The ground shuddered as something massive stirred beneath the wreckage.
Sergeant Darius "Hellhound" Rook instinctively took a step back, his pulse hammering in his ears. The firelight danced off shifting shadows, grotesque figures moving with an unnatural hunger. Kruger's army hadn't just survived—they had mutated.
Vasily Petrov stood still, his cold eyes locked on the epicenter of the disturbance. His fingers flexed near his holster. He was ready.
Then, the rubble exploded outward.
A monstrous shape lunged from the smoke—twisted, armored flesh, veins pulsing with necrotic energy. The thing that emerged was no longer entirely General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger.
It was something worse.
Rook froze. The warlord's once-human form had transformed into a hulking nightmare, his blood-red beret barely clinging to a grotesque, sinewy head. His skin was ashen and scarred, necrotic energy crackling through the wounds. His right arm had completely mutated, a massive, clawed appendage rippling with unnatural strength.
But his eyes—those burning, predatory eyes—were still Kruger's.
"Rook…" The voice was deep, guttural. "Do you still serve?"
A lump formed in Rook's throat. He wasn't sure how to answer.
Petrov's gun was up in an instant. "This is your last mistake, Kruger."
The monstrous warlord snarled, his mutated arm whipping out like a sledgehammer. Petrov dodged just in time, the force of the strike cratering the earth where he once stood. Dust and fire erupted into the air.
The surrounding zombies howled in response, their rotting forms twitching as if feeding off their master's power.
Rook had to move. His instincts screamed at him to fight, but against this?
He wasn't sure it was possible.
Kruger turned his gaze back to him. "Rook. Prove your loyalty. Kill him."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, Rook did something he never imagined he'd do.
He raised his weapon at Kruger.
The warlord's expression didn't change, but something in the air grew heavier—more suffocating. "So, that's your choice?"
Petrov smirked. "Looks like your lapdog found his teeth."
Kruger didn't respond. Instead, his massive form lurched forward, moving with terrifying speed.
Rook fired. Point-blank.
The bullets ripped into Kruger's torso, but the warlord barely flinched. His mutated arm swung—Rook barely managed to dodge, but the shockwave sent him tumbling.
Petrov seized the opening.
With a single, precise motion, he drew his combat knife and lunged, aiming for Kruger's throat.
For a moment, the battlefield stood still.
Then Kruger's laughter rumbled through the fire.
He grabbed Petrov by the throat, lifting him effortlessly. His lips curled into a monstrous grin.
With a sickening crack, Kruger hurled Petrov into the wreckage.
Rook's blood ran cold.
He had just made an enemy of the Overlord.