chapter 53
Chapter 53 :Lucille and the Katana
Negan was waiting on the balcony above the main floor of the Sanctuary, leaning on the railing like a king surveying his kingdom. Lucille hung lazily over his shoulder, wrapped in worn barbed wire, glinting like a trophy that had seen too many wars.
"Axel," he called out, voice rough and rich with amusement. "Get your ass up here. We're gonna have ourselves a little chinwag."
Axel didn't respond, just turned and started climbing the stairs, quiet as ever. When he reached the top, Negan had already taken a seat in the large leather chair behind his desk, feet kicked up, smiling like the devil on vacation.
"Take a load off, kid," Negan gestured at the other chair. "I promise not to bash your brains in unless you really deserve it."
Axel sat without a word. The silence hung for a few seconds.
"You really laid it on thick back there," Negan said, stretching his arms behind his head. "Simon's gonna be eating through a straw for a week, maybe two. Not that I'm complaining. I've wanted to do that for months. But you? You just did it."
Axel leaned back. "He made the first move."
"Damn straight he did. And you finished it. Efficient. Brutal. Artful, even."
Negan's grin widened.
"I like you. You got presence. You walk into a room, people freeze. You don't gotta raise your voice. Don't gotta puff your chest. You just are. That's rare, man. That's power."
Axel didn't flinch at the praise. His eyes drifted toward the bat beside Negan.
Lucille.
There was a reverence in his gaze—not fear. Something colder. Familiar.
Negan noticed. Of course he did. He never missed a beat.
"You like what you see, kiddo?" Negan asked with a smirk, resting Lucille gently on the desk. "Old girl's been with me through thick and thin. Saved my ass more times than I can count. She's a damn legend."
Axel nodded slowly. "I had a sword. Katana."
That piqued Negan's interest. He tilted his head.
"It was my father's… before the world turned to shit," Axel continued, voice lower now, almost distant. "I used it since day one. Carried it across states. Through blood. Through ash. It felt like the only real thing I had left."
Negan's expression softened slightly, just for a moment.
Axel's jaw tightened.
"I lost it. After I killed Alice. I think that shit-faced bastard Simon took it."
Negan leaned forward, both hands on the desk, Lucille in between them.
"Well, well. That makes things interesting."
There was a pause, heavy with implication.
"I'll tell you this," Negan said, voice smooth but low now, more serious than before. "If that prick did take it? You'll get it back. Hell, I'll hand it to you myself."
Axel finally smiled, but it wasn't joy. It was something darker. Satisfied.
"Good," he said. "Because that sword isn't just mine. It's my past. And I ain't done with it yet."
Negan chuckled.
"Shit, kid. You keep talking like that, you're gonna make me feel sentimental."
He stood up, grabbing Lucille and resting her on his shoulder again.
"Keep doing what you're doing. Don't take orders from dumbasses. Don't trust too easy. And if you want something—take it."
Axel rose too, nodding once.
"I always do."
They locked eyes—two monsters forged in different fires, but built from the same damn steel.
And then Axel turned and left the room, the hunt for his katana now burning quietly in the back of his mind.
Negan watched him go, shaking his head and grinning wide.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered. "I think I just met my favorite asshole."
---
The sun hadn't even touched the Sanctuary's walls when Axel stepped outside. His boots hit the ground like judgment itself. He didn't say a word. Didn't look at anyone. He just walked—straight toward the east yard where Simon was laughing with his crew, still bruised from their last encounter.
The sword—the katana—was leaning against a crate beside Simon, laid out in plain sight like bait.
Axel's eyes didn't leave it.
Simon noticed first. His busted face split into a crooked, bloody grin.
"Well, well, well…" Simon said, dragging out every syllable like it cost him nothing. "Look who wants his toothpick back."
The higher-ups were there. A handful of Simon's loyal scum. Even some civilians were watching from the upper levels. And Negan—he was leaning on the railing, Lucille over his shoulder, that damn smirk already crawling onto his lips.
Axel walked right up. No tension. No announcement. He reached for the sword.
Simon lifted it first, just a little. He held it out like a mock offering—and then, slowly, with all the spite his broken body could manage, he spit on it.
Blood and saliva dripped down the blade.
The crowd gasped. Some backed up. Others looked at Negan, who didn't move a muscle. He was watching.
Axel stared at the blade, watched the spit drip down its length like poison on glass.
Simon laughed. "Come on, tough guy. You gonna cry over daddy's little toy? You gonna—"
He never finished that sentence.
Axel stepped in, calm as death, took the katana from Simon's hand—and drove it straight through his chest. Not a word. Not a warning.
The blade slid between ribs, slicing through bone, until the tip came out the other side.
Simon gasped.
Axel leaned in, whispered with a smile.
"Now it's clean."
Then, in front of everyone, Axel dragged the sword down, through Simon's gut—splitting him in two.
Blood sprayed. Screams erupted. Simon's body dropped to the dirt in halves—organs spilling, entrails unraveling like butchered meat.
For one, terrible moment—silence.
Then chaos.
Simon's men surged forward, rage and disbelief in their eyes.
Axel didn't hesitate.
He turned into a monster.
The katana sang through the air, carving flesh from bone. One lunged—Axel slashed his throat clean open. Another pulled a knife—Axel spun, cut the hand off at the wrist, then drove the blade through the man's skull.
Blood hit the walls. Screams echoed through the yard.
A third man grabbed a pipe—Axel sidestepped, cleaved down the center of his head, splitting it like fruit.
The crowd ran. Civilians scattered. The higher-ups watched in frozen horror.
Negan?
Negan laughed.
"That's my boy," he muttered, voice thick with dark amusement. "Shit's getting real interesting now."
Axel was drenched in blood by the time it was over. Eight bodies around him, twitching, still. He stood there in the center, breathing hard, katana dripping, eyes as cold as winter.
No one moved.
Not even the guards.
Axel looked up at the survivors. At Negan. At the whole damn Sanctuary.
And then he whispered, like a promise.
"Anyone else want to touch my sword?"
No one answered.
No one dared.
---
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