Zaelios was dimly aware of himself being shattered- an aching pain for a moment before the spells fizzled out of existence. Only the very most powerful- the ones holding his 'consciousness' together- centered in the massive, untapped reservoir of energy in the diamond resisted the other spells being torn apart. Normally, so many spells bound together would, naturally, tear the neighboring ones apart and so on, just like a collapsing castle. The diamond he fell to the ground in a dozen fragments, each large and sharp enough to cut apart anyone who happen to fall on them. 

And then he was whole again. He fell to the ground with a soft [i]thud[/i], in the middle of a meadow. Absently, dreamily, he cast a spell to restore his sight. Nothing happened. Panic arose, and suddenly he [i]could[/i] see again. It was as if- well. He was back in his mortal form, armored in his... armor. He looked around, wondering what happened, and saw a woman. White, an unfamiliar color in such a pure form. He could sense a massive presence of magic- a cripplingly size, for a creature that lives and feeds off of it. 

So he turned to where the presence was weakest, and started running, unable to form his powered form. It felt like he ran a century, and yet when he turned back, looking at the white woman, it was as if a moment had passed. He tried to run in a different direction, and suddenly it felt like he was falling, falling, falling down and then [i]smack![/i] He smashed into the ground with what would've been a painful break of a leg. Instead, his leg bent sideways at an awkward angle, before slowly realigning. He shook it off, and looked around, taking note of his surroundings. 

Nothing he should be should exist right now. He [i]shattered[/i]. His entire form- of entirely spells- were torn apart. His diamond shattered- the crystal that he was anchored to. 

Then when he REALLY looked around, he saw that not only he was on a barren hill in the middle of a foresty area, he was standing inside a circle- a 12-point circle- where lines show that something were dragged to the middle, where he now stood. At the end of each point stood a man, clad in dark blue robes, patched, torn, and badly dyed. Homemade. He was alive again, and he could feel the collectively-powerful magicians around him. Fools that didn't know what they were doing.

The bright sunny sky disappeared in an instant, great rolling thunderclouds appeared and lightning flicked through the clouds. Thunder rolled with every bolt, clinging to the mood of its maker as Zaelios threw out tendrils of power to the sorcerers, using their own spells against them. As they chanted, he grew more powerful; more spells layered on the originals, trying to bind him to them. 

Instead, they started screaming as he batted aside their individually-weak defenses, and sucked their bodies dry of the power they contained. Necromancy in the purest form. All that was left was ash.