Story 614: The Crimson Vow

The dimly lit bunker reeked of sweat, gun oil, and blood. General Viktor ‘Bloodfang’ Kruger stood at the center, his red beret tilted slightly forward, casting a shadow over his piercing gaze. His gloved hands moved methodically, inspecting his combat knife, the blade reflecting the cold, flickering light. Each cut, each kill, was a signature—a promise that death followed wherever he walked.

A rusted steel door groaned open, and Sergeant Darius ‘Hellhound’ Rook entered, dragging a struggling prisoner behind him. The man’s face was bruised, blood dripping from his split lip.

"Found him sneaking around the supply depot," Rook growled, throwing the prisoner to the ground. "He was unarmed. A scout, most likely."

Kruger crouched beside the man, gripping his chin and forcing him to look into his eyes. "Who sent you?" His voice was calm, but the menace behind it was unmistakable.