In his dream, Wrathion seemed to return to his beloved homeland, running freely across the vast grasslands, enjoying the blue sky and white clouds.
A group of docile Meat Cattle leisurely graze; they are the transformed forms of ancient Tauren.
The Tauren were originally the masters of this world, having created a glorious and splendid civilization. After their defeat, they were reduced to livestock, providing meat and dairy products for the Wrathion.
In his dream, Wrathion swam joyfully in the sea like a fish, his body covered in scales and a tail fin, as well as gills that allowed him to breathe underwater—a special ability of his race.
In order to descend upon Azeroth, Wrathion had to relinquish his physical body, leaving only the dark power that had accompanied him since birth.
The mysterious dark power possesses all sorts of profound abilities; no matter how severe the injury, it can be healed simply by sleeping.
Wrathion knew he was asleep, enjoying this feeling of freedom, and sensing that his injuries had healed, he commanded himself to wake up.
Upon opening his eyes, the first thing Wrathion saw was Madam Goya's pretty face.
The Pandaren woman has cute and delicate features, the most attractive of which is her pair of adorable little tiger teeth, but they don't pique Wrathion's interest.
He prefers cruel, ferocious faces with sharp fangs.
"My lord, it's time for your medicine." Madam Goya held a bowl of strong medicinal soup in her hands, her eyes and brows full of smiles.
"Take medicine?"
Wrathion found it amusing that his innate dark power allowed him to recover even after being reduced to ashes.
The outdated herbs of the Pandaren race were beneath Wrathion's notice.
"I am fully recovered." Wrathion intended to speak in a dignified voice, but strangely, his voice was weak and feeble, like a groan from a serious illness.
Madam Goya sighed and said, "My lord, your injuries haven't healed yet; you must take your medicine."
The bitter-tasting medicine was placed before him. Wrathion struggled to sit up, only to find to his surprise that he was completely powerless and had no strength at all.
"This is impossible." Wrathion's eyes widened in horror.
It should be noted that, protected by the power of darkness, Wrathion's body is virtually immune to all poisons, and in addition, his flesh is of Black Dragon blood, giving him extremely strong resistance to toxins.
Madam Goya, gentle as water and with a smile as beautiful as a flower, slowly brought the medicine to Wrathion's lips.
"My lord, I've been brewing this medicine for a long time. Once you drink it, you'll have no more worries."
Under Wrathion's horrified gaze, the gentle and lovely Madam Goya appeared like a Demons, trembling as she asked, "Who exactly are you?"
"My lord, you'll know after you drink this bowl of medicine."
Madam Goya pried open Wrathion's mouth and forced him to drink a large bowl of medicine.
The bitter medicine entered my stomach, and immediately a warm feeling spread to every corner of my body, as if the medicine really had a good effect.
In an instant, Wrathion felt unbearable pain, as if his soul was being tormented in flames, and he began to understand the reason for his weakness.
The body is immune to all poisons, but the soul is not.
This is a terrible poison that can directly kill the soul. While Wrathion was unconscious, Madam Goya must have forced him to drink countless bowls of it. That wicked woman.
"You, you..." Wrathion stammered, feeling a sense of apocalyptic terror.
Madam Goya stuck out her tongue and gently licked her lips, a smile playing on her lips, as if she were facing a delicious dish and wanted to savor it carefully.
"Wrathion the Harbinger, don't you understand? Everything I've done is for you."
A hoarse voice came through, seemingly a mixture of countless male and female voices, interspersed with piercing screams, painful groans, and desperate cries, sending chills down one's spine.
In despair, Wrathion asked again, "Who are you?"
Madam Goya a strange smile, and that hoarse voice, like countless people chanting in unison, rang out again:
"I am Shan Jitong, the chief Soulstealer and leader of the Soulclaw Sect of the Mogu. Wrathion, do you think Azeroth is only home to a bunch of fools like the Alliance and the Horde? I've seen plenty of Harbinger like you. Your soul, your memories, your Black Dragon body—they all belong to me now."
The infamous Soulclaw Sect of the Mogu feeds on souls, which explains why they can concoct poisons that harm souls. No one knows the true identity of Shan Jitong, the leader of the Soulclaw Sect.
"Wait, Shan Jitong, we can discuss this." While stalling for time, Wrathion cast a teleportation spell, but to his horror, the spell lost its effect.
"It seems the August Celestials didn't deceive me; your teleportation spell is merely Shaman's Astral Recall."
"Madam Goya" smiled in an unusually terrifying way, clearly not wanting to give Wrathion another chance.
A phantom of a Mogu man appeared above her head, his eyes closed, his face majestic, and he wore a tall black crown.
There were many faces on the neck, tightly bound by black chains. Among them were Demons of the Burning Legion, aberrations from the Void, servants of the Titans, and many other strangely shaped faces. Wrathion did not know their races or origins.
Those faces roared and screamed, as if enduring immense pain.
A huge mouth appeared on the abdomen of the Mogu phantom, filled with rings of sharp teeth. Deep inside the mouth were several black tentacles with suction cups at the tips. The tentacles extended into Wrathion's body and then were suddenly pulled back.
Wrathion felt a tearing pain as his soul, enveloped in black Flames, separated from his body. Faced with this situation, "Madam Goya" seemed confident, her tentacles calmly waving as she separated Wrathion's soul from the black Flames.
Finally, Wrathion's soul was dragged into that terrifying maw, where sharp teeth spun rapidly, shattering his soul and body, leaving only his head.
A new face appeared on the neck of the Mogu phantom—it was Wrathion, roaring desperately. The Mogu slowly opened its tightly closed eyes, revealing an expression of knowing certainty.
"As expected, Wrathion is an enemy of the Black Dragonflight; his target is Deathwing, not us Mogu."
The Mogu's voice was loud and crisp. After digesting Wrathion's memories, he seemed to breathe a long sigh of relief, looked towards the distant Isle of Thunder, and let out a soft whistle.
The clear voice soared over thousands of mountains and echoed within the Throne of Thunder.
"Lei Shen, I have eliminated the threat for you. You can resurrect with peace of mind. No one can covet the power of the Mogu."
Suddenly, countless bolts of Thunder appeared on the Throne of Thunder of Thunder, like dancing Cloud Serpent.
The Mogu phantom seemed exhausted, weakly saying, "Guo Ya, I entrust Wrathion's body to you. Remember our objective."
Hidden among dozens of terrifying heads on the neck of the Mogu phantom is an inconspicuous Pandaren with features exactly like Guo Ya's.
"My lord, I will certainly fulfill my mission."
The illusory image of the Mogu nodded and slowly closed its eyes.
Madam Goya sat to one side, holding an empty bowl, her face serene, elegant and dignified, as if nothing had happened.
Wrathion opened his eyes, his ethereal gaze filled with the mischievousness and cuteness of Pandaren.
Then, his eyes gradually turned serious, and he spoke in a dignified voice:
"I am Wrathion, and I am also Guo Ya. Azeroth must follow the Mogu's script, step by step. A fragmented Azeroth is powerless to fight against darkness. This war must end as soon as possible, otherwise, it will exhaust our strength."