twd: the last silence

Chapter 114

Axel stood over the woman's dead body.

"I thought you don't kill women, kid," Daryl asked softly. Because all the time Axel was in Alexandria, and even when he was in the Sanctuary, he said it out loud—no women and children would be harmed. And if someone did, he'd kill them. No matter who they were.

Axel looked at Daryl now.

"Yes, I don't kill women or children. But this one wasn't a woman. She was a monster," he said, his voice calm, cold. "And I don't kill innocent women. But if a woman comes at me or the people I care about—I'll fight back. I'll kill."

There was no regret in his tone. Just truth.

Daryl didn't argue. He nodded.

They kept moving. The forest was quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that meant eyes were watching. But Axel didn't care. He was walking through it like a ghost painted in blood and rage.

They found another outpost. One of the Nomads. A guard stood outside smoking, looking tired.

He didn't even have time to scream.

Axel moved fast—one quick step, katana flashing through the air. The man's head hit the dirt before his body collapsed.

Daryl moved in from the side, his crossbow already loaded. Two more dropped without a sound.

They moved like hunters in the dark—swift, precise, and merciless.

Inside the small camp, men began to panic. But it was too late. Axel was already there.

A scream.

A gunshot.

The sound of a blade cutting through flesh.

It was carnage.

But not chaos.

Axel was methodical—he wasn't just killing. He was punishing.

Every man who had a part in hurting Maggie. Every bastard who wore the mark of the Nomads. Every voice that had laughed when she cried.

They fell. One after another.

No mercy. No hesitation.

Daryl covered him, but he didn't have to do much. Axel moved like something out of a nightmare. The kind of nightmare even the devil would fear.

And when it was done, the bodies were everywhere. Blood soaked the ground like rain.

Daryl looked around.

"Was that all of them?"

Axel didn't answer. He walked to a wall where a crude map was scratched in the wood. He stared at it.

"No," he said. "This was just a camp. The hive's deeper. This… this was just the beginning."

And so they kept going.

The hunt wasn't over.

It had just begun.

---

The night was deep now. Cold. Silent.

Axel and Daryl moved like shadows through the trees, their boots leaving behind tracks soaked in blood. Neither of them spoke much. There was nothing to say. The rage spoke louder than words ever could.

They reached an abandoned bridge, cracked and half-eaten by time. Beyond it, smoke curled into the sky—thick, low. A sign. The Nomads were close.

"They're burning something," Daryl muttered, sniffing the air.

Axel crouched, his eyes narrowing. "They're celebrating."

"What the hell for?"

Axel didn't answer. He just stepped forward.

The other side of the bridge felt like another world—rotten wood, broken fences, traps buried in dirt, men laughing like they'd never be hunted.

But now they were.

Axel didn't wait. He moved in alone, fast. Too fast.

Daryl cursed and followed, but Axel was already gone.

The first man saw a flash of metal before his throat opened wide.

Another turned just in time to catch the edge of a revolver to the jaw, his teeth spilling onto the dirt.

By the time Daryl joined in, four were already down.

The Nomads screamed.

But screams didn't matter anymore.

They fought back this time—guns, knives, fists—but it didn't slow Axel. If anything, it made him faster.

He stabbed one man in the gut and whispered, "This is for Maggie," before twisting the blade.

The man dropped.

A bullet grazed Axel's shoulder, but he didn't flinch. He kept going.

Daryl was behind him, reloading fast, taking out anyone who tried to run.

The center of the camp was a mess—bodies, fire, broken crates, crates full of stolen supplies. Medical gear. Ammunition.

And chained to a wall… a girl. Young. Hurt. Barely alive.

Axel stopped cold. He ran to her, knelt beside her.

"It's okay," he whispered. "You're safe now."

The girl opened her eyes. Bruised. Broken. But alive.

She looked at Axel like he was a ghost. "Are you… are you gonna kill them?"

Axel stood up, katana still dripping. "Already did."

By the time it was over, none of the Nomads in that camp were breathing.

Not one.

Daryl checked the perimeter. "That's it. No more here."

Axel looked down at his hands. At the blood. At the trembling girl who barely survived.

"It's not over," he said.

"There's more?"

"There's always more."

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