*My first story. Check it out and review. Note that everything used in this story belongs to Blizzard, except for my character, Caleb.*
Never in his life would Caleb have imagined that it would end this way. He served the Burning Legion unquestioningly and was of course rewarded for it, despite his betrayal and defection from the Human race. He was so confident in the Burning Legion's ability to conquer the lands of Azeroth and transform it into a realm of chaos (which was what he wanted), that he couldn't see what was happening, even when others less skilled than him did. The Burning Legion was beginning to loss their foothold on this world as resistance increased and their casualties began to mount. Not to mention a severe drop in morale following the death of Archimonde the Defiler. Fortunately, through capable manipulation, he managed to flee to the barren wastes of Outland following the great purge of the World Tree. Now, many weeks later, he stood before Kil'jaeden the Deceiver, awaiting new orders.
He made his way through the toppling citadel until Caleb was at the feet of the mighty throne his master sat lazily on. With a gesture of his hand, Kil'jaeden ordered Caleb to listen intently.
"Welcome, my servant…my slave." Kil'jaeden greeted.
Caleb knew that what his master spoke of was true. Ultimately, he was just a slave to the forces of evil.
"What is thy bidding, my master?" Caleb ventured to ask.
As Kil'jaeden straightened himself on his throne, his face took on a menacing appearance. His eyes showed murderous intent, as a grin slowly crept in.
Caleb was beginning to fidget, as he usually did when he became nervous. He knew his master's vengeance was swift, but he had to venture further.
"Master?" Caleb almost whispered.
Kil'jaeden kept his devious stare on Caleb for a moment longer, before he decided to break the tension.
"You have failed me, my child…I hereby disavow you." He roared.
"What the…" Caleb was taken by surprise, so much so that he temporarily lost his breath. What was this, he thought frantically. No matter how atrocious the deed or how large the mistake, Master never considered disowning one of his top lieutenants.
Without so much as even a warning, arcane symbols wrapped his body in a cocoon of fel energy. Despite the noise, Caleb could still hear his master's demonic enchantments. They grew steadily louder, until Caleb realized the purpose of this spell. He realized the moment he felt it. His demonic powers, fearsome though they were, were being drained from him. The process was starting to accelerate, until Caleb no longer felt the darkness coursing through his veins. All he felt, at his point, was emptiness.
"I have taken your powers; now, I will take your life!" His master screamed. His face, twisted with anger and hatred, loosened and took on a more cheery demeanor. As Caleb lied broken and defeated in his bare hand, he said, "Consider my power…in a hollow grave."
With that, he tossed Caleb into a void he recently created, leading to the torn world of Azeroth, just starting to recover from the scars of the Third War. Traveling through the void, Caleb felt the last vestiges of life slipping through his fingers, as his soul was being torn to shreds. Finally, the darkness was seeping into his mind, everything else being pushed aside. Darkness was all he envisioned from his past, and darkness was all he saw; whatever remained of his soul entered the Twisting Nether. He had the chance to watch his body melt into a puddle of flesh and then to simply fade away. There weren't even any ashes to indicate he ever existed.
And so he burned.
It seemed as if an entire Age had passed before Caleb finally returned to the corporeal realm. He awoke in a body he no longer knew. It was one that had refused to rot, protected from putrefaction by some unearthly link to his old master. The pain of protesting muscle and flesh invigorates and awakens him. He welcomes it. It distills the fury and hate into the maelstrom raging in the center of his mind.
An agonizing cry breaks out of him, shattering the stone lid of tomb in which he lies, knocking loose sediment, cobwebs and the small, unnoticed creatures that have shared his grave with him. A single word rings out through the darkness that was his home, echoing Kil'jaeden's lingering howl: "Why?"