689: Story 689: The Tyrant’s Rebirth 689: Story 689: The Tyrant’s Rebirth The flas of the battlefield flickered in General Viktor “Bloodfang” Kruger’s cold, dead eyes.
His face—once a symbol of ruthless command—was now a grotesque fusion of man and monster.
Deep scars ran down his hardened features, and his left eye glead with an unnatural glow, pulsating with the sa necrotic energy that had twisted his body.
Sergeant Darius “Hellhound” Rook wiped blood from his mouth, forcing himself to his feet.
He had made his choice.
There was no turning back now.
Kruger stepped forward, each movent a slow, calculated display of power.
The earth beneath his boots trembled, his mutated arm twitching with suppressed fury.
“You’re a disappointnt, Rook,” he muttered, voice rough like grinding tal.
“You could have ruled at my side.”
Rook tightened his grip on his rifle.
“I was loyal to a man, not a monster.”
Kruger’s lips curled into sothing resembling a grin.
“Monster?” His voice was almost amused.
“No, Rook.
This is evolution.”
Then, he vanished.
Rook barely had ti to register what had happened before a massive force slamd into his gut, launching him backward.
He skidded across the dirt, gasping as pain flared through his ribs.
Kruger was on him in an instant.
A monstrous fist shot down—Rook barely rolled away in ti.
The ground where he had been was now a crater, the sheer force of the blow sending shockwaves rippling outward.
Rook had to move.
He raised his rifle and fired directly into Kruger’s face.
The bullets tore into flesh—but Kruger didn’t stop.
He caught Rook’s gun with one hand, crushing it effortlessly.
“Still weak,” Kruger growled.
“Still human.”
Before he could strike again, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
A single shot rang out.
Kruger’s head snapped to the side as a bullet tore through his cheek, splattering necrotic ichor across the ground.
Standing atop the wreckage, Vasily Petrov exhaled slowly, lowering his smoking rifle.
“You talk too much, Kruger,” he said.
Kruger ran his tongue over his bloodied teeth, grinning.
“Petrov… I should have crushed your spine when I had the chance.”
Petrov didn’t hesitate.
He leapt down, twin combat knives glinting in his hands.
He struck fast—blades flashing toward Kruger’s throat.
But Kruger was faster.
He caught Petrov’s wrist mid-swing and snapped it.
Petrov grunted but didn’t scream.
He drove his other knife deep into Kruger’s side—but the warlord didn’t even flinch.
“You insects never learn,” Kruger muttered.
Then, his massive, clawed hand closed around Petrov’s neck.
Rook’s heart pounded.
He had to act now.
Drawing his last grenade, he pulled the pin and charged.
Kruger turned just in ti to see Rook slam the explosive against his chest.
“Burn in hell, Viktor.”
User Comments
0 comments from readers