Story 686: Wrath of the Forgotten

The battlefield stood still. The impossible had happened—General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger had been struck.

A single, precise blow from Vasily Petrov had sent the Overlord staggering. His undead soldiers, his lieutenants, even Sergeant Rook—all were frozen in disbelief.

Kruger’s fingers curled into fists. His veins pulsed with blackened energy, his breath came in short, angry bursts. He slowly raised his gaze, eyes burning with hatred and something deeper—recognition.

"You dare?" Kruger growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers through the air.

Petrov stood firm, his expression unreadable, his stance unwavering. The old warlord had seen monsters before. He had made monsters before.

And now, he had returned to kill one.

"You've lost control, Viktor," Petrov said coldly, dusting off his coat. "You were never meant to be the beast. You were meant to command it."

Kruger spat blood onto the ground, grinning. "I command death itself."

Then he moved.