It could almost taste the reanimatory magic in the air, working its corrupt mechanics like a sepulchre opening to show countless lives returning from beyond the limits of time and death. Death was absolute, and as the Swordsman, it was the beast's duty to ensure such things, to take from them what it could, and end the magic sustaining them. After all, Obelisk demanded silence, and as the master, it would be granted silence in all things. The inconsequential life or undeath of a few scattered souls here and there such as the mage or any such beings he had chosen to bind held no impact in the grand scheme of it all.
There would be darkness, endless, blissful, with no suffering, no pain, no life to harm the master. That was all the motivated this creature behind the mask of a man. The first howls of night cried out as the sounds of the rising dead filled the air like an orchestra of only strings and woodwinds. It was haunting to some, beautiful to others such as the creature. Reaching down to its side, it grasped the mask Icarus had worn in life, the mask of Cain, his teacher in the mundane and magical, the greatest foe Obelisk had ever faced and the first to truly defeat him in battle. It was something akin to mocking Cain, in a way, to bear the very gift of the student that no longer existed and had been converted to an empty shell in servitude to the End of All Life.
It placed the mask over the face of the dead flesh, letting its eyes glow red through the slits in the mask and darkness begin to unfurl around it. The scant few villagers that saw the seeming transformation were taken aback, others moving quickly away from it as it walked toward the gates. It glanced back over its shoulder, finding the mage had indeed followed it.
"Join in the feast, child," it beckoned with a voice offset from a mortal's by the seeming presence of something either animalistic or damned in its very being.
As it crossed the threshold, it could see the first of them still rising from the ground, digging its way to the surface with nary the slightest hint of flesh about it. Skeletons were often weak, barely held together by magic and propelled slowly by it as well. It would not find much sustenance in it, but alas, beggers could not be choosers, and it was rather hungry. Reaching down with its hand, it scooped the skull up like a man lifting water from a stream and drained its essence, letting the darkness swell within its body and become a part of it.
It took the moment to do so several more times before it became apparent that several of the undead had fully risen and were clambering forth, the fresher of the undead beginning in a hobbled run toward it. The creature was unhappy it did not have the time to savor the taste of the corruption, but it still had a job to do. Drawing the katana and longsword at its hips, it stepped forth, cutting down the first and absorbing its essence as it remained down, streams of darkness joining the creature's frame and coalescing like a mist about it. Indeed, this night would yield a bountiful harvest.