Story 634: Death March

The air inside the abandoned steel mill was thick with smoke and decay. General Viktor ‘Bloodfang’ Kruger strode through the dimly lit corridors, his knife glinting under the flickering industrial lights. His blood-red beret sat firmly on his head, and his black fatigues bore the marks of recent combat—gashes, bullet grazes, and streaks of dried blood.

Behind him, his undead soldiers lurched forward—former rebels, now stripped of their humanity, their hollow eyes glowing faintly with the cursed serum flowing through their veins. Their shuffling movements echoed against the cold metal walls. His army was growing.

Kruger stopped as he reached a large steel door, dented from previous explosions. The last remnants of the enemy’s forces were barricaded inside. His lips curled into a cruel smirk.

“Sergeant Rook,” he called out.