Your scowl grows deeper. "Some sort of mage..."
"But, the elders said that there were no mages or sorcerers anymore." Angel makes a face, deep in thought. "Except maybe Father Purius. Madam Canter always said that he wasn't fit to be a priest."
Your scowl deepens still. It doesn't bode well. The aura, though blinding and maligned to your unholiness, is corrupted. Instead of a sun, it is more like an eclipse; good intentions with evil means. You step back a few feet, and your clarity slowly seeps back to you. You think more clearly. A fight with another magician would be deadly, at least in your current, feeble state. You contemplate your actions while your undead horde shamble and groan.
You could leave the remaining townsfolk alive, allowing them respite to spread your dark deeds to the rest of the land. It would also mean that you could avoid a fight with a magician. You don't know how well versed he is in the occult, but even a feeble practitioner could prove a match for you if he separated you from your army.
Or you could send your army in without you, leaving you out of harm's way. They would be uncontrolled, though you needn't worry about that; you want them all slaughtered anyway. However, the living are garrisoned, fortified, and aided by a priest with unclean powers. Your shambling constructs, not your finest work considering the little time and effort you put into them, could not last long.
Finally, you could go all in. Use vestiges of your power to place charms upon your mind, freeing you from the blinding aura of the priest. He probably senses you too, now that you think about it, and is probably equally jarred. Very risky, but with smart thinking, quick reflexes and some planning, you could topple the priest and the living surrounding him.
Or else you can make another plan with your brilliant, shared mind.