The village lay in eerie silence, the sll of death thick in the air. General Viktor 'Bloodfang' Kruger stood at the center of the ruined street, his crimson beret slightly tilted as he examined the grotesque figures before him.
Rows of undead soldiers, clad in torn fatigues and armor, stood at attention. Their pale, rotting faces twitched with unnatural hunger, but their eyes… their eyes were filled with sothing different. Obedience.
Kruger smirked. His undead army was ready.
A low, rasping voice interrupted the mont. "Impressive work, General. I must admit, I doubted you at first."
From the shadows of a broken chapel, Dr. Sylvia "Plague Mistress" Voss erged, her long coat billowing as she stepped forward. The mastermind behind the infection, she had spent months refining the virus, perfecting Kruger's vision—an undead force that followed orders, not instincts.
Kruger crossed his arms, his gaze never leaving his new horde. "Doubt again, and you'll join them," he muttered.
Voss rely chuckled. "Charming as ever." She walked past the front row of undead, inspecting them like a scientist admiring her greatest experint. "We've done it, General. These aren't mindless corpses. They recognize you. They listen."
Kruger stepped forward and pulled a combat knife from his belt. With a slow, deliberate motion, he raised it high. The undead remained still, waiting. Then, with a sharp downward slash, he signaled his command.
The horde reacted instantly.
In perfect synchronization, they let out guttural roars and turned toward the training dummies—the remains of old enemy prisoners bound to posts. Within seconds, the undead tore through them, ripping apart flesh and cloth, moving like a disciplined battalion rather than a chaotic swarm.
Kruger grinned. "They'll make fine soldiers."
Voss, however, was focused on sothing else. One of the undead—a forr officer nad Captain Mikhail—moved differently. His posture was rigid, almost self-aware. He wasn't just following orders. He was learning.
She frowned. "General… there's sothing unusual about this one."
Kruger turned, his eyes narrowing as he studied Mikhail. The undead officer saluted.
For the first ti, Kruger hesitated.
Before he could speak, a distant explosion rumbled through the valley.
The radio crackled. "General! It's Rook! We've got a problem—enemy forces are advancing! They know we're here!"
Kruger's smirk returned. "Perfect." He turned back to his undead legion, then raised his fist. "March."
The horde moved as one, their lifeless feet stomping in unison as they prepared to et the incoming forces.
Kruger watched as his perfect army advanced. His enemies had spent years fearing the undead plague. Now, they would learn to fear sothing far worse—a man who controlled it.
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