Damnation

Then, the shades drew back, as though afraid, and a figure appeared on the horison. It seemed to float to him, nearer and nearer, until he could see it’s face. It was his wife. She cried, “Cast down your shackles of pity and hatred, and give me your hand!”

The sorceror looked up tremulously, and grasped the figure’s hand. The figure laughed, and it’s face rotted and dissolved to show the shade it really was. It laughed cruelly, and said “You are weak. You have no will. Your will is mine, and I am merciless.”

It continued on, saying “You had power, but you discarded it for the power of death. Now, death claims you, and you must answer it’s call.” And with that, it stripped him of his flesh, of his muscle and bone, and of his power, and his soul lay there, powerless.

Then, the pack of shades swooped in on him, smothering his soul in darkness.
He was remade, turned into a shade, feral and hungry. Ever hungry.

You may meet him some day. If you do, the last thing you will ever see is his self loathing scream etched permanently upon his face.