Story 670: Ashes of the Unbroken

The West Block was nothing but a crater of fire and rubble. Smoke spiraled into the night sky, embers flickering like dying stars. The air reeked of charred metal, burning flesh, and the bitter tang of explosives.

From a nearby vantage point, Sergeant Darius "Hellhound" Rook lowered his binoculars, his jaw clenched. "Damn it," he muttered. The explosion had been powerful—too powerful, even for someone like Kruger.

"General, respond," Rook barked into his earpiece. Static.

A low growl rumbled in his throat. He turned to the squad of undead enforcers behind him. "Fan out. If he's alive, find him. If not—" His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Retrieve whatever's left."

The undead, bound to Kruger's will even in his possible demise, lurched forward, sifting through the smoldering debris like mindless scavengers.

Meanwhile…

A slab of blackened steel shifted amidst the rubble.

Then, a hand—muscled, scorched, yet still alive—burst free.