Fulguralis was surrounded. By Mages. Over there was a short, pigtailed Gnome. Here was a sinewy Night Elf. Clustered to the left was a group of five seemingly identical dark-haired Humans. Perhaps mirror images? A female Draenei puffed out her chest to the right, joined by a giant, hulking Worgen.
The crowd wasn't limited to members of the Alliance either. Fulguralis spotted a flamboyant Blood Elf, a husky Tauren, even a slimy Goblin. He could have sworn he saw a Naga in there somewhere as well. It was a forest of colorful staffs. A sea of cloth.
Elementals dotted the room between the more or less intelligent denizens. There was a low hum beneath the silence. It was the sound of rocks moving, water flowing, fires burning, breezes... breezing?
The room itself seemed endless. There were no discernible supports, yet a ceiling loomed high overhead. Fulguralis could not glimpse any walls, but surely they were there. White tile ran underfoot. In the air, the Warlock smelled fear. Fear and just the sweetest hint of Corruption.
Fulguralis was the lone Warlock in an endless desert of Magery. A dark and shadowy oasis. He smiled.
When he moved, all fel broke loose. An army of elements charged at him, while their wielders waved their hands in the back. Fulguralis danced and spun between them, his robes whipping around him. Affliction radiated outward from him in waves. The entire room seemed to dim until there were only glowing eyes in the darkness.
Flames marred the black tapestry, exploding when they hit the ground and providing the only illumination. Shards of ice reflected the light, shining missiles streaking by. The wind was a gust in the Warlock's ear; water pelted his face in fat drops.
And he danced the dance of Death. Shadow flew from his fingers. Those nearest were the first to fall. Shrieking, they succumbed to the Corruption within them and keeled over, clawing at their faces. Limbs detached themselves from torsos, rotten to the core. Darkness swallowed them whole and tore them apart in a soundless explosion. As they died, Fulguralis grew stronger.
Like a line of dominoes they toppled, one after the other. The wetness spraying the Warlock's face turned from clear to red. Fulguralis cracked open his soul and power rushed out in a torrent. He rose above the carnage, an unstable whirl of agony and doom. Demons dotted the landscape below. The fires continued to burn.
It was a thing of beauty. Arcane, Fire, and Frost, they could not touch him. He was armored in the demonic, wreathed in shadow, with a fire burning inside of him. He was invincible.
When his feet finally touched the ground, there was a wet squish. Slowly, the light returned to reveal the reaper's toll. The tile was no longer white, but a mottled red and black. The air was burnt, and a hint of iron tickled the nostril. Fulguralis stretched his wings and inhaled deeply. With regret, he squelched the fire in his palms.
* * *
He woke up. To his left, a ruined piece of equipment smoldered. Bewildered Gnomes clustered around the slag, mouths agape, speechless for once. They turned saucer eyes on him
Fulguralis raised himself up out of the chair and tossed the goggles at the attendant nearest him. They clattered at the pink-pigtailed Gnome's feet. No one moved.
"Thanks," he said, and then walked out.
* * *
He woke up. To his left, Fuubaar lay sleeping. Fulguralis snuggled up against her back.
"Hmmm?" she purred, still mostly asleep.
The Warlock smiled. "Nothing honey. Just had another simulation within a dream."
"That's nice," she answered.
"Yes, yes it was."
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