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Krotar was making his way inside to investigate what was going when he noticed one of the bodies, one of the demons left behind, begin to stir. Groaning he faced the revenant. “Really?” As the undead corpse shambled towards him, the alien sighed. Undead were so faux pas. As the corpse swung a wild arm, Krotar casually deflected it by swinging his arm in an arc, catching the attacking creature’s limb with the back of his wrist, in a movement that would have mirrors Kung Fu. Then in a move much less graceful, but much more brutal, he forward kicked the shambling corpse, square in the chest. The corpse landed on its back, half way up the stairs. Walking up, Krotar looked down at the corpse. “Rest easy. The colors of Ogord will flash over your grave.” He said in a somber tone. He stomped hard, splattering the head of the undead corpse. Undeath was a sick thing. Death was supposed to be a sacred thing. A goal to work towards. Otherwise, what was the point of all this shit? 
Krotar felt a deep anger build up inside him. His NegaBands began to glow. As more corpses began to rise, he marched forward with purpose. Blocking a strike with his left forearm, he ducked and spun under it, sweeping the legs out from under another shambling corpse. Stomping the skull of this one just in time to hear sirens approaching. He debated whether he should stay and help the police finish up these undead, so that they might find peace, or to strike at the root of the cause.