Story 649: Blade of the Crimson Fang

The village ruins were eerily silent, the air thick with the stench of decay. General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger knelt in the dirt, his combat knife buried deep into the skull of a still-twitching ghoul. The once-human creature let out a sickening gurgle before going limp, its lifeless eyes staring into the void.

Kruger yanked the blade free, wiping the black ichor off on his vest. This village had been lost weeks ago, but something was different. These undead weren’t mindless shamblers—they moved with purpose, with strategy.

A sign that Wolfe was evolving his tactics.

Kruger’s radio crackled.

“General, we have movement on the north ridge. At least a dozen hostiles, but they’re… different.”

It was Sergeant Darius "Hellhound" Rook, his trusted second-in-command.

Kruger’s grip tightened around his knife. “Define different.”

“Faster. Smarter. Some are carrying weapons.”**