Story 613: The Blood Oath

The battlefield was silent now. Only the crackling of fire and the occasional groan of the dying remained. General Viktor ‘Bloodfang’ Kruger stood in the midst of the carnage, his bloodstained knife resting against his gloved fingers. His piercing gaze swept over the remains of the rebels, their bodies broken and lifeless in the dirt. They had fought hard, but hard was never enough.

Kruger ran a finger along the blade, wiping away a streak of crimson. His knife was more than a weapon—it was a symbol. A tool of judgment. He had wielded it through countless wars, carving his legacy into the flesh of those who opposed him.

A few feet away, Sergeant Darius ‘Hellhound’ Rook stepped forward, gripping his shotgun. "The rebels are finished, General. But we found something… unusual."

Kruger didn’t look up. "Unusual?"

"One of their leaders is still alive. He’s asking for you by name."

Kruger’s eyes narrowed. He sheathed his knife and motioned for Rook to lead the way.