He could already hear the monstrosities drawing their ragged breaths as they approached him, a mindless moan occasionally escaping one of their tattered lips. Godhand grit his teeth and prepared himself for an attack. He'd entered the classic Iaido stance, which he knew would be good for this type of situation. The creatures weren't smart enough to attack him from several directions at once, and since they were all coming from one group there was no chance of him being blindsided. That meant that all he had to do was dig in and wait for them to come, picking the stance that allowed him to maximize the arc of his slashes.

The swordsman felt the first of what were undoubtedly many victims near his range of attack. Godhand proved immutable, never hesitating or even acknowledging the presence of the abomination, until he was finally within striking range. Then, for seemingly no reason, the creature uttered a groan and fell in two. It must have been quite perplexing for anyone on the outside. The warrior remained still as ever, in the same position he'd always been. What they hadn't seen was Godhand quickly drawing his blade, vivisecting the zombie with one fluid stroke, then sheathing it again. The more perceptive might've seen a burst of movement, but it was so quick and Godhand entered his former stance so comfortably that most would have judged it a trick of the light.

Two more of the undead shambled towards Godhand, but they were dispatched in much the same manner. It was only when the true brunt of the attack force reached the warrior that his movements became evident, his right arm a blur as he quickly drew and sheathed his sword for each strike. It was tiring, yes, but holding the sheath with one hand and the blade with the other, whipping out the Muramasa with each strike allowed Godhand to imbue the blow with more power. He didn't need to, he supposed. Most of the zombies were in such an advanced state of decay that their flesh gave away like butter, and the Necromancer never bothered to outfit his lowliest troops with anything but the decrepit leather armor they'd fallen in. Armor which was, of course, no match for the masterwork Adamantine Muramasa he wielded.

He knew, of course, that the most important thing was not to surrender any ground. But this was easier said than done, as the zombies were no longer coming in sparse waves. The main force had arrived and it was all Godhand could do to stem the tide of rotting flesh. He stopped sheathing his sword after each strike, deeming it a formality at that point, and did his best merely to hold the shambling undead at bay. The sounds of Godhand's slashes were muted, however, when a loud roar exploded from the battlefield. The scores of zombies instantly parted for their master, and the warrior understood why as an enormous behemoth he didn't understand how he could have missed approached with a perverse purpose in it's step.