But he could not free himself.

The “tongue” coiled around his muzzle, tightening its grip so much that Nozdormu felt as if his jawbones were cracking. Again, he reminded himself that this was all illusion, but knowing that did nothing to stop either the agony or the anxiety, the latter eating away within him in a manner he had never experienced.

He was almost at the teeth. They gnashed together, clearly in part to unnerve him — and succeeding. The strain of also holding together the bonds of reality put further stress to his thoughts. How much more simple just to let the Well take him and be done with all the effort —

No! Nozdormu suddenly thought. A notion came to him, a desperate one. He did not know if he had the power to make it pass, but there was little other choice.

The Aspect’s body shimmered. He seemed to withdraw into himself.

The scene turned backward. Every motion made reversed itself. The “tongue” unrolled from his muzzle. He inhaled the sands, the tendrils undid themselves, drawing back into the black waters —

And the moment that happened, Nozdormu halted the reversal, then immediately withdrew his mind from the Well.

Once more, he floated in the river of time, barely keeping reality cohesive. The titanic effort took even more of a toll now that he had expended himself in his disastrous search, but somehow the Aspect found the strength to continue. He had touched upon the evil corrupting the Well and knew more than ever that failure would bring worse than destruction.

Nozdormu now recognized them for what they were. Even the horrific fury of the entire Burning Legion paled in comparison.