Celia slashed downward, severing the bony right hand gripping the sword. The rotten weapon clattered to the ground. Without hesitation, she followed through with a second strike, clean and precise, slicing the skull from the creature's shoulders.
The head rolled across the stone floor, its jaw snapping open and shut as though trying to gnash her ankles. Celia exhaled in relief—until the body staggered.
She froze.
The headless undead bent low, groped blindly across the ground with its remaining arm, found the severed head, and lifted it. Slowly, grotesquely, it pressed the skull back onto its neck.
Celia stumbled back, her chest heaving. "How is that possible? I thought I defeated it," she muttered, eyes wide as Nolan observed the undead lifting its skull and slotting it back onto its neck.
Very smart for something dead, Nolan thought.
"Celia, get a grip of yourself. Don't overthink it—you can do this. Linda's holding them off as best she can," Nolan encouraged.
