The dry heat of Hellfire Peninsula surrounded him. He stood on a hill, the ground falling away from him in all directions, the color of blistered flesh, covered in pockmarks and blemishes. Pockets of flame burst into the dusty air.

This was his own personal hell. He damned himself here, to the broken end of Outlands. His only solace lie in slaying demons, roaming the sweltering land in an endless quest to lose himself from the life he now lived. Today, even their shrieks and gurgles…

His saronite war gear lay in a pile on the floor.

Unthinking, he had removed it while following some base instinct still clinging to life within his ravaged mind.

He felt naked without it, vulnerable, raw like skin that wasn't yet ready for exposure to the air.

A chill went through him as he crossed the room, and automatically his arms crossed, his hands grasping goose-pimpled flesh at his biceps. The effect was not warming. He looked down at his hands. Delicate fingers…