twd: the last silence

Chapter 97 – "The Devil at Dawn"

Night fell hard over the abandoned café.

Inside, Maggie slept—peacefully, for the first time in days. Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, her bandaged wound clean and tight. The silence around her was a blessing, and the steady warmth from the fire Axel had built near the wall kept her from shaking in her dreams.

Outside, Axel stood like a sentinel.

He had discarded his broken katana and now held only a short, worn military knife. In his hands, it was a scalpel. A weapon. A promise.

He stood beneath the stars, unmoving. Watching. Listening.

When the breeze shifted, he moved with it.

When the whisper of leaves warned him, he vanished into them.

The darkness belonged to him.

And before dawn, it ran red with blood.

---

Morning came slowly.

Light broke through the cracked window, landing on Maggie's cheek and waking her gently. She blinked, sat up, and looked around.

"Axel?" she called softly.

No answer.

Her voice rose, anxious. "Axel?"

Then, from behind the ruined counter, he stepped into view.

"Hello, love."

Maggie froze.

Axel was drenched in blood. It soaked his shirt, smeared his face, and clung to his hands like war paint. His small knife dripped with it.

She stood quickly, eyes wide.

"What the hell happened?"

Axel gave her a crooked smirk, that same wild, cheerful spark in his eyes.

"Nothing, really. Just some sons of bitch** thought they could kill me…"

He turned, gesturing to her with a bloody finger.

"…and take my woman."

He winked.

"See what I did there?"

Maggie stared at him—silent, pale, exasperated.

She sighed.

No smile. No anger. Just… resignation.

She was used to this now. The violence, the swagger, the devil-may-care charm. Axel was Axel.

She pushed past him and stepped outside into the morning air.

And what she saw stopped her cold.

A hill. A literal hill of corpses.

Whispers. Walkers. Mangled. Broken. Piled on top of one another like trash.

The blood was fresh.

It hadn't been a battle.

It had been a slaughter.

Maggie didn't ask questions.

She just stood there, her hand slowly rising to touch the bandage over her heart.

Behind her, Axel lit a cigarette and walked up beside her.

"You okay?" he asked, as casual as if asking about the weather.

Maggie didn't answer.

Because deep down, she didn't know.

---

Back in Alexandria, tension crackled like lightning.

Rick stood at the gate, his jaw tight as a Whisperer scout—face hidden behind a stitched walker mask—held out a bloodied piece of cloth.

"Two of yours," the Whisperer said, voice dry. "They're dead."

Behind Rick, Michonne's hand curled into a fist.

Daryl stepped forward, rage written all over his face.

"You sure about that?" he growled.

The scout only nodded once.

"Alpha sends her regards."

They left without another word.

And Alexandria fell into quiet panic.

They thought Axel and Maggie were gone.

They had no idea.

No idea that somewhere out there, the Devil had woken.

And he was already sharpening his next knife.

--

The Whisperer's words echoed long after he left.

Silence had swallowed Alexandria's council room. Rick stood by the table, fingers pressed into the wood, eyes low. Daryl leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, and Michonne paced like a storm waiting to break. Rosita sat quietly, trying to stay composed, while Father Gabriel closed his eyes in whispered prayer.

"They're lying," Daryl finally said, sharp. "Axel and Maggie—there ain't no way they went down that easy."

"We don't have proof," Rick muttered, jaw tight. "All we've got is a cloth with blood and a mask. For all we know, it could be anyone."

"You said it yourself," Michonne added, stopping her pacing. "That kid's a monster when he wants to be. If he's dead, I'll eat my sword."

"Still," Rosita spoke, voice low. "We need to be ready. If they are alive, they'll come back. But if they're not..."

Nobody finished the thought.

Not even Rick.

Because deep down, they knew—if Axel had fallen, the battlefield wouldn't be clean.

It'd be ashes and screams.

---

Axel moved like a shadow.

Knife in one hand, Maggie's bag on his back, blood dried on his boots. He walked with that same swagger that could either charm a room or terrify it. Maggie followed a few steps behind, hand resting near her own weapon. The forest whispered around them.

"You know, Maggie girl," Axel said suddenly, tossing the knife up and catching it with practiced ease, "I always thought our first date would be… I don't know, epic."

Maggie didn't bother responding.

She sighed instead.

He smirked, unbothered.

"You know I have a child," she said, half-warning, half-weariness.

Axel's grin widened.

"That's even hotter."

Maggie stopped walking.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Axel turned, still smiling, but now with a shrug.

"Plenty. But hey, I'm alive, aren't I? That counts for something."

She shook her head, baffled.

She was thirty. He was twenty-one. And somehow, somehow, this twisted, blood-soaked, half-charming, half-insane boy had decided she was the center of his world today.

And what terrified her more than anything—

—was that she didn't hate it.

They kept walking. The woods were quiet again. Axel led, carving a path through brush and rot, as if the world had already bent to his will.

Maggie looked at him.

And wondered, not for the first time—

Who the hell is this kid really?

---

.

.

.

.

You can contact me through my official page on the following Accounts:

telegram:

miraclenarrator

tiktok:

miracle_narrator

instagram:

miracle_narrator