Despite his warnings, they had left the scrawny Elf locked up for days now. He had told them, over and over, how terrible of an idea this was. That killing him would be better, to save themselves the trouble.

Three days, and now something odd was occuring. The man was having seizures. Which, for something that was dead, didn't exactly make a lot of sense. Of course, the guardsman had seen things like this before. A inmate tries to act sick, so that they can get special treatment, or try to escape. He wasn't going to fall for it. Dangling the keys through the bar, he taunted in broken Orcish. "Not falling for tricks, Knife-ears!"

And all of a sudden, the convulsions stopped. The Death Knight looked up from the ground, the blue hue of his eyes gone. Either his natural red was showing through, or that coloration had changed wildly. And then, with unnatural speed, that arm, with the keys was in his grasp.

His now.

Literally. With a sickening rip of flesh and bone, the arm came off like it was a child's play toy, from the shoulder down. Keys and all. By the time help had arrived, the door had been opened - more forced than by the use of the keys, by the looks of it - and the Knight was standing over the freshly cannibalized corpse of the guard.

The ensuing slaughter of the three that came was quick, efficient, save for the last. The first one he picked off with the eaten guardsman's weapon from afar, a tossed sword through the stomach. The second's eyes were gouged out through his helmet, and then when that was ripped off, his nose pushed far too hard against his brain. The last tried to flee, only to be yanked back through the air by necromancy. This man acted monstrous, instinctive, and efficient, when he had to, but when given the chance... something else showed through. He still seemed.. animalistic, unable to form words. Out of his mind.
But as the last guard's curtling screams rang out through the air, as he  dismantled his armor and ripped his chest open with bloodied hands, teeth, and unnatural strength, there was a slowness to the way he ate him alive. A cruelty. As if he knew exactly how to keep him alive, where to bite, what to eat, for as long as possible. Worst of all, though, was the grin.

 That was not animalstic. That was sadistic. Cold.

It didn't make it any better than the man could use necromancy to prolong the man, to keep him alive as long as possible. And when he died, he revived him. The Knight's magic forced his skin to restitch itself, his organs to regrow, and his soul to be brutally ripped from the Nether, stuffed back into it's body, forcefully and painfully.

Then, he did it all over again.

The grin never faded.