The jackal-headed creature that was Embalmus was disgusted at the beings laid out before him, the pitiful humans that dared to deny his master's gift. If he had the honor of making this decision himself, these beings wouldn't be standing there before them, chattering like fools. No, they would be on the ground, their heads cut from their pitiful forms as he presented their souls to Lady Samara for her own experiments. He despised these beings not only for their BLATANT and UTTER FOOLISH disrespect of a lady such as she, but it was also the fact they were living in a place meant only for the dead. Samara's dead. Trespassing in a way only the living could, those greedy, chaotic apes. He tensed up as each one discarded his lady's suggestion, feeling his anger grow by the second. How dare they refuse such an offering? This was eternal life granted by a goddess no less and they were turning it down? It seemed these mortals needed some severe smiting... Before he could anticipate his queen's commands and end these fools, he felt her hand run up and down his back, immediately quelling his rage and allowing his professionalism to take over once again. His body relaxed and his eyes glowed less brightly as he adjusted his grip on his weapons. If this was what this world was like, he could only imagine the great abundance of headless walking corpses that would be serving her queen here. This was good, after all. If he remembered correctly, they were in need of a few back at the palace back home.
For the first time in several hundred years, Embalmus smiled as Lady Samara gave her command, skeletons, zombies, bone-amalgamates of any number of shapes and sizes rose from the sands within their tomb. It was a cruel, sharp grin that expressed his great, respectfully restrained desire to watch each one of them be torn limb from limb, his glowing orbs locking onto the human who wielded his lighting. He was not impressive, not in the slightest, far smaller than the jackal and no where near as powerful as the queen he served. When she gave him permission, The large undead advanced onto the field. Immediately, the moment he stepped down from the platform on which he stood. Massive skeletal hands sprouted up in front of the exit to this chamber, locking the mortals in with one sea of undead outside, and one quickly growing inside. He made a beeline directly at the lightning-man, cocking his whip-arm back before lashing the three-headed weapon towards his head, neck, and upper chest with such strength, likely immediately crushing his golden armor on impact. The barbed heads of the whip would snake through the air so fast, it would be a blur even to that of a monster such as himself. With his other hand, he dropped the curved blade within, curling his fingers inwards as he twisted his wrist up to face the ceiling. It appeared as if the air was being sucked out of the mortals' noses, eyes and mouths, but it was actually tiny pieces of their soul, culminating just above him human-dog palm. As more and more of their souls drained, as did their energy and will to resist. The soul-drain would take a fair amount of time to kill anyone on its own but with Embalmus actively in the field among this undead army, this would be a quick fight.