So this is death. I’m dead. Aely’s dead. Even that bastard Tarquin is dead. All by my hand. I feel…nothing.
 
The warlock tried to take stock of what was around him. He saw nothing but blackness. He couldn’t be sure whether his eyes were open or closed. Attempting to feel something beyond the numbness that permeated him to his core was met with disappointment.
 
Somewhere, near or far he could not tell, he heard voices. Their words made little sense to him, but he was certain they were voices. He tried to speak, but his throat was dry and his tongue felt swollen. He tried to move, his arms and legs not responding to his will. Even the simple task of opening his eyes was met with a blinding darkness followed by brief interludes of streaking light.
 
“You have killed him,” a voice said behind him in a language recognized immediately as demonic.
 
Another voice, just to his right, responded harshly in a tongue he did not understand. “Gulamir! Ur gul zekul ze parn mordanas!”
 
The two continued speaking, their words meaningless to the professor as he attempted to regain control of his faculties. Keeping his eyes shut, he tried to move a finger or a toe to no avail.
 
Deep breaths, he told himself. Focus. Mentally blocking out the sounds of the others around him, he tried once more. At last, he was able to move his pinky finger. With one small movement, the numbness that had permeated his entire body began to fade. He felt the cold slab of stone he was lying on. He felt tethers around his wrists, arms, legs and neck. He smelled the fetid breath of those standing near him. His mind was assaulted with the truth.
 
He was surrounded by demons.
 
Arrens involuntarily tensed. The talking ceased.
 
“So. The great Arrens Caltrains awakes at last,” the voice to his right said in demonic. “You’ve had a very busy few days, haven’t you?” he asked, the malice in his voice as plain as day.
 
“Who…who are you?” Arrens coughed. He forced his eyes open in an attempt to make sense of the shapes formed in his field of vision. The demon in front of him was large, that much he could tell. There were a host of others around him as well, some big, some small, but none compared to the size of the demon to his right.
 
It laughed, low and dangerous, mocking him. “Do you not know us, who call yourself a master Demonologist, a summoner?” The demon spat.
 
Arrens’ vision cleared as his senses came fully under his control once more. “Kro’thar,” he said, recognizing the Eredar at last. He looked around as much as he could. A dozen demons of various types surrounded him. He also saw the charred remains of a succubus sitting atop a felguard. Are they conjoined? What the fel is going on here?
 
Kro’thar laughed sardonically. “Very good,” the demon said in Common. “I trust you find yourself comfortable?”
 
Arrens looked down at what was holding him in place. Shadowy tendrils wrapped tightly around his body making something as simple as turning his neck an agonizing chore. The slab of stone he was tied to looked like a distorted altar. “Where am I?” he demanded.
 
“Tsk tsk, professor. I would think one of such power as you claim to have would recognize your new home instantly. Welcome to what you humans refer to as the Twisting Nether,” Kro’thar boomed.
 
Arrens felt panic course through his body. “H…how?” he asked.
 
Kro’thar looked down upon the prone form of the professor and grinned maliciously. “Filthy humans. Subjugating demons to do your bidding and believing yourselves to be superior. That thinking comes to an end. You are merely graced with being the first to join our ranks due to your special ability. Stepping over a portal to the Nether provided you with a unique gift, didn’t it, Professor?” he spat. “Do you believe we are unable to summon demons back to the Nether?”
 
Arrens looked aghast. “I am /not/ a demon!” he yelled, his composure rapidly fading as he pieced together what the demon was saying.
 
“Not yet, no. But you have enough demonic essence within you that we can summon you at will. You are not under someone else’s control…yet. But you will be, human. Oh yes. You will be soon enough.” The Eredar walked around to Arrens’ left and touched the warlock’s arm. He screamed in pain. “You know the pain we can inflict. You know what hell we can put you through with but a thought. In time, you will also know what it means to serve Sargeras, to serve…me.”
 
Arrens looked down at his arm and saw raw, burned flesh, the handprint of the demon a vicious scar. Not a dream, he thought. That wasn’t a dream. Oh gods, Aely. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…my love.