The wind howled through the ruined settlement, carrying the stench of rotting flesh. General Viktor 'Bloodfang' Kruger stood at the entrance of a decayed wooden shack, gripping his combat knife tightly. The blade was already stained with the dark ichor of the undead, but the battle was far from over.
Behind him, a fire crackled weakly, casting flickering shadows against the walls. The bodies of fallen zombies littered the ground, some still twitching as the infection struggled to keep them moving. But Kruger didn't waste a second. He had learned the hard way—always make sure they stay down.
With a grunt, he drove his knife into the skull of the nearest twitching corpse, the sickening crunch of bone shattering beneath his blade. The body convulsed once, then lay still.
A low growl echoed from inside the shack. Kruger turned, eyes narrowing as he stepped through the broken doorway. The interior was dark, filled with the scent of decay. He could hear something breathing—something not quite human.
He raised his knife, moving cautiously. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, a Ferocious Undead lunged at him from the darkness. This one wasn't like the others—it was leaner, faster, and its movements were unnervingly precise.
Kruger sidestepped at the last second, letting the creature's momentum carry it past him. In one fluid motion, he twisted, slashing his knife across its exposed throat. Blackened blood sprayed the walls, but the undead didn't stop. It snarled and swung its clawed hands toward him.
Kruger ducked, bringing his knee up into its gut before driving his knife under its chin and into its skull. The creature jerked violently, then went limp.
He exhaled, pulling his blade free. "Too damn fast," he muttered. These things were getting smarter. Stronger.
A crackle came through his earpiece. "General, report." It was Sergeant Darius "Hellhound" Rook.
"Found another variant. Faster than the usual ones," Kruger responded, wiping his blade on his vest. "We need to move. They're adapting."
"Copy that. But you're gonna wanna see this," Rook replied. "We've got movement near the cliffs. Something big."
Kruger frowned. If Rook called it 'big,' that meant trouble.
Stepping out of the shack, he surveyed the remains of the battlefield. The undead had retreated—for now—but he could feel their presence lingering in the distance.
Then, from the far end of the village, a deep, rumbling growl shook the air. The ground trembled slightly beneath his boots. Kruger turned toward the sound, his grip tightening around his blade.
The battle wasn't over. It was just beginning.