That is a mountain of rage, a bloodthirsty slaughter after a century of silence. In times of peace, they are members of the Undying Club, the undead who sleep away the apocalypse in their rooms. They are harmless, friendly, even a bit comical, lingering by the bar all day, letting alcohol numb their nerves, indulging in the past, allowing their bodies to rot away bit by bit over time.
Perhaps this is the ending all the undead once fantasized about. They're tired of the world's chaos, only wanting to slowly drown in absolute tranquility within their dark little nests.
Everything was so beautiful until someone tried to destroy it all, awakening these furious beings.
"For the Undying Club!"
An undead climbed to the vantage point, waving a crimson flag while shouting at the top of his lungs.
