As many items as there were falling and rolling about, little notice was given when one more - a shriveled up mummy arm - fell to join the mess on the floor, not even from the owner. The mummy held little care for what happened to his body, or whatever was left of it after being clocked and shot.
What mattered was that he still held his sword and could still use it to get to what he wanted. Before attempting to rise, there was a pause as the zombie withdrew his blade, instinctively meeting the tip to the top of its sheath and sheathing it. The darkness did not stop his long since learned practice, and when his blade next drew, the mess on the floor was no more of a hindrance than the dark.
Whether by anger or the smell of blood, the mummy let his blade take him towards the direction the shot had come from. Fruit and cans rolled from the path as though being stepped over instead of through as the mummy quickly closed the distance between himself and one of the humans.
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What mattered was that he still held his sword and could still use it to get to what he wanted. Before attempting to rise, there was a pause as the zombie withdrew his blade, instinctively meeting the tip to the top of its sheath and sheathing it. The darkness did not stop his long since learned practice, and when his blade next drew, the mess on the floor was no more of a hindrance than the dark.
Whether by anger or the smell of blood, the mummy let his blade take him towards the direction the shot had come from. Fruit and cans rolled from the path as though being stepped over instead of through as the mummy quickly closed the distance between himself and one of the humans.