Dune's mask solidified, his emotions vanishing behind its cold facade.
He moved like a phantom, the mummy's shroud lashing out with deadly precision. Bandages snaked through the air, slicing through the undead with ease, while his sword struck with unerring accuracy.
Each step was a dance of death, the Dead falling around him like leaves in a storm. He fought and ran, his enhanced legs propelling him forward, weaving through the onslaught.
His movements were fluid, devoid of hesitation.
Hours passed in a blur of blood and decay. The ground was littered with the remains of his enemies, but Dune pressed on, relentless.
The Dead's numbers dwindled, their advance faltering under his relentless assault.
As the last of the undead fell, a notification appeared in his vision:
[ Fragments: 2350 / 1000 ]
Dune's mask and shroud began to dissipate, the monstrous aura fading.
