The sun bled across the horizon, casting an ominous glow over the battlefield. General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger stood motionless, his gaze locked on the ruined city ahead. The scent of charred flesh and gunpowder lingered in the dry air, mingling with the distant groans of the undead.
His forces had crushed the last human encampment in the region, yet something felt… incomplete. Victory was inevitable, but defiance still lingered in the embers of the fallen resistance. The survivors were scattered, weakened—but not broken.
Behind him, Sergeant Darius "Hellhound" Rook approached, his boots crunching against the debris. "Scouts report remnants regrouping in the eastern sector," he muttered, wiping blood from his combat knife. "Small in numbers, but desperate."
Kruger's expression remained unreadable. "Desperation breeds recklessness."
Rook smirked. "So do cornered animals. Should we crush them?"
The General remained silent for a moment, adjusting his beret before turning toward his forces. Rows of undead soldiers stood at attention, their lifeless eyes awaiting his command. Among them, his elite warriors—mercenaries turned monsters, loyal only to him.
"We advance," Kruger said, his voice cold as steel. "No survivors."
The eastern sector was little more than a wasteland, crumbling buildings standing like gravestones against the bloodstained sky. The resistance had fortified what remained of a once-thriving industrial zone, turning rubble into makeshift barricades. Their weapons were salvaged, their numbers dwindling—but they refused to surrender.
Inside a ruined factory, Commander Elias Voss checked his rifle, his hands steady despite the exhaustion weighing on him. "We hold the line," he said, glancing at his remaining soldiers. "Kruger is coming, but he will bleed for every inch."
A young soldier swallowed hard. "Sir… do we even stand a chance?"
Voss locked eyes with him. "We make our own chances. We fight for the living."
A sudden silence fell upon them. The ground trembled. The air thickened with the scent of decay. Then, from the mist, they emerged.
Kruger led the charge, his presence towering over the battlefield like a specter of death. The undead stormed the barricades, gunfire ripping through the air. Explosions roared as resistance fighters fought with everything they had.
But they were merely delaying the inevitable.
Voss fired round after round, his men falling beside him. Then, amidst the chaos, he saw him—Kruger, walking through the flames, untouched by the destruction around him.
For the first time, Voss felt fear.
Kruger raised his pistol.
A single shot rang out.
Darkness swallowed the last hope of the resistance.