“You must be taught your places…” the beast hissed as the glaive returned to Tyrande.
“Away from the portal!” Broll ordered. “Retreat from it!”
The pair backed up, trying to return to Ashenvale, but the energies of the portal spread to follow them. No matter how hard they pushed, they could not reach the mortal plane.
Then a mighty figure reached for them. Gnarl, half-submerged in the portal energies, grabbed Tyrande with one huge hand and Broll with the other even as the sinister dragon surged forward.
“You cannot escape… the Nightmare is all around and all within you!”
As he said that, from the very air surrounding the night elves there formed shadow creatures that made Tyrande gasp. Although only silhouettes, they bore the semblances of satyrs, their muscular legs akin to those of furred goats and ending in heavy, cloven hooves and their heads bearing sharp horns that curved back. There were hints of other satyr features, the long tails and beards, the torsos and heads bearing resemblance to night elves.
The outlines of their savage claws were quite clear. That they were shadows added some new dimension of horror to those who had faced the true fiends in the past.
Their numbers increased in rapid order, threatening to overwhelm the trio. Gnarl thrust the night elves behind him, then confronted the shadow satyrs. They leapt upon the ancient with eager abandon. They scratched and tore and bit with ebony fangs and claws. They tore through the hard bark skin. A deep brown sap dribbled from wounds all over the ancient, but Gnarl seemed unimpressed by the injuries he received.
The ancient seized one shadow and squeezed. The silhouette scattered into a thousand pieces of shadow. Gnarl plucked another off of him, then did the same.
But the pieces from the first then gathered again in different places. From the one destroyed shadow was born half a dozen more. The same happened to the fragments of the second.
Yet the ancient had bought his two companions time to plot their own counterattacks. The high priestess threw her glaive. The weapon became whirling death, severing shadow after shadow.
The moonlight surrounding the blades then burned away the cut silhouettes.
As for Broll, he transformed, again taking on an ursine shape.
The huge, dark bear fell upon the shadow satyrs. Claws ripped and tore at the silhouettes, claws aglow with wild, purple flames. The shadows fell by the scores as Broll let his animalistic instincts all but take over.
The dragon’s foul laugh drowned out all other sounds. He swept toward Broll. “Your little flames won’t hurt me!”
The leviathan opened wide and exhaled. A great cloud of utter darkness shot forth.
It enveloped the druid. Broll could neither see nor sense anything. Growling, he slashed and bit, but found no substance.
Father! Father!
The massive bear snarled in distrust and anxiety. Broll knew his daughter’s voice.
No, Father, no!
He knew that this was not real, that this was a nightmare of the dragon’s doing…but the cry felt so real.
Just for a moment, Broll caught sight of a female night elf. That strengthened his yearning for Anessa. The druid reverted to his true form —
The shadows pressed him…but out of them also came the figure he had glimpsed. She gripped him tight and pulled him with her.
“Broll! Wake up!”
He blinked, not certain when his eyes had closed. “A-Anessa?”
“No! Tyrande!”
“Tyrande…” The druid’s senses returned. He stood next to the high priestess, who had one hand wrapped around his waist while with the other hand she manipulated the huge, gleaming glaive.
Elune’s light still embraced the weapon, giving it power against the shadow satyrs.
“He comes again!” she warned.
Broll did not have to ask who, for the monstrous dragon already loomed over them. Of Gnarl there was no sight, and the druid also wondered what had happened to Eranikus. Had he led them to this point so that this other dragon could deal with them? No…that makes no sense! If he had, he’d be here, too, making certain of our deaths!
But what mattered most at the moment was surviving. The dragon dove down. His mouth opened wide and Broll feared another exhalation of dark nightmares.
Then, with a guttural roar, Gnarl reentered the scene. Bits of his bark skin hung from the ancient’s body and the sap dripped everywhere, yet Gnarl showed no slowing as he seized the reptilian monster.
“They will not be yours, Lethon!” he grated.
“You will all be ours…” the corrupted dragon mocked. “Azeroth and the Dream have been inexorably intertwined since the world’s creation… and thus you are linked to the Dream and what it is… You cannot hide from that within all of you…”
Lethon… Broll knew that name. “He was slain!” the druid told Tyrande as they battled to escape the energies of the twisted portal. “Lethon should be dead!”
“Then how does he exist here?”
The druid suddenly understood. It explained why the energies had reached out to the pair. “Only his dreamform still thrives! He’s a green dragon, one of those most bound to the Dream! Whatever corrupted him must’ve been able to keep that part of him ‘alive,’ but only so long as he stays from the mortal plane.”
“What happens if he does not?”
“We should try to find out,” Broll muttered. “Eranikus be cursed! If he knew about this… if this is why he left us to face the Nightmare alone…”
There was no time to say more, for the dark green shapes were converging on them again and, worse, Gnarl was finally losing ground to Lethon. Although the guardian was gigantic himself and embodied the power and sturdiness of the huge tree he resembled, Lethon was too strong. The dragon battled the wounded ancient down, then raised a paw that ended in massive claws.
The night elves had no hope of aiding him. Indeed, they were not only driven back by the ancient, but were then separated from one another by the fiendish silhouettes.
“Away from me!” Tyrande roared, trying to fight her way back.
With the whirling glaive and the light of Elune, she cut a swath through the infernal ranks. The shadow satyrs before her melted away as if dew touched by the morning sun.
Broll returned to his bear form, using the magical purple fire to enhance his powerful blows. Yet the nightmares seemed without end.
Lethon, meanwhile, had returned his attention to Gnarl. The ancient had managed to rise up on one knee but could still not fend off his gargantuan adversary.
“I have you now!” Lethon cried with a savage grin revealing many, many teeth.
“I have lived long…I do not fear death…”
This caused the corrupted dragon to laugh more harshly. “Dead, you serve us no purpose…”
With one mighty paw, he swatted Gnarl toward the deep mist.
The ancient managed to bring himself to a halt at the very edge.
Clearly staggered, he nevertheless defiantly rose to resume battle.
From out of the mist came a dark, grasping hand. It was small, but it seized Gnarl’s leg with a ferocity that caused the ancient to look down. As he did, a second, identical hand seized one arm.
Other hands shot from the mist. They clustered together, as if all part of the same host. Gnarl growled and tried to pull away, but too many now had hold of him.
Broll roared a warning to Tyrande. The two night elves tried to fight their way to their rescuer.
Despite his titanic struggles, the ancient could not free himself of even one grip. More and more hands seized him. They grasped him as something starving might a morsel. Slowly they began to drag Gnarl back to the mist.