The shadow grew and twisted, almost as if the sinister tree slipped around to better view its prey. Malfurion himself suddenly twisted anew, the tree of pain that he had become taking on a new, more vile aspect. From his boughs, the leaves sprouted black flowers. Each flower’s birth was as a needle thrust into the night elf’s eyes. There were hundreds, soon covering most of his upper torso.

From each blossom there suddenly swelled an emerald egg.

Malfurion wanted to scream, but, of course, could not.

Out of one of the eggs burst a thing with tentacles and wings. As it moved, it oozed pure terror.

A second fiend burst free, followed by a third, and more. They crawled over Malfurion, scraping and biting as they moved.

At last the horrific multitude left the archdruid. They flowed over the small patch of space that he could see, as if awaiting commands.

The shadow moved nearer, as if caressing them. Wrought from your own fears, stirred by my desire… they are beautiful to behold, are they not?

As if by some unheard signal, the swarm spread out in different directions. They quickly vanished in the deep, dank green fog that surrounded all but Malfurion’s immediate vicinity.

There are more and more sleepers, my friend, more and more of those susceptible to these pets and those before them… their nightmares are feeding me through you and the others…

Malfurion did his best not to acknowledge this truth, that his own abilities were aiding in the spread of the Nightmare beyond the Emerald Dream, yet concern did creep in. Concern that, unfortunately, his captor could sense.

Yes, my friend, you have betrayed your people, your world, and your beloved… you know the truth of it…

The archdruid’s form twisted more. Another silent scream echoed through the night elf’s mind, but it was insufficient to stifle all the pain. Despite his training, despite his skills, Malfurion could not hold back the torture completely.

Go mad, Malfurion Stormrage… go mad… but know that even it is no refuge… I know… I will be there waiting for you… there is no place within where you may hide…

The shadow of the monstrous tree receded from Malfurion’s sight, but the archdruid could still feel its nearby presence. Even as new, gnarled branches sprouted from what had once been his arms, Malfurion remained aware that the Nightmare Lord had only just begun to use him. The night elf was key to the creature’s plot, for Malfurion was a powerful link to both this realm and Azeroth.

But he was not the only key. Malfurion knew that all too bitterly.

The evil that was the Nightmare had snared others more powerful in their own way than him… and while the night elf had been granted a particularly horrific fate, those others served in a more accursed manner. They were now willing followers of the darkness, helping to spread it, eager to see it engulf the mortal plane.

The Nightmare Lord had dragons to do his bidding. Green dragons…

There is something unspeakable seeking dominion over the world, the cowled figure thought as he perused a series of floating globes before him. Seated upon a chair carved out of a stalagmite, the gaunt, almost elven figure studied the image within each globe.

At his will, they reflected images of places all over Azeroth.

He wore the violet robes of the Kirin Tor, though his current course of action was his own. Indeed, there was much about his activities that they did not know — not even their leader, who had been his pupil and who understood the truth about him. The figure, who oft watched over the younger races, now had to focus on the various dragonflights, for after so many centuries of consistency, the great winged creatures were in flux. That was a concern that would have been important to many, but especially to Krasus.

After all, he was one of them.

In appearance, he was lanky, hawklike of features, and had three long, jagged scars running down his right cheek. His hair was mainly silver, with streaks of black and crimson. The silver did little to bespeak his true age though. To learn more of that, one had to peer into his glittering black eyes — eyes of no mortal creature. The eyes and the scars were the only hints of his true identity as the great dragon Korialstrasz.

He was also chief consort of the queen of the red dragonflight and the Aspect of Life, the glorious Alexstrasza, and, as such, was her principal agent when it came to protecting Azeroth.

And such was his role now, for a situation had arisen that touched upon both his great concerns: Azeroth and his own kind.

There was an evil spreading not only through the mortal world, but one that greatly touched the Emerald Dream, too. He had tried contacting Ysera, but she was not to be found. Indeed, he could not contact any of the green dragons save one… and Krasus would have nothing to do with that particular figure.

He did not have to ask just who was truly responsible. For anyone else, the question would have had no definite answer, but Krasus knew. He knew with all his soul the evil behind it.

“I know you, Destroyer,” he whispered as he viewed another globe. “I name you, Deathwing …”

It could only be the black dragon, the crazed Aspect once called Neltharion the Earth-Warder. Krasus rose. He would have to act immediately —

Familiar laughter echoed throughout his mountain sanctum, a hidden place situated not all that far from where once fantastic Dalaran, city of the magi, had once stood. However, now a gaping crater marked what even Krasus had been forced to admit was one of the most astounding — if potentially catastrophic — spells ever cast. Dalaran’s absence meant that few had reason to come to this desolate place… unless they sought the dragon mage himself.

Krasus leapt to his feet. He instinctively waved his hand to dismiss the images from the globes — then saw with dread that they all bore one vision. It was an eye, the burning eye of the Destroyer

…

“Deathwing—”

Even as he blurted out the black dragon’s name, the globes exploded. Savage shards flew throughout the chamber, striking stone walls, limestone outcroppings, and, most of all, Krasus. The spell he cast to shield him from them proved useless and the force of the shards’ attack sent Krasus flying back against the stone chair.

Though he appeared mortal, his body was still more resilient than that of any elf or human. The stone cracked and both Krasus and the chair went tumbling. However, Krasus paid the collision little mind, the agony caused by the many shards embedded in him far worse.

Yet still he struggled to his feet and prepared a counterattack.

While not as powerful as an Aspect, Krasus was among the most versatile and cunning of his kind. Moreover, Deathwing had dared attack him in his sanctum, where a number of elements existed that would serve Alexstrasza’s consort.

But the moment he summoned the energies needed for his spell, the shards glowed bright. Shock ran through his body.

Those pieces that had struck elsewhere around the sanctum tore loose of their places. Registering this, a pained Krasus hunched over. His body began to swell and his arms and legs twisted, becoming more reptilian. From his back burst two leathery, vestigial wings that immediately began to grow.

Deathwing’s laughter filled the sanctum. Again the shards glowed. Krasus, midway through his transformation into Korialstrasz the red dragon, faltered.

The other shards reached him. However, instead of striking Krasus as the previous had, they began adhering to his body.

Krasus sought to burn them off, even shake them off, but to no avail.

Then, those in his flesh pressed hard. The dragon mage could not move. To his horror, he found that the shards were compressing him. They crushed him into a smaller and smaller thing, as if he had no bones, no substance.