twd: the last silence

Chapter 46: "He's Going to Move"

Axel stood still in the middle of the storm he had crafted.

Smoke curled above the shattered towers, and blood soaked into the dirt like it had always belonged there. His eyes swept slowly across the Nomad hive. Screams still echoed in the distance, but they were dying—replaced now with something worse:

Silence.

The kind of silence that made your spine itch. The kind that warned you something unspeakable was coming.

Far off, Redd moved like a man possessed.

He wasn't fighting anymore.

He was running.

And not from fear of death.

No—Redd had faced death every day of his life. That wasn't what made him scream.

It was Number Two's words.

He had come running, eyes wild, and said the only thing that mattered:

> "Him said… if you want to save the women and children—you should stop killing and move fast. And hide."

That was it.

No name.

Not Axel.

Not "our leader."

Just… Him.

Because even the Numbers—monsters carved from discipline and pain—knew better than to speak His name when He was like this.

Redd didn't question it.

He didn't pause.

He just ran.

Ran faster than he ever had in his life, screaming for his men, screaming until his throat bled:

> "HE'S GOING TO MOVE!"

> "ANYONE WHO WANTS TO LIVE—HIDDDDDDDD!"

The camp exploded into panic.

His group dropped weapons, dropped everything.

Some of the Nomads tried to fight back, confused by the chaos.

But they didn't matter.

Because this wasn't about them anymore.

This was about Axel.

---

And Axel?

He was calm.

Eyes scanning, mind calculating.

He watched the doors burst open, watched women with children huddled behind them, watched his people sprint into the houses, grabbing them, covering them, protecting them.

Yes—protecting.

Because Axel didn't want their blood.

He only wanted hers.

Only Alice.

He took a step forward.

Number Five still stood over Alice like a statue of death, hand gripped tight around her wrists, foot pressing into her shattered knee.

Alice didn't fight.

She just looked up.

And whispered, hoarse:

> "You're not him…"

Axel didn't nod.

Didn't blink.

Didn't speak.

He simply walked past her.

And then…

He moved.

Like a ghost.

Like a shadow with a blade.

Like vengeance made flesh.

One step. Then two. Then vanished into the broken heart of the Nomad hive—where the leaders gathered, where the architects of his pain still hid.

Alice cried out, not from pain—

But from something else:

> Regret.

Because she had seen the boy once.

And now she saw the end.

And it wore his face.

---

Axel…

No.

Not Axel anymore.

What walked through the center of the Nomad hive was not a man—not anymore.

Not even a monster.

It was nothing.

And that—since the dawn of time—has always been the greatest terror.

It had no fury.

No wrath.

No grief.

No purpose.

It simply was.

And it moved.

---

The katana whispered through the air, and wherever it kissed, life ended.

Not in screams.

Not in agony.

Just—

Gone.

Limbs fell before their owners realized they were cut.

Heads rolled with eyes still blinking.

Bodies dropped without a sound, without resistance.

The Nomads who tried to fight were butchered before they could raise a weapon.

Those who ran were caught by silence itself.

And then… silence fell over them again.

Axel didn't scream.

Didn't roar.

Didn't even breathe loud enough to hear.

He was a phantom—

No.

He was The Nothing.

And Redd—

Redd saw it.

From behind a shuttered window, hands shaking, weapon limp in his grip.

He saw what moved.

And he knew then—

> "We never followed a man."

> "We followed the void that man left behind."

---

Number 5 didn't wait.

Even he, born of discipline and raised by war, felt something crawl inside his skin.

Something he hadn't felt since he was a child crying in the dark.

Fear.

He grabbed Alice like a ragdoll and ran.

Ran not from Axel.

But from the absence of him.

From what was now replacing everything.

Even the Numbers—those whose names had long been stripped and replaced with cold digits—stood frozen.

Number 4 gripped his blade so tight his knuckles cracked.

Number 6 backed into a wall, breathing so hard his chest heaved.

Number 3 whispered without realizing:

> "He… he's not him anymore."

Even Number 2, who obeyed without thought, felt his knees falter.

And from house to house, the whispers spread:

> "He moved…"

> "The Nothing walks…"

> "Hide. Hide. Hide."

And then… silence again.

---

Outside, the blood had painted symbols on the ground.

Unintended.

Unholy.

The kind of markings war gods turn their faces from.

And in the center, bathed in red and ash and smoke—

Axel stood still again.

Breathing.

But only barely.

His eyes were open, but they didn't see.

His blade was slick, but he didn't wipe it.

His body was drenched, but he didn't notice.

He was waiting.

For what?

None could know.

Perhaps for the last breath of the last Nomad to shiver into silence.

Perhaps for the part of himself that had been buried with his little brother.

But whatever it was…

The Nothing had arrived.

And nothing could ever take it back.

---

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