twd: the last silence

Chapter 113

The Hunt Start

Axel took his katana, his small military knife, and his revolver.

He put on black clothes and went out.

Daryl saw him.

"Kid."

"Daryl, don't. Not now."

Daryl sighed and looked at Axel. "I'm not going to stop you. You think I will stop you from killing the bastards who hurt Maggie? Hell no."

"I'm going with you, like it or not."

Axel looked at him for a second then nodded

They walked in silence for a long while, the forest whispering around them, branches creaking like old bones. The air was thick, humid, and carried the scent of moss, decay, and blood. It wasn't just a mission—it was a hunt. Axel's hand never strayed far from his katana, and Daryl's crossbow was already loaded.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Daryl finally asked, his voice low but steady.

Axel didn't answer immediately. His eyes were locked forward, face unreadable.

"She didn't even tell me," he muttered. "She smiled at me. Hugged me. Acted like nothin' happened. And she was hurting the whole time."

"That's Maggie," Daryl said. "She's stronger than most. But she's still human. You can't blame her for tryin' to protect you too."

Axel stopped walking and turned to face him. "I don't blame her. I blame them. Whoever touched her… they'll wish they were never born."

Daryl met his eyes. "Good. I was hopin' you'd say that. 'Cause I've been itching to put someone down too. It's been a while."

Axel's lips twitched into a half-smile. "We make a hell of a pair."

"Damn right," Daryl said. "Let's just make sure we come back. Maggie's gonna need you."

Axel looked away, toward the distant horizon. "If I die out here, bury me where I fall. But make sure every last one of 'em burns first."

They kept walking.

The path turned narrow. Trees thickened. They found tracks—boot prints, and something worse. Bloodstains dried into the mud. Axel crouched and ran his fingers through it.

"This is fresh. A day old. Maybe less."

Daryl scanned the trees, ever-watchful. "Nomads?"

"Has to be," Axel said. "Their style. Same disregard for life. They're ghosts now. They just don't know it yet."

They made camp before dark. A small fire, barely enough to be seen. Axel leaned against a tree, staring into the flames, while Daryl sharpened a knife.

"You ever feel like… you weren't made for peace?" Axel asked suddenly.

Daryl didn't even pause. "Every damn day."

Axel chuckled, bitterly. "I thought maybe… after everything. Maggie. Alexandria. Maybe I could stop being what I was trained to be. But peace doesn't last. Not for people like us."

"That's why we fight to protect the ones who can have it," Daryl said. "They're worth more than we are. Always have been."

Axel was quiet a long time. Then he nodded slowly. "You're right. I just… I hate that it has to be this way."

Daryl looked at him, his voice softer. "You're not alone in this. Don't forget that."

Axel didn't speak again. He simply unsheathed his katana and laid it across his knees, watching the flame dance in its blade.

Tomorrow, the hunt would begin.

And mercy would not be part of the plan.

---

The morning came heavy, dark clouds crawling over the sky like bruises.

Axel stood first, his eyes already open before the sun touched the trees. His katana was in his hand. Daryl packed up the fire in silence. No words were needed. They both knew what the day would bring.

Blood.

The first trail led deeper into the woods—broken branches, muddy footprints, the faint smell of smoke and rot.

It didn't take long to find the first one.

A scout.

Young. Arrogant. He was pissing behind a tree when Axel slit his throat from behind without a word. The body dropped like it had never mattered. And maybe it didn't.

Daryl didn't flinch. "One down."

"Not enough," Axel whispered.

They moved faster.

A camp. Three men. One woman. Laughing around a stolen fire, passing around something they looted from a dead home. One of them wore Maggie's scarf around his wrist like a trophy.

That was enough.

Axel didn't say anything. He didn't roar, or yell, or give them the satisfaction of knowing they were going to die.

He just moved.

By the time the first one saw the glint of the blade, his arm was already gone. The second one stood, pulled a gun—but Daryl's arrow tore through his eye. The woman ran. Axel didn't chase her.

He walked.

She tripped.

He stood over her, the katana dripping red, eyes like the abyss.

"Why?" she begged.

"You hurt someone I care about," Axel said quietly.

Then he ended her.

Daryl lit a cigarette, standing by the fire they now owned. "You think that's all of 'em?"

"No," Axel said. "But they'll feel this."

He took Maggie's scarf off the dead man's wrist and tied it around his own arm. Blood and cloth.

The hunt had only just begun.

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