Garak shrugged. "Or maybe just watch the fight and slip away after I've had my share of the entertainment. How about you?"
Hadal knew he was dreaming, one detail - as ever - disrupting the illusion. It was only in his dreams that he returned to his true age. Weathered hands, stained and scarred from a lifetime of alchemical practice and lacking the intrusive visage of his demonic familiar reached up to his face and explored familiar, foreign features.
Then the dream resumed its progress. Hadal dropped his hands into the pockets of his robes and looked around the blasted landscape.
Twisted trees clawed at a sky the colour of old bones, rising from grave-dirt amid a tumble of rotting limbs and broken headstones. Hadal, shook his head in annoyance and snorted.
"This is it? I must be getting rather melodramatic..."
Crunching his way through the waste, he covered a thousand miles in three steps and without noticing the transition, found himself upon the smooth, solid bone sky. Every step making a resounding and hollow clack that caused the ground above to splinter into grey powder and the trees - now more ably described as petrified veins and arteries - to lengthen and spread towards the sky.
By the time any time had passed at all, Hadal had nearly completed a circuit of the sky, the vein-trees having reached and spread across the bone so much that he had to climb over twisting branches as thick as a wagon. The ground had long since been obscured, save for flashes of silver-grey light and a deep pulsation that didn't quite reach the ears.
Then, he was standing before a pit. The veins were now bloody nerve-webs, sparkling with violet flashes of light and crawling with skeletal hands busy writing books or weaving scrolls. As they were soaked with gore, the whole process was entirely ridiculous - the books were sodden with blood and the scrolls were illegible swirls of red and purple and green. The pit that yawned before him opened into his laboratory, at a strange angle and magnified size.
"The eyesocket of Null, on his shelf, in my laboratory. Was that it? If I must dream, then why must they be so banal? Make the next one more interesting."