Transformation

"Huh? I already believe in the Holy Light," Gavinrad replied, sounding about as enthused as a goblin being offered a bath.

"I'm not asking you to switch teams, big guy," Duke retorted, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "I'm just asking if you're interested in snagging some new, flashier, more powerful toys."

"I think I'm plenty strong, thank you very much," Gavinrad mumbled, clearly skeptical of whatever Duke was trying to sell him.

"Oh, come on, don't get your knickers in a twist," Duke scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm not saying the Holy Light is a dud. But its strength, my friend, is all about the piety of the heart. And your piety? Let's just say it's about as average as a grimy tavern floor. So, while your foundation isn't exactly built on sand, your Holy Light mojo is still scraping the bottom of the barrel among the first generation of Paladins."

Duke, with the precision of a master marksman, had hit Gavinrad right where it hurt. In terms of sheer martial prowess, Gavinrad could go toe-to-toe with the best of them, maybe even give Uther a run for his money. The only one who truly made Gavinrad feel like a raw recruit was Saidan Dathrohan. But the Holy Light, that fickle mistress, drew its power from the heart. The more devout, the more fanatical your devotion, the stronger your Holy Light would blaze. After being blessed by the Holy Light, Uther was a walking, talking powerhouse. He and Turalyon were tied for second-to-last. And the absolute weakest? That would be Reginald Windsor, bless his cotton socks.

"Alright, alright, you've got my attention. What's this 'power' you're hawking?"

"The power of the storm! To be more precise, the power of thunder!"

"Say what!?"

At that moment, Gavinrad's heart did a little jig. This wasn't about some stuffy Paladin creed. On one hand, it was about hitting a brick wall in his personal development. He'd practically reached the end of the Holy Light's yellow brick road. Not as good as the best, better than the worst, but definitely not the top dog.

On the other hand, as a knight hailing from Stormwind, Gavinrad the Dire carried the weight of a noble lineage and a family steeped in martial glory. But the crucial difference between him and his fellow first-generation Paladins, like Uther, was one word: hatred. The burning, soul-deep hatred for the orcs who had slaughtered his kin. In a nation where every household had lost someone, where every citizen of Stormwind carried a deep-seated loathing for the green-skinned invaders, his personal vendetta felt like a drop in the ocean.

The path of Holy Light, unfortunately, had a strict "no personal vengeance" policy. Gavinrad could only bottle up the simmering rage in his heart, trying to numb himself, trying to convince himself that this was a selfless crusade. But he was failing, spectacularly. And that, dear reader, was why his Holy Light power was barely a flicker compared to the bonfire raging in Uther's soul.

"If I'm not mistaken," Duke mused, a mischievous glint in his eye, "you could be looking at a career change to a Storm Knight."

"Any... risks involved?" Gavinrad asked, a flicker of trepidation in his voice.

"Relax, big fella. You won't accidentally trigger 'Invincibility' when you're in a tight spot... Oh, wait, that's 'Holy Shield'!" Duke quipped, barely suppressing a chuckle. With that comforting thought, Gavinrad made up his mind. What the heck, let's do this.

With the same wide-eyed apprehension as the ogre before him, Gavinrad stepped onto the center of the altar. At this point, everyone watching was shocked to discover that the altar, despite its recent activity, was still stubbornly refusing to open. By the simplest calculations, it would take five highly skilled wizards just to get the thing humming.

And that's when Duke decided to put on a show. A magnificent show.

Mirror Image of Truth!

Duke's figure blurred, then shimmered, and a ghostly blue Duke stepped out from his body. It was clearly a clone, but in less than a tenth of a second, like a child's coloring book coming to life, the spectral Duke was rapidly filled in with vibrant, lifelike colors. In the blink of an eye, there was no visual difference between the separated Duke and the original. Two Dukes emerged, then three, then four... and finally, a grand total of five Dukes stepped forth from the main body.

Unlike the Orc Blademaster's rigid Mirror Image technique, which forced the clones to mimic every single one of the original's movements, Duke's clones moved with an uncanny, almost unnerving independence. Their strides varied wildly. The Duke walking to the farthest position was practically jogging, the two further away were walking at a brisk pace, and the closest Duke clone was practically crawling on all fours, looking utterly exhausted. Different expressions, different movements – it was a performance so vivid, so utterly convincing, that the Windrunner sisters were left slack-jawed.

"Second sister, second sister, am I seeing things? Why does it look like there are so many brothers-in-law?" Vereesa gasped, shaking her second sister's shoulders in sheer amazement, completely oblivious to her slip of the tongue.

This was Sylvanas's first time witnessing Duke's particular brand of magical trickery. She observed diligently, spreading her arcane perception, and it took her a good long while to finally pinpoint the subtle difference between the clones and the original. The clones had no breath, no scent – they were utterly devoid of life force! Yet, they possessed a very real, tangible entity. She could feel the faint breeze stirred by their movements, the subtle displacement of air as they walked forward.

Alleria, meanwhile, was utterly mesmerized, her mind drifting back to the very first time she'd met Duke. It had been an accidental encounter, a moment when she thought she'd stumbled upon a ghost, only to discover a magical wizard seedling. Then, when Duke had "died" for the second time, she'd witnessed that bizarre scene firsthand. To be honest, she still hadn't quite wrapped her head around what had happened. But now, watching this display, most of her lingering doubts melted away. Duke was undeniably a super-genius of magic. Of course, no one knew that Duke had actually slaughtered the chief of the Fire Blade Clan, the blademaster Dahl Triple Blood Blade, just to get his hands on the secret of the Mirror Image of Truth.

Once everything was set, the five Duke clones, under the precise control of the System AI (whose operational principles were not much different from controlling the Mage's Hand, just on a grander scale), began to cast spells in perfect, synchronized harmony. To the onlookers, it was nothing short of awesome. Five clones, each capable of chanting different spells simultaneously! With this kind of raw talent and this level of magical finesse, the Windrunner sisters finally began to grasp why Duke had shot up the ranks so quickly, like a rocket-propelled goblin.

The scene that followed was almost identical to when Gul'dan had first activated the altar, but with a crucial difference. Because Archbishop Faol had purged the altar's dark taint, the towering tornado that ripped through the sky was a swirling vortex of shimmering gold and brilliant white. The raw power of thunder, ripped from the heavens, was broken down into countless, thread-thin streams of energy. These threads, like ethereal needles, pierced into Gavinrad's body, transforming the very essence of this poor first-generation Paladin, who, in another timeline, was doomed to be tragically killed by Arthas.

Lightning crackled! Thunder roared! Such a massive, widespread phenomenon couldn't be hidden from anyone, not even a blind ogre in a cave!

Forty kilometers away, Gul'dan, currently busy trying to punch through the second layer of runestone defenses in Eversong Forest, suddenly felt a jolt, a cold shiver down his spine. "Who in the blazes restored the Storm Altar!? This is impossible! You—go and check it out!" Unfortunately, Gul'dan, Cho'gall, and the few remaining warlocks of the Shadow Council were knee-deep in their own nefarious plans. They were trying to cobble together a new altar from a fresh batch of rune stones, and they simply couldn't afford to leave their posts.

There was only one option left. Gul'dan, with a sigh of dark resignation, issued an order to the world's very first Death Knight, Teron Gorefiend, who had recently been given a terrifying power-up by the Altar of Storms. "Go see what's brewing."

Distance, as they say, is a real pain in the neck. Warlocks could teleport their buddies across vast distances using summoning rituals, but that required the warlock and two collaborators to already be at the destination. And right now, there wasn't a single member of the Horde within a ten-kilometer radius of Duke.

At this very moment, Gavinrad's transformation was complete.