Cool gusts swept through the woods, and the sea of trees swayed in the wind, bowing and nodding to the breeze. In the clearing on Dalaran's Back Mountain, Scott had lost the will to keep fighting. The eerie blood-red glow vanished from his eyes, leaving them normal again. The densely packed, fishlike scales covering his bare upper body disappeared as well. Scott had left his demon form; his body was no longer that of a demon.
Only after he left that form did the full extent of his wretched condition become apparent. His demonic body had concealed his true state, making it hard to see just how much burning his life force had cost him. Now it was plain to see: Scott had aged several decades in an instant. The skin on his face, once smooth and supple, had become wrinkled and lost its luster.
Aging several decades at once had changed him enormously. Scott's back had bent, and he could no longer stand as straight as before. When he first appeared, he had stood there like a keen blade, his bearing as straight and sharp as a newly unsheathed sword.
The most important thing was Scott's life force. Even the steep decline in his strength, from the ninth rank to the eighth tier, failed to draw anyone's attention. What truly concerned them was his remaining vitality. No one could deny that his days were numbered. Why did people describe someone as having one foot in the grave? It was because of the aura of death surrounding them. Scott was steeped in that aura, without the slightest trace of life about him. His death was certain. Unless the Titan gods descended, no one could save him.
Scott's miserable appearance, coupled with his claim that he sought death, left no room