sartre was frustrated.
A ray of light shot towards Azeroth from the depths of the universe, passed through the Titan shield covering Azeroth, and shone on Thrall.
Sal only felt severe pain all over his body, as if his bones had been torn apart, and his vision went dark.
When Sal woke up, he did not see his body. His consciousness seemed to be floating in the universe, and he saw a glimmer of light in the endless darkness.
Deep in a silver-white nebula, a palace-like building loomed. The walls seemed to be made of countless suns, blooming with blazing light. The dense white airflow formed corridors. The palace was huge and endless, and in the center was a tall tower.
's throne.
Stars are bricks, streams of light pave the floor, and time is decoration.
There was a thought in Sal's heart, as if someone was speaking deep in his heart.
"This is the realm of the Titans, the Pantheon."
Thrall couldn't help but look towards the throne.
Countless hours flowed, surrounding a tall figure with white hair and beard reaching his waist. He was calm and powerful, holding a huge staff wrapped with lightning.
The High Father, Aman'Thul.
The door of the Pantheon opened, and a figure wearing thick red armor, eyes breathing fire, and holding a flaming giant sword walked into the Pantheon, bent his knees, and knelt down in front of the throne.
"Older than this universe, the controller of endless time, the God of Gods, the Lord of the Universe, the Almighty High Father, the humble Aggramar greets you."
Thrall was secretly surprised that Aggramar the Avenger was Sargeras' deputy, a powerful Titan and a terrifying creature larger than Azeroth.
In front of Aman'Thul, he was as humble as an orc slave.
Aman'Thul opened his eyes and looked behind Aggramar with his golden eyes:
"Why don't you see Sargeras?"
Aggramar prostrated on the ground: "Sargeras, he betrayed the Pantheon."
Aman'Thul snorted coldly, his eyes were deep, as if penetrating endless time:
"I saw the tragic end of Sargeras. When the power of the Titan in his body is exhausted, he will become a piece of dust floating in the universe. Countless void creatures will parasitize and multiply in his body. He can only watch.
He watched himself being torn apart, suffering endless pain and dying. Betrayal of me never ends well, and he is definitely not the first, nor the last."
Aggramar said hurriedly:
"Praise be to the great Aman'Thul, your wisdom is unparalleled, your power is unmatched, and the ignorant Sargeras will surely pay the price for his foolish behavior."
Aman'Thul raised his hand and said: "Put down your weapons, disarm, and return to your position."
In front of the tall throne, a continuously rotating silver vortex appeared, as if it were a vast galaxy composed of countless stars.
Aggramar took off his armor and put the weapons and armor into the silver vortex, sinking into it bit by bit.
The silver vortex rotated rapidly, extracting silver light from his body.
Aggramar gritted his teeth so as not to make a sound of pain. As the silver light disappeared, his body became smaller and smaller, shrinking from the size of a planet to a tall tower, like a tiny ant at the feet of Aman'Thul.
When it was all over, Aggramar knelt before Aman'Thul again.
There was a black footstool under Ammansur's feet. In the dark space beneath the footrest, there were one hundred and eight coffin-like creations with names engraved on them.
Dreamweaver Norgannon, Sculptor Khaz'goroth, Avenger Aggramar, Defender Sargeras... each of these prominent names shocked Thrall's heart, while the names on other coffins were vague.
, it’s not very clear.
Aggramar found the coffin with his name engraved on it, opened the lid and lay inside.
"What do you think about this, mortal?" A voice sounded in Thrall's heart.
This voice was very familiar. It was the being behind the scenes who helped Thrall. With the help of this mysterious being, Thrall fought fiercely with Garrosh, triggering a catastrophe.
Thrall chuckled: "It turns out that the noble Titan is just a slave of Aman'Thul."
The voice was quiet for a while and then replied:
"In fact, they are inferior to slaves. A more appropriate term is livestock and food. Amman'Thul has the power of life and death over all Titans. The noble Titans are actually inferior to pigs and dogs."
After a pause, the voice continued:
"There are not even one planet in the trillions like Azeroth that gave birth to Titans, but the universe is very huge and boundless. The Pantheon, as its name suggests, was once the home of tens of thousands of Titans."
"Tens of thousands of Titans." Thrall's voice trembled, thinking of a possibility, and asked: "Where have all those Titans gone?"
"They were pulled out of their bones by Aman'Thul, their souls were crushed, and they became the materials to build the Pantheon. Some were also made into weapons and medicines. They were put to their best use and each had its own uses."
The voice spoke out Thrall's horrifying guess:
"When Sargeras destroyed the Pantheon, there were only one hundred and eight Titans left under Amman'Thul, sleeping under Aman'Thul's feet, living in humiliation."