From beyond the broken horizon they came, backed by billowing plumes of soot, cracked scorched earth crunching beneath tainted boots.  A sky of blood pierced through clouds of acrid smoke, shining down on endless columns of armored soldiers.  Rusted helmets and breast plates gleamed a dull crimson in the desolate light.  Parched crackling skin stretched haphazardly over dead faces.  Boiling, moth ridden flesh festered in great open wounds, eyes fogged by the opaqueness of death.  Brandishing shield and sword, they pushed their way forward, shields up at the forefront to form a long impenetrable wall with blades extended outward.

Up atop a barren hill of stone, upon a steep ledge, stood the sole surviving remnant of humanity, an elderly man, donned in flowing robes of dazzling white, face pocked with lines and wrinkles where the tears had etched into his skin.  His blue eyes glistened as he cast his gaze down on the lifeless faces below.  There was some distance left for them to close, yet he could already feel their dead eyes upon him, eager for his own demise, desperate for an end to the dominion of men.

The sound of marching boots boomed with increasing volume, echoing among the battered rocks beneath his feet. After a time, they stopped, and an eerie silence swept the desert wasteland.  The man stood defiantly before them, robes glowing bright gold, casting one final ray of hope on the world below.  The undead glared up at him with a hatred for all that lived, squinting in the burst of light.  With a heavy sigh, he took a deep breath, looked up into the heavens and began to dance.

Hands outstretched, he pulled at unseen strings, arms swooping in and out, forward and back as he moved with agile grace along the ledge.  Below, the land began to rise and fall in waves, crashing to the beat, undead soldiers scrambling out of formation as great pillars of stone rose and fell from beneath their feet.  Many were impaled where they stood.  Others were tossed against the hills and the rocks.  The man began to twirl, soft glowing robes sweeping the stone below in gentle strokes, and the air below began to howl and moan, forming a storm of sand and dust.  He thrust his arms forward and the billowing winds charged into the mass of undead men below, stones and debris pelting down on them, knocking them back.  Sun bleached bones crashed into the walls below and withered to dust before joining the storm below.  He leapt into the air and landed firmly on the ground, arms pushing down as the earth began to quake; up and out he moved his arms, and the earth began to split in two.  The wasteland below tore open along the seam of a long jagged line, bodies tipping and falling over the sides as it widened, empty howls of rage crying out as they were crushed beneath the rocks.

Finishing with a pirouette, he swept his arms outward, his head held low. Flames erupted from the cracks and crevices of the hills and enveloped the land, scorching all that remained in their path.  Looking up, he gazed upon the ground below, battered bones and torn rotting flesh smoldering below. Those fog-glazed eyes now lay lifeless, the forces of death now dead themselves.  Humanity was saved.

Bending down in a formal bow, he spared them one parting glance before turning back the way he had come.  The dance was done.