Noah had no idea what nonsense Adal was thinking, nor could he understand a word the fellow was saying.
Noah did not know the language of Draenor. If that Tangram in front of him had been speaking Azerothian, Noah might have understood.
Of course, even if Noah had understood, he would not have stopped. Have a nice talk?
Would you give me your power if we had a nice talk? Of course not. What, could you let me take you apart?
Since that was impossible, what was the point of saying so much? They might as well fight properly!
Noah showed absolutely no mercy. In his eyes, the Naaru might be sacred, but he had always thought they were running a pyramid scheme.
Though he did not remember the details very clearly, Noah did remember that when Illidan killed Xera, only the "young" Turalyon had been furious. The other old charlatans had shown little reaction. Perhaps they had long seen through the so-called Holy Light and stopped believing in fate.
They had realized that they could only create their own future rather than leave it to fate.
Just as Illidan had done when he grabbed Turalyon's sword at the end and told him that fate was not bestowed by others—it was created by oneself.
Noah also seemed to recall a detail. Before the Tangram had assembled, Turalyon's eyes had still been brown. But after that thing appeared, they had turned gold. It was hard to say whether he had been controlled.
Noah had no interest in talking to the ringleader of such a pyramid scheme. If he got controlled by the thing for no reason, he would really be taking a huge loss.
Noah hurled his magic at Adal as though mana were free. He could cast five entirely different