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."**
A low growl rumbled in Kruger's throat. Necro-soldiers. Wolfe had reanimated fallen troops and turned them into his personal undead army.
A rustling in the nearby hut drew Kruger's attention.
With predator-like reflexes, he pivoted—just as a hulking, undead brute lunged at him from the shadows.
Its decayed skin stretched over mutated muscles, its mouth filled with jagged, rotting teeth. It swung a rusted machete at Kruger's head, but the General ducked, rolling backward and slashing across its exposed ribs.
The beast barely flinched.
Kruger flipped his knife into a reverse grip, dodging another wild swing before plunging the blade into its throat. The brute let out a wet snarl, but still kept fighting.
Kruger's lips curled in frustration. Damn thing won't die easy.
With one fluid motion, he grabbed one of the grenades from his belt—a phosphorus charge.
As the brute lunged again, Kruger shoved the grenade into its gaping maw and kicked it backward.
A bright flash of fire and searing heat erupted as the creature was engulfed in white-hot flames. It shrieked, flailing wildly before collapsing into a smoldering heap.
Kruger exhaled, his breath visible in the cold night air.
The north ridge. That's where the real fight was waiting.
Gripping his knife tightly, he muttered to himself, "Time to remind these undead who the real predator is."
With that, Kruger disappeared into the night, ready to carve a path of destruction.