Damnation

Once, there was a sorcerer that lusted for power.
He had a house, a beautiful wife and lived in a friendly neighbourhood.
But this was not enough for him. He wanted more.

He would often study late into the night, desperately trying to find the key to more power.
Eventually, he found it. He summoned a host of shades, and demanded power from them.
The shades agreed, but with one condition. They needed the blood of his wife.

The sorcerer agreed at once, and while she was sleeping, cut his wife's throat.
He then summoned the shades, who fed upon the her blood.
He then, once again, demanded power. They agreed and overwhelmed his soul, possessed his body, becoming a part of him. A grey mist surrounded him, the world darkened, and was outlined with a pale fire.

His eyes lit up with a furious bloodlust, and he grinned maliciously. "Power..." He said, looking at his glowing hands and grinning even harder, "I love it..."
He then walked out of his house and killed all he met, indiscriminately and without mercy. He laughed with every blow, and desecrated the corpses to perform his debased rituals.
He thought no one could lead a better life than the one he did.

Yet, in time, he started to feel lonely, and scared. "Who am I, to wield this power?" he said to himself, "Who am I, to feel this rage?"
This insecurity only deepened until he could no longer bear it.
Two years after he first summoned the shades, he suddenly sat down in the middle of the path, and cried. He had realized what he had sacrificed, that night he had summoned the shades.

Happiness and fulfillment were no longer available to him, only the chill fury of the grave.
The shades withdrew from his body and whirled about him in a maelstrom of darkness, laughing as he realized his loss.
And so he sobbed, for he was damned. 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.