Underground hall.
Garrosh staggered several steps backward, gasping for breath.
The frantic whispers of the Heart of Y'Shaarj constantly filled the orc Warchief's mind, trying to lure his spirit and will into corruption and turn him into the heart's puppet.
The whispers grew increasingly anxious and urgent. It seemed the Heart of Y'Shaarj wanted to control the orc as soon as possible, preserve his life, and try to escape.
Oh, it certainly was not concerned about Garrosh. The Heart of Y'Shaarj was doing it for itself.
The heart wanted to flee, immediately, right now, because the lingering presence of another unfamiliar Old God in the corridor not far from the hall was drawing ever closer, spreading toward this hall with undisguised hostility.
The heart was Y'Shaarj's final safeguard for resurrection. If it was destroyed or devoured and absorbed by another Old God, then Y'Shaarj would truly have no hope of returning to life. He would be utterly dead, with nothing left behind.
So it had to run! It had to control this damned, lowly flesh-orc!
But the heart failed. This orc was not lowly. His will was extraordinarily firm, hard as steel and impossible to shake. The frantic whispers had no effect on him whatsoever apart from infinitely magnifying his obsession with the Horde.
This was fucking ridiculous!
After finally getting a chance at resurrection, it had run into a rock in a latrine—stinking, hard, and impervious to reason. What the hell had this idiot orc been raised on? Why was he so damn stubborn?!
"Give it up, my son! I know that heart is constantly influencing you now, just as demonic Fel corruption influenced us back then. Perhaps you can endure for a month, a year, even decades—but can you resist it for your entire life? If we let