Mand's body swelled like a bull, with blue eyes and black beard, the flesh of mutated monsters flowing through his veins. The skin exposed outside the armor formed small moving lumps, as if mice were burrowing in and out.
"He has gone frenzied!"
"Hold on!"
"Dominant Body, no other way, kite him!"
The advantage of the Undead was significant, but with Mand and his group suddenly swelling up, the battle underwent a direct reversal.
With a swollen body, the longsword in his hand seemed disproportionate. Mand's wrist moved rapidly, turning the sword into a windmill.
Blood burned, his severed nose became a dragon's head, and blood spurted out.
He could no longer hear any other sounds around him, only the voices and images in his head still echoed.
Not long ago, he and his people had been hit by wanderers and had fled in disarray, when they met that noble.
