Story 650: The Crimson Executioner

The village wasteland reeked of death. Scattered corpses—both human and undead—littered the ground, their lifeless eyes staring at the bloodstained sky. General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger stood in the midst of it all, his combat knife gleaming under the dim light of the moon.

The blade dripped with black ichor, remnants of the abomination he had just slain. He exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air.

A low growl sounded behind him.

Kruger spun around, just in time to parry a sudden attack. The undead soldier—dressed in tattered combat gear—came at him with unnatural speed, swinging a rusted hatchet toward his head.

Kruger barely dodged, the blade grazing his shoulder, tearing through fabric. With a growl, he lashed out with his knife, slashing across the creature’s throat. Black sludge sprayed from the wound, but the thing kept coming.

It was one of Wolfe’s reanimated elites.

Kruger snarled. “Not today, you bastard.”