The ruins of Black Hollow Outpost lood in the moonlight, their once-proud steel beams now corroded, draped in decay and death. The silence was broken only by the slow, guttural moans of the undead as they wandered aimlessly, their milky eyes searching for prey.
General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger stood at the edge of a shattered catwalk, the crimson beret on his head barely shifting as the cold wind howled through the wreckage. His gloved fingers tightened around the combat knife in his hand, the bloodied steel gleaming under the faint flicker of distant fires.
He had hunted n before. Traitors, cowards, those who dared to defy his reign. But this was different. This was personal.
A rogue faction of ex-military survivors had dared to sabotage his latest convoy, seizing valuable bioweapons ant for his necrotic legions. Their foolish defiance would be punished.
Through the cracks in the ruined structure, he caught movent. A lone figure in tattered fatigues, crouching near the remains of an armored vehicle. A survivor. One of them.
With the grace of a predator, Kruger descended from his vantage point, rolling into the shadows. His boots barely made a sound as he closed the distance, his grip on the blade steady. The mont the survivor turned, Kruger struck like a phantom—his knife slashed across the man's throat before he could scream, his body crumpling to the ground, eyes wide in frozen terror.
He flicked the blood off the blade and stepped over the corpse. One down.
The others would not be as easy.
A whistle cut through the air. An alert. They knew he was here.
Kruger snarled, pulling his bow from his back. A single black-feathered arrow nocked, drawn, and loosed in one fluid motion. The projectile sailed through the darkness, impaling the lookout's skull, pinning him against the crumbling wall like a macabre trophy.
Gunfire erupted in response, but Kruger was already on the move. His muscles tensed as he dodged between the wreckage, weaving like a wraith through smoke and shadow. He reached another soldier, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him into a rusted beam. The man gasped, struggling, but Kruger rely leaned in, whispering:
"You chose the wrong side."
The knife plunged deep.
As the body slid lifelessly to the ground, the last surviving saboteur tried to flee, sprinting toward an abandoned stairwell. Kruger, still composed, drew another arrow. A hunter does not let his prey escape.
The string snapped, the arrow soared, and the survivor barely had ti to scream before it struck.
Silence returned to Black Hollow Outpost. The scent of blood lingered in the air as Kruger retrieved his arrows and cleaned his blade. The stolen bioweapons were his again.
He exhaled, satisfied.
The hunt was over. The war continued.
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