Scolopendra repeated the small eruption of a laugh. Graguth was either quite blatantly trying to flatter, or his assessment of Scol was terribly off. Either way, the six heads implied a nod. 

"[b][i]VERY. WELL.[/i][/b]"

Curious about this peculiar flame breath itself, Scol began to perform its magic, a process that was never witnessed by human eyes before. It would give them an idea of how defenseless their deity was when performing this kind of magic, but that mattered little for the serpent. At this point, the humans would not consider rebelling, Scol simply gave them no reason to.
Two of its heads fell into a low channeling tone, taking breath in turns so the deep sound would never be interrupted. They both stared blankly at something in the far distance beyond Graguth. Another two heads of the beast kept focused at the destined corpse, conducting snake-like movement through the air but keeping quiet. The main head spoke a few words, older than the dragon language itself. Words the corruption wrote into its mind, words not even the serpent itself fully understood. The sound of its voice nothing more than a whisper, but at the same time all-present and seemingly coming from all directions at once, including from inside the listeners head. After a few minutes of this procedure, the body slowly rose, with exhausted movements and visually tormented in incredible pain when the dead muscles broke free from the stasis of death. The undead turned around to face Graguth, and as its lips moved, so did the mouth of the sixth head of Scolopendra. The only sound however came from the still intact vocal chords of the dead man.

"Go ahead." And he spread his arms as if to embrace what was coming his way.