Unlike the cold freezing, and painful sensation that normally accompanied Arthur's Healing magic, this was instead very different. Grumple felt a numbness in the center of his chest where the spear was lodged.
The lines of magic that usually healed, now instead killed. Grumples heart started to turn from red to grey. In moments, like an accellerated decay, grumples heart was a dead piece of flesh, attached in his chest by veins and arteries that no longer held life.
But as the hundreds of threads of magic poured into that intricate tapestry of magic, Grumples heart continued to beat. It continued to pump precious blood to the rest of his body. Blood flowed through his body, pumped by a dead heart that no longer held blood of it's own. A dead heart that no longer used blood, and so no longer bled, no longer sheding precious life from grumple's body. A heart fueled not by life, but by death.
As Arthur's final act, he used his power to sever the spear, leaving the head still lodged deep within Grumple's heart. A heart which now beated with the unnatural rhythm of those who should have died, but still walked the earth.
Arthur had trapped Grumple's soul inside his own heart. Grumple was now a new creation. No longer living, but not undead. Grumple was the first living undead, a paradox.
As Grumple woke, he could percieve and act normally, but a sort of change had over-taken him. There was a numbness now. Grumple could still feel pain, but it was somehow separated from him now. His instinctive response to pain was dulled to nearly nothing. as if it did not matter. As if it was no longer important. Pain was no longer real or vivid. It was a memory.
Instead however, was something else. A hunger. No, it was more like a thirst. It was like a parched tounge. Not bone dry, like a man dying in the desert willing to sell his very soul for a drop of water, just a single cup. No. But it was there, and grumple felt it.
The spear on the other hand, was still lodged inside grumple's heart, but now, instead of sending life along the bond to Belzar, it sent unlife. It was like poison. Like sickness. Like death. His world became a nauseating sensation that resembled a combination of hyper-ventillation, and heat exaustion. It was a feeling that can only be described as wrong, and Belzar's every instinct told him that the sensation needed to go away.
Knowing not the cause, but knowing the source, he called the spear to him, only the hold the haft of the spear in his hand, his mark glowing on the bottom where none would see or notice. The connection between him and the spear would be much harder to sever without that mark, but sever it he must. Unfortunately, the link had been established through that mark, and required it to be severed.
It was now very important that he get that spear out of grumple at all costs, or it would mean his death.