From the point where Ludwig's hand pressed into rotting flesh, a surge of black and violet energy erupted outward—unseen wind without sound, a force felt more than heard. It rippled like lightning under skin, sigils flaring to life in quick succession across the Drowned Lord's bloated belly and chest. They pulsed once, twice—then locked into a steady glow, embedding themselves like cursed tattoos beneath the skin.
The air above the corpse vibrated as necrotic essence bled into it, the very swamp around them recoiling from the unnatural magic. Even the approaching Reavers hesitated, a few of them letting out uncertain, twitching growls, their instincts resisting whatever dark ritual was now unfolding before them.
Ludwig felt the strain in his mind, a pressure behind the eyes—a test of will as the spell linked him to the ancient cadaver.
[Your current Charisma level is barely enough to fully control [Drowned Lord – Level 95].]
