Zan's grandfather didn't believe in the kiai. It was a Japanese custom, he would explain, and it went against his sensibility that a guardian should be humble. It was an ostentatious display, he said, the effects of which could be accomplished with simple mastery rather than 'karate gimmicks'.

But how are you supposed to flying kick a zombie in the face without shouting [i]something[/i]?

He'd been watching for quite some time--it was rare for another hunter to show up at all, let alone beat him to the scene. It almost took something away from it to him, he enjoyed the 'lone hero' vibe, but when it became evident that the younger of the two could use a little help he found himself ready for the challenge. Best to wait until his pistol was empty--no need to jump into a bullet--time the motion and--

"Hi-yah!"

He'd come at a full run, pushed off from a gravestone and took the zombie full in the side of it's skull. It crushed like a melon, the green energy flaring out the other side before going out. His other foot rode the sternum down to the ground with a satisfying crack and before it hit dirt he was back in stance, a slight smirk on his face.

Zombies. Of anything he had to fight, zombies worried him the least.

They were slow. They were predictable. Strong, yes, but uncoordinated--no brain meant no discipline, which meant child's play. Forget guns, Zan had fists, and a long day of frustration meant he was ready to use them. The second of the three lurched forwards but Zan was ready, his fists already moving between the lunge of the creature's arms. His grandfather would have been disappointed, as one blow should have been more than sufficient, but instead there was a blur and the creature's chest exploded like it had been hit from Nathan's shotgun, shattered bone and pulped flesh spraying out behind it along with whatever animating energy it held. The head was dealt with, as the top of the body fell, by a simple sharp snap to the side with the back of his wrist.

Another egg-shell crack, another light went out. Goodnight.

The final zombie was closer than he'd thought, however--preoccupied as he was, it had managed to close behind him and it's putrid fingers were already swimming through his pony-tail. With a quick twist he ducked beneath the lunge, caught what was left of an exposed rib--gross, by the way, why had he thought that would be a good idea?--and sent it sailing through the air into one of the gravestones. On it before it could stand, there would be no nonsense this time. A quick heel to the forehead left whatever it was that was left in there a stain on the ground...

And on his new shoes.

"Eugh, gross..." He muttered, looking to the mess on his hands and feet before standing up straight and looking to Nathan, straining to hear for more moaning and groaning.

"Do you hear more? I didn't see any."

For someone who flew out of nowhere into a zombie gunfight and took out the remaining three with his bare hands, he didn't seem particularly out of place in the situation.