Story 638: The Crimson Blade

The air was thick with rot and gunpowder. General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger stood amidst the wreckage, his crimson beret tilted slightly, shadowing his cold, calculating eyes. His combat knife, slick with darkened gore, reflected the flickering fires that licked the edges of the ruined outpost.

Behind him, the remnants of his Necro-Brigade twitched, their reanimated bodies adjusting to their unnatural existence. They were silent, awaiting orders, while the Flesh Revenants—Wolfe’s abominations—had been reduced to twitching piles of ruined flesh.

But Kruger knew the battle wasn’t over. Wolfe was still out there.

He adjusted his grip on his knife, its weight familiar, reassuring. This was no ordinary blade—it was custom-forged, its serrated edges capable of tearing through both living and undead flesh with terrifying ease. A weapon worthy of a warlord.

A faint shuffle in the distance caught his attention. His eyes narrowed as he turned toward the sound.