chapter 69

Chapter 69 – "The King Bled"

Morning in the Sanctuary came like any other day—grey light spilling in through cracked windows, muffled footsteps echoing through industrial halls, the distant clang of metal, and murmurs of routine.

Axel lay on his cot, eyes closed, his katana resting beside him like a loyal dragon. His breathing was slow, steady. A statue of sleep.

In the corner, half-swallowed by shadows, stood Silas.

Motionless.

Expressionless.

A man who had forgotten how to be human.

And yet—even in stillness, the tension in the room buzzed like a live wire.

Then it happened.

Axel's eyes snapped open.

A flash of metal came for his throat. Fast, silent, practiced.

But faster still was his hand. The blade stopped, clenched in his grip inches from his neck.

Blood trickled down his palm, red against pale fingers.

He didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Just stared at the would-be assassin before him—one of Negan's men, face full of panic.

"You need to die, kid," the man muttered. "You're poison. You're gonna bring this place down."

Axel didn't speak.

He didn't ask why.

He just raised his left hand—then snapped his fingers once.

And it was all Silas needed.

Like a ghost unchained, Silas moved.

Wrath incarnate.

Bones snapped before voices could scream.

Limbs twisted in unnatural directions.

Blood painted the concrete walls.

It wasn't a fight.

It was slaughter.

And in the middle of it all, Silas saw the blood dripping from Axel's palm.

It changed something in him.

"The king..." he whispered, his voice trembling.

"You made the king bleed."

They hadn't just tried to kill Axel.

They had harmed him.

And for Silas, that was a sin beyond forgiveness.

His body became a blur of violence.

One by one, the assassins fell.

Crushed throats.

Shattered spines.

No mercy.

No hesitation.

By the time the room was silent, only Silas and Axel stood breathing.

Axel flexed his hand, blood still dripping, and walked toward the door, stepping over bodies without looking twice.

He opened the door—

And found more waiting outside.

A dozen men.

Guns drawn.

Knives unsheathed.

Eyes hollow with fear... and resolve.

They weren't soldiers.

They were desperate.

And desperate men are the most dangerous of all.

Axel stood in the doorway, eyes half-lidded, calm as a lake.

He wiped the blood from his palm on his shirt.

Then smiled.

Behind him, Silas whispered:

"Your blood demands vengeance."

And the massacre began again.

The hallway erupted in chaos—but calling it a fight would be a kindness.

It was a massacre.

Silas moved like a shadow born of fury, both hands gripping twin military knives. He twisted through the corridor, blades singing, cutting down the Sanctuary traitors before their guns could even level.

One slashed throat.

One knife to the heart.

One eye gouged before the scream could rise.

They fired—desperate, wild—but the bullets never found their mark.

Because Axel was behind him, calm and surgical.

Bang.

One gunman fell, hole in his forehead.

Bang. Another dropped.

Axel's revolver barked with precision, his eyes cold, watching. Protecting.

And then, in a roar that cracked the hallway like thunder, Axel's voice boomed:

"OI NEGAAAAAANNN!"

It echoed like a war horn, and within seconds, his door swung open.

And there stood Negan.

Lucille resting on his shoulder, soaked in fresh blood. His jacket stained. His grin twisted and amused.

"Well, well," Negan chuckled, his voice gravel and madness. "Would you look at that?"

He stepped forward slowly, boots crunching over the broken bodies.

"My own fuckin' men… turning on me." He looked around, mouth stretching into a wild grin. "Damn. Ain't that a real Shakespearean betrayal right there?"

Lucille dripped blood as she hung beside him.

Axel's eyes met his.

And in that second—he understood.

This wasn't just an attack on him.

The Sanctuary had tried to kill them both.

"Traitors," Axel muttered, holstering his revolver. "They thought they could kill a king and a devil in one night."

Negan laughed, eyes gleaming with fire. "And they forgot one thing, kid…"

He lifted Lucille slowly.

"We. Don't. Fucking. Die."

Silas stood behind Axel, coated in gore, breathing hard, his knives dripping.

The hallway was painted with red. The walls pulsed with silence. Only the three of them stood tall.

And war was coming.

But now?

Now it would start from within.

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