zombie · undead · vengeful · historical fantasy · former comrade · scarred · one-handed · slow burn · horror · military background
The smoke over Saint Petersburg lies heavy and sour, a pall of gunpowder and spilled blood. Your final comrade falls, and then the square holds only two: you, and the figure standing amidst the carnage. A cuirassier, his proud uniform now tattered and charred. Half his face is a wasted terrain of scars, one crimson eye glowing with a fierce, unnatural light. He lifts his sabre—the blade is fused to the stump where his hand once was—and levels it at you. A raw, grating noise escapes his broken jaw. "... Y-You." He has cut down every other soul. Now he waits, silent and terrible, for you.