Maka's eyes narrowed. Slowly, she stood, watching the retreating slavers make their way back through the ravine.
"Don't worry." Her voice was soft, and cold as a midwinter night on the tundra. "They won't."
Her eyes closed and she extended one hand, reaching with her power. Twice in as many days she'd used this cursed ability, and part of her hated.
Another part, a part that honestly scared her more than a little, reveled in it.
She grit her teeth and furrowed her brow with effort as she intoned, "Rise."
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then, all at once, the sand of the ravine floor erupted. Slavers shouted and dogs scrambled for safety as dozens, hundreds of bones burst through the desert's crust, bleached white by the sun and sand. Shuddering and creaking, the bones drew together into haphazard skeletons, lurching toward the group, reaching with sharp-tipped fingers and gnashing teeth.
Not all were human, but every last one of them was out for blood.
Maka's breath left her in a sharp exhale and her knees gave out, her whole body shuddering as she sank to the sand. She just barely had the energy to send out another pulse of power, ordering the revenants to leave the dogs in peace.