N'ZOTH

"FINALLY, YOU SHOWED YOURSELF, YOU OVERGROWN CEPHALOPOD!"

Galen practically vibrated with glee, a wide, almost manic grin plastered across his face as he stared at N'Zoth's grotesque shell, now impaled by Ashbringer. He was about to charge in himself, probably planning to give the Old God a good, old-fashioned Holy beatdown, when a surprisingly firm hand clamped onto his arm. It was Queen Azshara, looking utterly regal, even in the midst of cosmic chaos.

Her palm was still cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the burning fury in her eyes, even after regaining her night elf form. Galen raised an eyebrow, a silent question hanging in the air: "Problem, Your Majesty? Did I interrupt your villain-monologue-to-be?"

"He's mine," she stated, her voice a low, dangerous purr. Ah. A vengeful woman indeed. And Galen knew better than to get between a queen and her long-awaited cosmic payback.

With a theatrical bow that would make a Broadway actor blush, Galen stepped aside. "By all means, Your Majesty. Do try not to get any… ichor on your lovely ensemble."

Azshara gave him a satisfied smirk, a hint of something truly terrifying in her golden eyes, before levitating into the air with the grace of a vengeful ballet dancer. Her eyes blazed with arcane fury, practically screaming, "It's showtime, tentacle boy!"

Gandalf and Thalendril, clearly understanding the universal sign for "don't mess with a furious queen," tactfully retreated, leaving the battlefield to her. No one questioned the Light of Lights' strength—especially not Thalendril, who remembered how she had casually crushed troll loa gods ten thousand years ago, probably while humming a jaunty tune.

N'Zoth's remote-controlled shell, looking like a very angry, very large, and very confused rock lobster, turned its massive pincers toward her. "Betrayer… madness will consume you! You'll be knitting sweaters out of your own sanity!"

"Shatter Sanity!" N'Zoth shrieked, clearly hoping to give her a cosmic headache. A gigantic Void tendril, thick as a skyscraper and smelling faintly of existential dread, erupted from the ground, lashing at Azshara with the speed of a cosmic whip. But she dodged effortlessly, a mere blur of elegance, as if the tendril was just a particularly slow, clumsy dance partner.

Yet, dark flames, crackling with malevolent energy, suddenly wreathed her body. She erected a barrier just in time, barely avoiding disaster, looking slightly annoyed, as if someone had spilled tea on her favorite dress.

Now serious, Azshara's eyes pulsed with a furious violet energy. "Absolute Zero!" she commanded, and frost, so intense it made the very air crystallize, surged across the battlefield, encasing N'Zoth's legs in unbreakable ice. The Old God was now a very large, very angry, and very stuck statue.

The Old God roared in defiance, a sound like grinding tectonic plates. "Your magic is USELESS! I'm immune to your petty parlor tricks, you glorified fishwife!" A dark shield, shimmering with malevolent energy, formed around him, devouring all energy nearby, like a cosmic black hole with a very bad attitude.

The battle stalled into a stalemate. Azshara, floating majestically, looked like she was waiting for a bus. N'Zoth, frozen solid, looked like he was waiting for a very long, very painful thaw.

"Are we just… waiting for her?" Thalendril muttered, tapping his foot impatiently. "In this Void realm, I doubt she can win alone. She's chugging mana potions like they're going out of style!"

N'Zoth had home-field advantage, after all. Without the Well of Eternity's power or her trusty tidal scepter, Azshara was running on fumes, probably powered by sheer spite and caffeine.

"Of course not," Gandalf smirked, a knowing glint in his eye. "Notice how those golden bats vanished earlier? They've found something. Probably the cosmic equivalent of a back door."

As if on cue, a tiny golden bat fluttered over, looking rather pleased with itself—only to be smacked out of the air by Thalendril, who clearly had no patience for dramatic entrances. "Tch," the high elf grumbled, looking at the bat as if it were a particularly annoying fly.

The bat, looking slightly ruffled but surprisingly resilient, picked itself up, avoiding the high elf's dagger-like glare. "Master… we found the passage," it squeaked, clearly in a hurry to deliver its news before getting swatted again.

Galen glanced at Azshara—who was indeed chugging mana potions mid-battle like a college student cramming for finals—before nodding. "Lead the way, my tiny, heroic rodent."

The Path to the Core: Where Even Walls Have Teeth

The bat guided them to a flesh-covered wall, pulsating with a sickly, organic rhythm. Its maw-like entrance was barred by jagged teeth, looking less like a wall and more like a very angry, very gross mouth.

"I'll handle this!" Durin bellowed, clearly eager for some action. He activated Stoneform, his body swelling to five meters tall, turning him into a walking, roaring, dwarven wrecking ball. "HYAH!" His hammer, looking like a very large, very angry mallet, smashed the teeth to pieces with a satisfying CRUNCH, forcing the passage open. It was less a breach and more a dental extraction from hell.

Behind them, N'Zoth's shell howled in rage, firing a Void blast that probably smelled like burnt despair—but Azshara, with a flick of her wrist, froze him solid again. "Go! Don't wait! I'll keep this overgrown ice sculpture busy!"

A tentacle, surprisingly fast for something so large, lashed out, sending Durin flying with a yelp. Thalendril countered with Phoenix flames, scorching the retreating limb, leaving it smoking and probably very annoyed.

"He's trying to seal us in! Don't let him recover!" Thalendril yelled, dashing inside, Durin scrambling after him, looking slightly dazed but still determined.

The chamber beyond was a nightmare of pulsating tumors, noxious gas that smelled like a thousand bad decisions, and enough squelching sounds to make a sane person weep.

"Pathetic tricks!" The Golden Dragons roared, clearly disgusted. They unleashed Holy Breath, scouring the filth away with the efficiency of a celestial power washer. The tumors shriveled, the gas dissipated, and the squelching sounds mercifully ceased.

N'Zoth screamed in agony, his corrupting whispers useless against their unbreakable wills. "ENOUGH! WHAT ARE YOU?! Why won't you BREAK?! My tentacles are lonely!"

Only now, with death at his doorstep and his cosmic real estate being thoroughly sanitized, did N'Zoth realize—he had lost before the battle even began. He was the villain in a story where the heroes had already read the ending.

Galen stepped into the Chamber of Infinite Truth, his Holy Light blazing, illuminating the horrors within. "N'Zoth~! Come out and greet your guests~!" he called out, his voice annoyingly cheerful, like a host at a very exclusive, very violent party.

The final horror was revealed. A massive, vertical maw, lined with blackened fangs, its bulbous body covered in far too many orange eyes. It was a visual assault on sanity itself, a cosmic abomination that looked like it had been designed by a committee of nightmares. One glance was enough. Galen already wanted to scrub his eyeballs with Life Water. And perhaps a very stiff drink.

"You think you've won?!" N'Zoth's voice was desperate, furious, sounding like a child throwing a tantrum because his sandcastle was being demolished. "I may die today—but you'll NEVER leave Ny'alotha! You'll be stuck here knitting sweaters out of Void energy for eternity!" Black tendrils surged, sealing the chamber, turning it into a very unpleasant, very inescapable cosmic coffin.

"He's trying to sever this space from Azeroth!" Gandalf barked, suddenly serious. "If he succeeds, even recall scrolls will take weeks to lock on! We'll be stuck here with him, and I left my good tea set at home!"

"Then we end this NOW," Galen declared, his eyes burning with resolve. "No tea for you, N'Zoth!"

"For the Alliance!" Grommash roared, his eyes gleaming with primal fury.

Garrosh, not to be outdone, let out his own war cry. They LEAPT, a blur of muscle and fury, their axes biting deep into N'Zoth's fleshy, pulsating body. Garrosh's blade shattered with a pathetic PING, proving that even legendary axes had their limits against an Old God. But Grommash—

"LOK'TAR OGAR!" he bellowed, his voice shaking the very foundations of the nightmare realm. Bloodhowl, his legendary axe, cleaved into the Old God's maw, ripping it open with a sickening SQUELCH. Black ichor, thick and foul, gushed forth like a ruptured cosmic sewer main.

"NOW!" Galen roared. His form erupted in radiance, a golden titan manifesting behind him, shimmering with power. The Lightforged Colossus had arrived, and it looked very, very angry. And it was about to make N'Zoth regret every single tentacle.