"You mean?" Ludwig asked, his question hung in the air for a second.
"The Pope died of a heart attack, his death was natural, induced by the knowledge of the death of the Wrathful Death, the very entity that you're using its heart…which by the way you should stop right now."
The words shifted the air, more than any spell. The phrase "your using its heart" crawled under Ludwig's skin like cold water. His chest tightened in the same instant his pride prickled. Mot knew, and if he did… so would others.
"What do you mea, cough!" Ludwig coughed, his hand slapped right in front of his face, as he coughed again. Warm viscous substance sprayed and leaked out from between his gloved hands.
Blood, thick and startlingly hot against the frigid air, flecked his palm and spattered the dome's inner sheen. A copper taste rushed the back of his tongue. The cough wrung him again, deeper, dragging heat from a furnace he had not consented to stoke.
Which shouldn't be possible…he was an Undead.
