Krota's perception, still locked in top gear from his subsonic leap, marked the lance as the last undead hand propelled it towards him.
He saw the barrier of a tiny cloud in front of it concave, and the spearhead as it punched through to break the sound barrier and accelerate into realms of alacrity well beyond.
His hand moved in the blink of an eye; the spear was faster, and Krota's veil blew apart to the spear just as the blade of his right palm brushed the missile off course.
The great bulk of his bicep went with it-- chunky meat, skin, bone and all, fixed to the tree at his back in a flash of bloody mist. The trailing sonic boom crashed into him, staggered the brute to a knee as the undead closed in.
Blood pressure plummeted; shock seized Krota, dulled his senses and drowned his vision to a wavering blur. "ACCURSED WRAITHS!" Krota growled to the top of his lungs, "HOLD YOUR PEACE!"
But the abject horrors, wrenched from eternal rest, would not hold their peace, could not think, would not stop. All at once death flew for him, corpse upon corpse piled upon him, drowned him in carrion.
Cold kisses from dead salivating lips sent terror in ripples across his brawn; Krota felt the sick scrape of a decayed nose as it ran up his back, took a powerful drag of his scent, and for an instant unhinged the brute's mind to animalistic terror.
With a mortified roar Krota flailed, and corpses flew wide and far.
But death clawed at him with bony fingers, once more entombed him within a ring of shambling bodies, each a grotesque face set with disturbingly white teeth and infinite pools of hollow eyes that gazed upon him with measureless hunger.
Krota pieced back his sanity, channeled his animal fear into rage, and with a despairing wail blew apart his corpse prison; he grasped the axe head in his left palm and cast it high, caught the haft singlehandedly.
"INTERRED SAVAGES!" The blazing MYRE-fueled flames in the forest suddenly froze to his voice as if shouted into silence, oppressed by his will, crushed by his rage into a scintillating thread that flew to the Tooth of Kali as a lightning-bolt.
The axe head took an orange gleam, its edges white-hot. Krota hunched into a feral forward stance, his right arm limp at his side, now savage with the rage, alone against a horde of corpses savage with the hunger as they leapt for him.
"RETURN TO THE GRAVE ONCE MORE!"