Story 632: The Iron Grip of the Overlord

The remains of Black Hollow Fortress smoldered in the cold desert night, its once-proud walls now nothing more than rubble and corpses. The crimson hue of the moon cast an eerie glow over the battlefield, illuminating the monstrous horde standing victorious under General Viktor ‘Bloodfang’ Kruger’s command.

With his arms crossed over his powerful chest, Kruger stood atop the ruins, watching as the last flickers of resistance were snuffed out. The Legion of the Damned, his army of bio-enhanced undead, moved with precision, dragging survivors from the wreckage and forcing them to their knees before their new master.

“Mercy…” one of the captured soldiers whimpered, his voice barely a whisper.

Kruger’s cold gaze settled on the man. Without a word, he stepped forward, unsheathing his combat knife with a slow, deliberate motion. The blade gleamed under the moonlight—razor-sharp, unstoppable, merciless.