Keystone activated the enchantment on his bracers while closing the distance between himself and his attackers. Far from being purely defensive, he could feel magical power coursing through his arms, increasing his speed and reaction. 

His decision to go after his acquaintance first, the corpse of the wizard Erepar, was a less effective and slightly more suicidal strategy as it was toward the middle of the group moving to consume him. Best to start on the outside and work his way in. If Keystone could hold out long enough, his wizard buddy would still be there in a few minutes. 

He closed in, delivering a telling blow to the head of the nearest. Not quite enough to take it down, but enough to slow down his own momentum for the rest of the small horde to begin circling him. For a half-second, he cursed his own lack of forethought. Keystone couldn’t fight this kind of enemy in the same manner as he would attack living opponents. They would not tire. They would not respond to pain. They could not be knocked unconscious. Distracting moves like feints or deceptive footwork would be wasted effort; wholly ineffective techniques against this kind of foe. He had to keep his fight straightforward. His physical conditioning made his body a fast, living weapon. He meant to see how it responded to several slower, dead ones. 

Emboldened by his first successful hit, Keystone grabbed the next nearest, intent on using it to bowl over one or two more closing in on him. His hands closed solidly on his opponent’s elbow and shoulder, gripping tightly and beginning to maneuver him into place… …only to have skin and part of a tricep pull away with a tearing noise accented by wet rot. He suppressed a gag, knowing that to lose his lunch would likely result in also losing his life. He didn’t need the distraction. Gritting his teeth against welling disgust, he threw down the stinking, gelatinous flesh, and mentally hardened himself. Using his revulsion as fuel, he slammed his fist through foul creature’s head, downing it on the spot. 

A spinning backfist intercepted the shoulder of another nearby, brass knuckles sinking into flesh until bone halted his progress. “[i]Best to stick to the skull.[/i]” He reasoned internally. Not a killing blow, but bone separated from bone and its arm sloughed off, distastefully plopping on the ground like wet fruit. Four and a half left. Well, five, if you count Stumpy. The remaining zombies closed in, hungry to cause damage of their own. 

A quick sidestep bought Keystone a second or two of time, and opportunity to lay two more solid jabs onto undead flesh. Widening his stance, he drove his fist into the jaw of one nearby and followed with a countering parry block, simultaneously damaging the corpse and preventing it from landing its own hit. Unfortunately, keeping his attacks focused on one target opened him up to his assailants from other directions. His bracers saved him, at least temporarily, giving Keystone the speed enough to intercept an incoming slash. The sudden rush of movement took him out of reach of another attack; one zombie caught only air. The new position gave another the opportunity to open a ragged slash in his shoulder, however. The one who used to be Erepar. Keystone growled against the pain and batted its clawed hands away, promising the former wizard a quick, merciful destruction the moment it was feasible to do so. 

Slow moving or not, he was almost effectively surrounded. Keystone was hurt. While not life-threatening right then, it was painful and bled profusely. Perhaps he should consider himself lucky, the flowing blood would wash out a good bit of the gore pushed into the wound by the filthy creature. Still, a change in tactic was necessary. He assumed a lower stance, hovering on the balls of his feet and began to play defense, striking out only when he knew his attack had situational advantage. 

For a large man, Keystone had impressive footwork. He dodged a swipe at his face and blocked two more, landing a single skull-cracking blow. Not much of a dancer when asked to (which is rare, believe you me), he was very much a professional stepper in a brawl. A sidestep, pirouette, and partner switch later, the massive pugilist dodged three more attacks, prevented a third from landing, and found himself back in front of the zombie with the cracked skull. 

Hurling true power into the attack, a low originating uppercut tore the already damaged head of the zombie from its fleshy moorings and sent it skyward, spinning slightly in the breeze. Ever the showman, Keystone risked a glance to see if anyone saw what he just accomplished. 

The dance continued. He started off this particular waltz of pain and decay with a heavy, but sadly not fatal, blow to the next dead person in line, and immediately regained a defensive posture. Though incapable of processing higher emotion, the remaining zombies seemed quite put off at his attempts, largely successful thusfar, to render them inert. Crowding in closer, they assaulted him with sustained vigor. Keystone’s defense, while effective, was not perfect. Blocked blow after blocked blow rained down on his arms, almost overwhelming his ability to defend. Now somewhat numbed from blunt trauma, the experienced fighter knew he had to withdraw from the situation or be taken down.

He ducked away from the near pile-on, snapping a quick attack at the zombie he had damaged just earlier. Cumulative damage finally took down the stumbling pile of meat and bad smells, and its absence as an attacker gave him the hole he needed to remove himself from his disadvantaged position. 

Keystone’s sudden disappearance from the center of the Bukkake of Death saved him from the aggressive attack of the remaining zombies. Rolling around to the side of one of them, he blocks a straight attack and counters with a glancing blow to its temple. To his surprise, his bracers issue a sudden crackle of energy, arcing into the eyes and brain of his target. The zombie seizes, twitches, and falls to the ground, sulphurous smoke whisping from its mouth. Keystone grinned despite the situation, really enjoying his new toy. 

Two remaining. He had to end this quickly, before more abominations entered the vicinity and made escape impossible. Two couldn’t swarm, especially considering one was missing an arm. Less of a threat than the other – Erepar. 

He felt sorry for the wizard, he seemed like an ok guy. Dropping him was mercy. Ceasing his dancing, he straightened his stance and aimed purely to split open skulls with speed and power. As if noting his hesitation, Erepar’s corpse swung on Keystone, forcing him to raise an arm to block. The gap in his defense is exploited by Stumpy, ripping slashes open across his chest. Keystone growled and opened himself to his building rage. 

Hit after hit landed on the two zombies, his fists landing with expert precision and clarity brought about by anger and necessity. Erepar took the brunt of these, his head concaving under the relentless assault of the skilled man. Keystone turned his attention to the one armed corpse. Stumpy grabbed at the large man, who easily pivoted away from the off-balance shambler. Keystone caught its arm with one hand, twisting it up and away in the same motion. He kicked its legs out from under it, and finished it off in a utilitarian fashion, dropping his heel onto its cranium. It split like a ripe melon. 

Keystone gave himself a second, to look down at the very recently re-dead Erepar. He permitted a simple farewell before dashing for Glith’s sword, laying on the ground. 

“I’m sorry, wizard. I hoped we could have talked more.” 

And run.