I remember being promoted to Полко?вник, a Colonel, back when I was in my forties. Even then, I couldn't bring myself to speak of the soldiers and subordinates who had served under my command during the war against the Chechen Republic. I lost too many good men… because I wasn't competent enough to lead them.

  The sky was always grim. The stench of rot clung to every place I went. The cries of children filled the air, a constant reminder of a country broken, ruined by the corruption of its officials. A nation devoured from within.

  My life was miserable before I came to this new world.

  I never had a kid.

  Never had a wife…

  I was a child raised for war…

  My father and the grandfather before him all served and died in the battles, with mothers and wives who make you repeat their mistakes…

  I was mentally there…

  But they didn’t raise me right…

  Mother was weird, to be honest…

  She would talk to herself, while grandmother wouldn’t even notice me until I wore my first uniform… neglected I always wanted the sentiment of wanting to be noticed by my mother, but she didn’t care.

  Raising me like she had one goal.

  Like a mindless woman, A robot? She gave me dried bread and tasteless soup. Keep me alive to die in some fuck-off country. She made me study to know tactics…

  She never saw me as something she needed in her life. She saw me as a purpose for her to finish.

  And because of that, my love isn’t real with anything I had and ever since then. I never saw her after I got deployed to fight in Afghanistan.

  That was the last time I saw her.

  Since then, I never had anyone close I saw. The only time I visited her. Was her grave… I never tear down. Because she probably wouldn’t give a shit.

  And just watching through those frozen glass windows… I saw the children below.

  Cheerful. Laughing.

  I wish I had that kind of childhood.

  I wish I hadn’t been raised to be a soldier.

  They never wanted a proper kid.

  They made me for a tradition.

  A tradition meant to die for a country that never gave a damn about its men.

  A country that cared more about its self-image than the lives of those who bled for it.

  I died in a country whose leader left it weaker than ever.

  I died for people who had every reason to fight against us.

  I died for a cause that never existed.

  For a nation that couldn’t accept the truth that its golden age had crumbled and clung to the illusion of being a superpower.

  I’ll not fucking repeat that here or now…

  Those thoughts are very powerful to think about. Walking alongside these undead summons of mine, at least gives me a reason why I'm even doing this. My new ‘self’ dying to those fucking selfless heroes to an artefact that they wanted so much… a Girl that was murdered and a friend. I'll make a promise to myself, and I'll make sure that I'll have the last laugh.

  __

  Since the treasure's discovery by Major Dasha Feofil, most of our past knights, spearmen, and archers had been trained into proper riflemen. Others were assigned to be automatic riflemen after receiving modern weapons transported into their hands.

  Undead summons were used to power forklifts that were used to deliver crates of goods across the room. Some were taken aboard the giant underground freight elevator, and others were dispersed throughout newly outfitted units. These new summons now proudly wore their contemporary gear as Major Dasha Feofil started her operational briefing.

  Promoted now to Lieutenant Colonel, Dasha Feofil towered over her new military attire, an imposing figure of power and grace. Her bright blue eyes narrowed with concentration as she jotted down notes on a creased clipboard.

  To her side was Second Lieutenant Maxim Leonidovich, double-checking a checklist of the arms and gear that had been counted. The well-ordered beat of preparation reverberated throughout the vault, announcing that the moment to move was approaching.

  "Mustered up around a hundred crates of AK-74Ms and some AK-12s among the heavy plastic boxes. We have a few RPK-74s and some heavy machine guns. A few dozen RPG-7s, but to my surprise, we had a cache of RPG-26s, sufficient to equip a whole battalion. As for armoured cars: two BTR-70s, a few Urals, and one 2S25 Sprut-SD."

  "This isn't enough," I said, pausing to scan the manifest. "But it'll do."

  Behind me, the VDV undead dead summoned stepped up, his voice firm and hollow but oddly deferential.

  "This was a VDV underground base, Major General. We were to guard it until the thing happened. The thing that made us all dead. Nevertheless, we did our job. The equipment was kept safe.”

  Quite odd that the compound is heavily advanced despite storing just barely enough to defend a whole country or fight against one, either following my death. The Russian Federation started to lose more supplies as the war went on, or this is equipment for a different purpose.

  Either way, plenty of Kalashnikovs, but one Light tank and a few armoured cars? And a few trucks just to fill thirty men? Can't be… but this is what we entirely have right now, and so far it has been better than expected…

  The only issue now is finding the people who are trained to operate the armoured vehicle, as I glanced over towards Second Lieutenant Maxim Leonidovich.

  “Lieutenant Leonidovich, try and find if any of our infantrymen is an ex-driver because we need someone to operate the 2S25…”

  “On it, sir…”

  With the lieutenant leaving the circle around me to check on the platoon, it gave me some time to debrief on the situation we are currently in. The elevator that hadn't been touched for approximately a few hundred years could still be used, as some of the infantry had given their own personal opinion of it likely being able to be operable for all of this equipment to move towards the surface.

  Before his transfer to his current body, Alexander had been a weak summoner, living as an adventurer for the Order of the Southern Radikal, a promising, growing guild in the Damain Kingdom. As he checked his bag, Alexander let out a heavy sigh, remembering how those bastards had stolen from him. Now, he couldn't even recall where they were.

  The legendary necromancer’s position was at least five klicks from the altar where his past self had perished. At the very least, they were still somewhere in the Domain region; the only thing he could remember clearly was being in a very dense forest.

  “Not helping us out, because I can't even remember where the hell we are… My shit got stolen by those fuckers, and now I need to figure out where the hell we even are…”

  He glanced back at the VDV summon, standing tall, his expression cold and intimidating as he held his AK-12 at the ready. An idea sparked in Alexander’s head as he asked:

  “You received maps of the area we’re in?”

  "Yes, Major General," the VDV call said, nodding. "However, I have to warn you, the remainder of the compound has not been disturbed. We've spotted these little green beasts wandering the hallways. Before I died in that blinding light, we barricaded the corridor just behind me.

  I spun around to look. Two entrances had been closed off with tables, chairs, and even stacked lockers up to the ceiling. "Green little things?" Goblins, perhaps. Those little buggers are always the weakest creatures you can find, hardly even a threat. So why did the devil train VDV soldiers to close off an entire wing over something so insignificant?

  I moved in closer. "Elaborate."

  “I recall it like yesterday," the VDV growled. "We were based here in this subterranean facility for a couple of weeks before that burst of light struck. We don't know what happened, and we didn't check. We just blocked the place off instead. We never cleared it. Half our staff are still in the lower facility."

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  He regarded me straight on, the red eye sockets glimmering dully.

  “I suggest we recover them, sir. They could still be useful for summoning. And if they were anything like us, they'll be worth it.”

  Alexander spoke the plan over with Lieutenant Colonel Dasha Feofil, both agreeing it would be a good idea to have our troops clear out the lower floors. The potential for reclaiming untouched gear and possibly trained personnel meant an increased range of resources for our expanding undead force.

  "Might be a good idea, General," said Dasha, nodding in consideration. "If we come across anyone who has training on heavier vehicles, someone could drive the Sprut."

  Alexander spun, his vision drawn to the armoured cars. Just behind the row of BTR-80s, something had caught his eye: a pair of enormous blast doors set into the wall. He narrowed his eyes, then looked at the VDV summon.

  "What's behind those doors?"

  The undead soldier tensed minimally. "They've been locked up for decades, even before I came here. It's said there are some prototype weapons from the pre-Soviet era down there. Nobody knows. The launch room is a couple of hallways past the barricade.”

  Another reason to cross the cordon. Dasha nodded curtly, her way of agreeing on the cleanup mission. Alexander took a deep breath, knowing what this could mean, then gazed back at her with an acerbic demand.

  "Get in a fireteam. I want them with close-quarters shotguns, SMGs, or whatever we've got."

  –

  A fire team assembled and took positions around the door. The squad belonged to the VDV, led by Second Lieutenant Maxim Leonidovich, who now carried an AK-74M. His 6B47 helmet and 6B45 Granit vest completed his combat loadout. Two soldiers moved to the door, beginning to dismantle the barricade, tables, desks, and a closet were cleared one by one. The rest of the squad stood ready, rifles raised, waiting in tense silence for whatever lay beyond.

  Alexander watched the door like a hawk, his staff faintly glowing in one hand, while the other held an MP-443 Grach. The soldiers grunted softly, and the VDV kept their weapons trained. The tension in the air was thick; everyone braced for the worst. Then they spotted it: the door handle was jammed with a crowbar.

  Both soldiers turned to look at Alexander.

  Alexander nods. “Ready, men!”

  And just there, the crowbar was removed and BASH! Both soldiers kicked the door loudly enough for it to echo across the dark room corridor. Flashes beamed across the dark corridors to see it empty yet very dirty compared to the large hangar room they were in. Alexander gives the command.

  “Fireteam go.”

  The VDV led the way, moving quickly to the centre of the corridor. Two hallways stretched out in front, both of them unnervingly deserted. With the practised precision of the VDV summons, the rest of the fireteam followed hand signals, moving in formation.

  As the team moved forward, the VDV saw a stairway leading down several levels. The fireteam broke into smaller teams Alpha Team went with the VDV to summon down the stairs, and the Bravo Team went off to clear the enemy corridor.

  Alexander brought up the rear, the summoning staff in his hand starting to glow dimly. Its light pulsed with a gentle hum, dim but unmistakable.

  The feeling struck him: life was close by.

  Not friendly.

  The faint glow of the staff, now muttering in mystical tension, was a signal. Enemies were near. No friends in this perimeter.

  Eyes contracted, Alexander tightened his grip.

  Time to sweep the depths clean.

  The VDV led the charge, dropping rapidly to the sixth floor. The sterile concrete walls of the facility gave way to something more primordial, coarse stone and tunnel-like corridors, as though the building had dug into the earth itself. The air was thick. Grunts and strained gasps echoed through the dim halls.

  The Paratrooper stopped, bringing his AK-12 up. His flashlight sliced through the shadows like a knife.

  GRAHH!

  A goblin charged from the darkness, a twisted, ugly creature with a crooked back and a rusty, blunted sword clutched in its clawed fists. It clumsily thrust at the VDV summon, screaming with fury.

  The soldier walked over to the creature, not blinking an eye, and drove his boot into the thing's chest. The blow shattered its ribs and slammed it into the cave wall, its distorted nose crushed and bleeding.

  The reports of rifle fire followed. A three-shot burst ripped through its skull. Thirty rounds remaining. Now twenty-eight.

  The staccato reports of gunfire summoned reinforcements. More undead soldiers came from behind, weapons raised, advancing with practised ease.

  Alexander arrived in the chamber as the VDV spun and levelled his rifle down the corridor. The goblin was not alone.

  “The fuck is that, General?”

  A Goblin. Dead, swimming in its blood, Ugly motherfucker and this type is a scavenger, as the crude backpack carrying nothing but scraps and scrap from objects from this bunker; it means that there's a whole village with them…

  Glaring towards the tunnel, the soldiers asked.

  “Should we call the rest, sir?”

  “No. ” Alexander replied. “I want you all to kill those green bastards. ”

  Goblins are the hellspawn of the devil itself; I never wondered why this new world has them become the prime example of a sub-species that does the unspeakable. I could remember those dark moments… Enough for me to cause myself to have a headache and seeing one here down at the bunker gives Alexander stress and he isn’t happy to know that these bastards are here.

  The soldiers didn’t react and quickly moved into the small tunnel leading was Second Lt. Maxim Leonidovich went first with Alexander, and the rest of the fireteam continued down the tunnel. Going further, the echoes of the goblins grunting could get louder as Alexander replied.

  “Clear them out!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Comes in, a group of goblins running towards Maxim Leonidovich, a deafening explosion as blinding muzzle flashes echo the tunnels. The goblins were turned into Swiss cheese, and soldiers behind me came out and shot at the dead once more, just to be sure.

  The tunnel started to constrict, its rocky walls closing in on us as we headed toward the exit. The air grew heavy with the scent of smoke and grime. Behind us, the undead soldiers closed in formation, rattling bone and corroded armour, a shield wall of bony fighters. The VDV summoned barked commands in precise Russian, steering them into a close formation defence.

  Before us, an orange flash played across the rock, a campfire.

  We crept low as we saw it now: feeble beams of firelight spilling through the cracks in the twisted wooden door. Behind it, guttural grunts and bestial growls echoed in the hallway. Goblins.

  They were near. Restless.

  Weapons were raised high. Fingers hovered on triggers. The firelight burned like the eye of a beast, dancing through the seams of the warped door. The muttering and goblin chatter grew nearer. We were prepared.

  The door groaned open.

  Their laughter was cut short.

  In the blink of an eye, the VDV summon lunged forward and grabbed the first goblin like a loose child. The monster's eyes went wide with horror as it looked into the vacant eye sockets of the undead paratrooper, merely bone and the soft red light of undeath.

  With no hesitation, the VDV cut the goblin's throat. A scalding jet of blood sprayed down its chest as the limp body fell to the ground.

  He turned to me, Alexander, as I nodded.

  Next, with calculating deliberation, he removed the pin from an F-1 grenade and flung it into the room beyond.

  BANG

  “Open fire!”

  Soldiers rush in like the building is on fire, AK-74 and 74M fire towards the crowd of goblins, as the goblins go into alert and quickly go on the offensive. Archers fired back, but we were covered by the rocks by the entrance.

  “TO YOUR LEFT!”

  The VDV summons and picks off the targets as the smaller goblins dash towards their position. Foolish to rush towards armed automatic riflemen, as one equipped with an RPK-74 wiped them out. The constant gunfire causes some of the far sensitive to withdraw, as the continuous banging shots lead them to take cover.

  “Bravo team, take the initiative and flak them!”

  The blinding light of muzzle flashes from the dark had them retreat as the undead Soldiers began to rush in…

  “УМРИ”

  Lunging the bayonet into the skull, he quickly yanked it out and slashed the goblin beside him. Soldiers cleared them one by one as the whole room started getting cleaned easily… another rushed and lunged the sword-blunt sword at him, and the goblin smiled but quickly lost it as the soldier grabbed his head as he punched him rapidly.

  “УМРИ”

  “УМРИ!!!”

  Beating the shit out it to death, causing his head to look like a deflated balloon, blood covered in his glove the undead grabbed his AK-74M. Alpha teams come as they checked around the open caves for any likely ambushes as bravo goes towards the centre of the cave…

  Alpha Team advanced, guns held high, clearing the perimeter tunnels of the cave complex for signs of ambush. Bravo Team advanced further, capturing the main chamber. Dull gunfire sounded for the last time; the last of the goblins had been dispatched.

  All was silent again.

  “Good work men… Now search for any humans around… Usually, females are more common for these rapists.”

  The soldier did not respond. He rummaged through the crude boxes and rough furniture, all made of bones and skulls. Nothing. No documents, no maps, no indication of purpose.

  What disturbed me more was that there were no women. These goblins had no breeders, no "producers," as their kind referred to them. Only males… violent, deformed, and feral.

  Disgust roiled in my stomach. Cleaning them out wasn't another procedure. It was personal. Each time I dealt with these sub-beasts, I remembered how fucked up this world is. That something like this is even possible.

  It's a damn stain. One, I plan on burning out, piece by piece.

  Until I overheard a voice in back of me, Second Lieutenant Maxim Leonidovich, waving his hand frantically.

  "Take a look at this one, sir!"

  "What have you got?" I said, spinning around.

  "Sir, it isn't a goblin. I believe it’s just… a woman."

  I hastened over with the rest of the summons at my back. Going around to the back of the ghoulish barricade of boxes carved out of bones, I saw her, huddled up, weeping. The soldiers promptly started clearing the wreckage, opening the way. I stepped in myself, prepared for anything but this.

  What I saw chilled the blood in my body.

  A dark elf. Naked. Terrified. Wailing in pain.

  Jesus fucking Christ…

  Second Lieutenant Maxim turned to look at me, eyes wide.

  "Oh my god…"

  She was pregnant. At least five months. Her arms shielded protectively her bloated belly as she screamed at us, in terror, shattered.

  Even the undead soldiers. Trained to kill, unstoppable in the presence of horror, remained silent. Their bony faces uttered no words, but their immobility screamed it all. None of us was prepared for this. Not even the VDV, the hardest of killers, could suppress his revulsion. His gun sagged, quivering slightly in his hand.

  The reality crashed like a freight train.

  These goblins were not merely raiders or scavengers.

  They were monsters. And this was no camp, but a breeding den.

  She attempted to push me away, half-heartedly, crying in broken gasps. I did not retreat. I crouched close, attempting anything, everything, to demonstrate that I was not a threat.

  No words could undo what had been done.

  "CHECK FOR ANY MORE WOMEN IN THIS HELLHOLE! I WANT THIS FUCKING SITE CLEANED UP NOW!"

  My voice boomed through the cavern, ringing off the walls that dripped with blood.

  I faced her. She still hadn't spoken, just weak murmurs and guttural whimpers as she attempted to push me away. But I remained, close but steady. My hands up, voice down. I wasn't going to make her feel alone again.

  The soldiers moved through the remainder of the cave, ripping apart bone cages and searching every nook. The ensuing silence was all that needed to be said.

  She alone was left.

  I stood, rage seething beneath my skin. I addressed Second Lieutenant Maxim Leonidovich, who was at attention, jaw set in disgust from the view.

  "Take the platoon to this location," I said icily. "We're not going to the surface yet."

  My gaze roamed over the gruesome battlefield, the bodies of goblins scattered like trash.

  "We're going to cleanse this son of a bitch's nest. Every single one of these green sons of bitches dies here.

  There was no protest. Only the soft click of guns reloading.

  This was no longer just a mission.

  This was personal.