Story 664: The Crimson Executioner

The moon hung low over the ruined city, its pale glow casting long shadows across the crumbling buildings. Smoke and fire still rose from the wreckage of the latest battle, the echoes of war fading into an eerie silence. General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger stood at the edge of the carnage, his crimson beret barely shifting in the cold night breeze. His black-gloved hands gripped his combat knife, still slick with blood.

A lone rebel survivor stumbled through the debris, clutching a bleeding wound in his side. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his uniform soaked in sweat and dirt. He turned a corner, thinking he had escaped.

He hadn’t.

Kruger moved like a phantom, stepping into the man's path with the cold precision of a predator. The rebel froze, his body trembling as he looked up at the warlord before him. The executioner of his people.

"N-No…" The rebel barely managed to whisper.

Kruger tilted his head, his expression unreadable. Then he surged forward.