Burning Anguish

"It ends here, Tashariel."
Standing among the ruins of a once prosperous town, Rictolm glared at a disfigured beast destroying the last building.
In a gutteral, slurred speech, the demon uttered, "I think not. In fact, it has only just begun."
Rictolm, a young Pandaren of ninety, was not the most skilled fighter of his tribe, but all the men were off in another land fighting the Ratunga, a war that has lasted over five thousand years.  Unforunately, this monstrosity sent by the Great Lord of the Dark decided to take this opprotunity to attack the Pandaren village, also known as the Ninth Gate.  The Pandarens were entrusted at the beginning of time by the ancient dragons to guard the entrance to the Sacred Lands of Mount Celest.  At the top of Mount Celest lies a power unimaginable, power enough to eviscerate all life in the universe. Now, Rictolm is the only defense from certain doom.
"You cannot win, Tashariel. I cannot let you. The Dark Lord must never be allowed to gain the power of the ancient dragons."
"You cannot stop me, Rictolm. You are weak, and there is no one else to defend your sniveling little tribe. It's like stealing gold out from under your nose."
"Then prove yourself."
With a cry of rage, the beast attacked, swiping razor-sharp claws to slice Rictolm in half.  Focusing his energies, he wove a shield of fire, deflecting the manuver.  Tashariel pulled his other arm back, balling his hand into a fist the size of an adult boar.  Eyes widening with suprise, Rictolm tried to pull back, but a punch faster than light shattered his shield and sent him sprawling fifty feet.  Slowly climbing to his feet, Rictolm barely had time to blink before his back was slammed into the dust by a devastating piledriver. Grunting, he rolled away, and climbed to his feet, blood staining the fur around his mouth.
"Looks like I was right. You're weak."
"...I may be weak...but not feeble enough to be beaten by the likes of YOU!!!"
The earth shook, and fissures suddenly opened, spewing red hot magma and blazing fire. Tashariel dodged the flames, but a magma burst melted his blade-arm to a stub.  With a cry of rage and fury, he spit acid at Rictolm. In a desperate attempt to protect himself, Rictolm flung his wooden staff up and it instantly rotted away.
"Damn it!"
"HAHAHAHA!!! Without your staff, you are nothing. I will devour your soul."
Looking for a way out, Rictolm tried to devise a plan.  Unfortunately, with Rictolm's attentions turned, Tashariel attack, knocking the Pandaren into a large pile of rubble.  As Tashariel approached, he gloated.
"Feel the pain of losing your village and your family! Feel fear, so your soul will taste ever sweeter once I rip it from your dying corpse."
Rising from the rubble, with blood-red eyes, Rictolm muttered.
"You don't know the meaning of pain."
The monstrosity erupted in an inferno, searing the ground for fifty paces except for a pace-wide circle around Rictolm.  As the beast let out a shriek of eternal agony, his skin fell away, blasting away muscle, tendons crackling and snapping under the extreme heat.  All skin and muscles flew away, leaving a quickly blackening skeleton.  The blaze subsided, leaving only ash in its wake.
Suddenly, Rictolm fainted from exhaustion and relief, sparing the world a most cruel fate. During his last waking moment, he faintly uttered.
"At last, the souls of my family can rest in peace..."