The village wasteland reeked of death. Scattered corpses—both human and undead—littered the ground, their lifeless eyes staring at the bloodstained sky. General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger stood in the midst of it all, his combat knife gleaming under the dim light of the moon.
The blade dripped with black ichor, remnants of the abomination he had just slain. He exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air.
A low growl sounded behind him.
Kruger spun around, just in ti to parry a sudden attack. The undead soldier—dressed in tattered combat gear—ca at him with unnatural speed, swinging a rusted hatchet toward his head.
Kruger barely dodged, the blade grazing his shoulder, tearing through fabric. With a growl, he lashed out with his knife, slashing across the creature's throat. Black sludge sprayed from the wound, but the thing kept coming.
It was one of Wolfe's reanimated elites.
Kruger snarled. "Not today, you bastard."
With inhuman precision, he twisted his body, dodging another strike, then drove his knife straight into the undead soldier's skull. The blade sank deep, cutting through decayed flesh and rotted bone. The creature twitched, let out a rattling gasp, then collapsed.
Kruger ripped the blade free and turned.
More were coming.
Five. No, six.
They were moving fast, their rotted bodies still carrying fragnts of their old combat skills. Wolfe had clearly refined his necrotic experints.
Kruger smirked. Good. He liked a challenge.
He crouched, gripping his knife in one hand and a combat blade in the other. His stance was predatory, his blood burning for battle.
The first undead charged. Kruger sidestepped, slashing its Achilles tendon before driving his knife into its temple. The second lunged with a bayonet—Kruger twisted, grabbing its arm and snapping it at the elbow before plunging his blade into its heart.
The third and fourth ca together.
Kruger dropped low, rolling between them, slicing open their stomachs as he passed. They collapsed in a heap of guts and rotting intestines.
The last two hesitated.
Big mistake.
Kruger closed the gap in an instant, slamming one into the ground with a vicious kick. Before the other could react, he drove both knives into its chest, twisting them before ripping upward.
The thing let out a sickening gurgle before collapsing.
Kruger stood, breathing heavily, his uniform soaked in black blood.
Silence.
Then—a slow clap.
From the shadows, a figure erged.
Tall. Draped in a long, tattered trench coat. His face hidden by a gas mask, but his burning yellow eyes glead with amusent.
Reaper-77.
"Impressive," the undead enforcer rasped. "Let's see if you can do that against ."
Kruger smirked.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
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