twd: the last silence

Chapter 101 – The Monster vs. The Giant

The battlefield was fire and flesh.

The air was thick with screams and smoke.

Walkers tore into the living. Whispers danced among them, stabbing, slicing, grinning behind their dead skin masks.

And in the center of it all was Axel.

Not with a sword. Not with a gun.

Just a military knife and a stolen hammer—painted now in blood, bone, and madness.

He wasn't moving like a man.

He was moving like death itself.

A Whisperer charged, swinging wide with a hammer of his own.

Axel ducked, twisted, grinned—and sliced his wrist clean off.

The scream didn't even finish before Axel caught the hammer midair and slammed it into the man's skull.

It didn't just kill him.

It crushed him.

The sound was wet. The body hit the ground twitching. Axel stood over it, breathing heavy, chest heaving, eyes alight with fury and something even deeper—joy.

He turned.

And there he was.

Beta.

Towering. Silent. A mountain of a man draped in skin.

Alpha stood far behind, watching like a proud mother watching her wolves hunt.

Beta said nothing.

Axel said everything with one smirk.

"Finally," he muttered. "A challenge."

They clashed like titans.

Beta charged first—two blades flashing like silver lightning. Axel rolled low, came up fast, slammed the hammer into Beta's ribs. A grunt. Not pain. Just recognition.

Beta's blade sliced Axel's shoulder—deep, clean.

Axel didn't flinch. He laughed.

"Ohhh yeah, baby, I like you."

They moved like storms. Blade met hammer. Knife met fist. Blood sprayed. The ground shook beneath them as the whispers and walkers gave them space.

This wasn't a fight. This was a reckoning.

Beta grabbed Axel by the throat—lifted him off the ground like a ragdoll.

Axel dropped his hammer, reached into his boot, pulled a knife—and stabbed Beta straight in the side.

Beta roared and threw him across the field.

Axel hit a cart, rolled, stood back up—spitting blood, eyes burning.

"Is that it?" he shouted. "Come on, giant. Hit me like a man."

Beta rushed again—and this time, Axel didn't dodge.

He caught the blade with his hand. It cut deep. But he grinned anyway. With his other hand, he jammed the hammer straight into Beta's knee.

CRACK.

The giant stumbled.

And Axel?

He just stood over him, bloodied, broken, and laughing.

"You're not the monster they said you were..." he whispered.

"Because I am."

Beta was on the ground.

His massive frame twitching. Breath shallow. One knee shattered. One side bleeding.

And above him stood Axel—

Barely breathing.

Bleeding from his shoulder, from his hands, from somewhere deeper.

Smiling.

That terrifying, wild, almost joyful smile that had no place on the battlefield.

A beast's smile.

A storm's grin.

Blood dripped from Axel's fingers, his shoulder soaking red where Beta's blade had cut deep.

His hands torn open from catching steel. But he didn't care.

He never cared.

Because pain was nothing to him.

He raised his head—and locked eyes with Alpha.

She stood at the edge of the broken gate. Watching.

Not hiding.

Not running.

Just watching.

Axel grinned wider—like he was inviting her.

"This your champion?" he whispered, barely audible through the chaos.

Then he turned back to Beta.

Grabbed the giant by the throat—one hand.

Dragged him up. Slammed him back down.

Hard.

The earth groaned under the weight.

And then Axel's fist rose.

And fell.

Once.

CRACK.

Twice.

CRUNCH.

Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Blood splattered his face.

Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

Beta's mask broke. His face was pulp.

Twelve. Thirteen.

Axel's knuckles split open, bleeding on bleeding.

Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.

He wasn't stopping.

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

Still going. Still pounding.

The field was silent around him.

The dead stopped moving.

The whispers stopped breathing.

Even the wind held its breath.

Twenty-one. Twenty-two.

A savage rhythm.

Twenty-three. Twenty-four.

Until finally… Axel rose.

Covered in blood that wasn't just Beta's anymore.

He looked up again.

To Alpha.

His voice was low. Calm. Full of something ancient and terrifying.

"Your turn, sweetheart."

And then he smiled.

That same smile.

The one that promised hell.

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