Being cursed
The translucent shield around Gerhardt pulsed with increasing intensity, its glow now so bright that it bathed the entire battlefield in its eerie light.
Inside, Gerhardt's body trembled violently, his legs barely holding him up as the toll of his sacrifice became evident.
His once robust frame was withering away; his skin had taken on a pallid, dry texture, cracking in places as if it were turning to ash.
His breath came in shallow, labored gasps, each exhale weaker than the last.
The radiant veins of light coursing through his body grew brighter, almost as if his very essence was being siphoned into the spell he was conjuring.
His gaunt face twisted with a mixture of pain and determination, his lips still moving in silent incantation.
Outside the barrier, Volk watched with a mix of amusement and annoyance.