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Above the center of the Well of Eternity, the Demon Soul flared bright. Within the abyss formed by the Sargeras’s spell, forces set in play by both the Soul and the Well churned, slowly building up into the creation of a stable portal. From his monstrous realm, the lord of the Legion prepared for his entrance into this latest prize. Soon, so very soon, he would eradicate all life, all existence,from it…and then he would go on to the next ripe world. But there were others waiting in growing expectation, others with dire dreams far older than even that of the demon lord. They had waited for so very long for the means to escape, the means to reclaim what had once been theirs. Each step of success by Sargeras toward strengthening his portal was a step of success for them. With the Well, withthe Demon Soul, and with the lord of the Legion’s might, they would open up a window into their eternal prison. And once open, there would be no sealing it again. The Old Gods waited. They had done so for so very long, they could wait a little longer. But only a little…

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are usedfictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS A Pocket Star Book published by POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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Prologue
A primal fury raged all about him, relentlessly ripping at him from all sides. Fire, water, earth, and air—all tinged
with raw, uncontrolled magic—spun around him in madcap fashion. The strain to simply remain in one place threatened to tear him asunder,yet he held. He could do no less. Past his gaze soared countless scenes, countless objects. An endless, wild panorama of time assailed his senses. There were landscapes, battles, and creatures even he could not name. He heard the voices of every being who had, did, and would exist. Every noise ever caused thundered in his ears. Colors unbelievable blinded his eyes. And most unsettling, throughoutit all, he saw himself, himself in each moment of existence, stretching forth from almost the birth of time to beyond its death. He might have taken heart from that save that every aspect of him was posed in the same contorted manner as he was. Every existence of him struggled to keep not just his world—but all reality—from collapsing into chaos. Nozdormu shook his head and roared his agony andfrustration. He wore the form of a dragon—a huge, golden-bronze leviathan who seemed as much made of the sands of time as he was scaled flesh. His eyes were gleaming gemstones the color of the sun. His claws were glittering diamonds. He was the Aspect of Time, one of the five great entities who watched over the world of Azeroth, keeping it in balance and protecting it from danger within andwithout. Those who had formed the world had created him and his counterparts, and of Nozdormu, they had granted particular powers. He could see the myriad paths of the future and delve into the intricacies of the past. He swam the river of time as others did the air. Yet, now Nozdormu barely held disaster in check, even though he had the aid of himself countless times over. Where does it lie? the...