Snow drifted in thick sheets, carried by the howling wind as General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger pressed his back against the cold steel wall of the abandoned bunker. His shoulder throbbed, blood seeping through his uniform. The gunshot wound was nothing—a mere scratch compared to what he had endured before.
But Colonel Petrov was different. He wasn't some mindless ghoul or a desperate survivor. He was a trained killer, a ghost from Kruger's past, and now, he was standing between Kruger and total domination.
The general exhaled sharply, his breath turning to frost. One shot. One mistake. That was all it took for the battlefield to shift. Kruger never made the same mistake twice.
Petrov's heavy boots echoed down the corridor. "Still standing, General?" His voice was calm, but the tension in the air was electric. "I expected more from the great 'Bloodfang.' Or has ruling the dead made you weak?"
Kruger smirked, wiping blood from his lip. "Weak?" He flexed his fingers around the combat knife, its edge gleaming under the dim lights. "Let me show you what weak really looks like."
With a burst of speed, Kruger charged.
Petrov raised his pistol, but Kruger batted it aside, the shot firing wild into the ceiling. In the same motion, Kruger's knife plunged forward, aiming for Petrov's ribs.
But the Colonel was fast. He twisted, deflecting the blade with his forearm, then slammed his knee into Kruger's gut.
Pain flared, but Kruger absorbed it, using the momentum to spin—his elbow smashing into Petrov's jaw.
The Colonel staggered back, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth. He grinned. "That's more like it."
Kruger didn't reply. Words were for men who hadn't already decided to kill each other.
They clashed again, a brutal exchange of fists, blades, and instinct. Sparks flew as steel met steel, their combat knives scraping against one another in a deadly dance.
Kruger aimed low, slashing toward Petrov's knee, but the Colonel dodged and countered, delivering a brutal uppercut.
Kruger's head snapped back, but he didn't fall. He never fell. Not to men like Petrov.
With a feral growl, he headbutted the Colonel, bone cracking against bone. Petrov stumbled, and that was all Kruger needed.
With lightning speed, he drove his knife deep into Petrov's side.
The Colonel grunted, his eyes widening in shock as blood bloomed across his uniform.
Kruger leaned in close, his breath hot against the dying man's ear. "You were always a relic of the past, Petrov."
With a savage twist of the blade, he tore it free.
Petrov collapsed to his knees, his breath ragged. He looked up at Kruger one last time, a smirk playing on his lips. "You've already lost."
Kruger frowned. Lost?
Then he heard it—a distant, guttural growl.
The bunker wasn't empty.