chapter 70

Chapter 70 – "Back to Back"

The Sanctuary trembled.

Smoke filled the corridors. Screams echoed down blood-slick hallways. The walls, once symbols of order and control, now bore witness to betrayal.

And in the heart of it all—Axel and Negan stood back to back.

Two men.

One blade.

One bat.

A king and a devil.

Half the Sanctuary had turned—seduced by fear, greed, or the promise of power. It didn't matter. Their choice was made.

Now they would pay.

Axel rolled his shoulders, his revolver smoking, katana drawn and resting at his side like a sleeping dragon. His eyes were distant. Not angry. Not furious.

Just cold.

Ready.

Negan chuckled behind him, Lucille soaked in red, his leather jacket ripped at the shoulder. Blood dripped down his temple, but his grin? Still there. Wild. Unbroken.

"You ready, kid?" Negan asked, licking blood from his lip.

Axel tilted his head, cracked his neck. "I was born ready."

The mob came with roars and raised guns. Former brothers, now enemies.

The first shot rang out—

And the fight began.

Axel moved first, silent and terrifying. His katana hummed through the air, cleaving the first two traitors down in a single arc. Blood sprayed the walls. A third raised a rifle—but Axel was already inside his guard, elbow to jaw, blade to throat.

Behind him, Negan swung Lucille like a conductor with his symphony of violence. The bat cracked skulls, shattered teeth, and sang its music of mayhem. "Come on, motherfuckers!" he shouted, laughing. "This is my house!"

More came. Dozens.

Silas emerged from the shadows, joining the fight without a word. He didn't fight for justice. He didn't fight for survival.

He fought because Axel bled.

And for Silas, that was a sin carved in flesh.

The hallway became a graveyard. The floor slick with blood, bodies piled. But still they stood—Axel and Negan, back to back, moving like they were born to dance this dance of death.

Axel's blade met Lucille's rhythm.

Slash.

Crack.

Parry.

Roar.

Negan laughed through it all, like a demon unleashed. "I fuckin' love this, kid! You and me? We're poetry, goddamn poetry!"

Axel didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

His katana did the talking. It whispered death.

The fight raged for nearly twenty minutes, and by the time it slowed—by the time the last traitor fell, gurgling on his own blood—the hallway was silent again.

Silent, except for two men standing in the center, bat and blade in hand, covered in gore, surrounded by the dead.

Negan wiped his brow, panting. "Well… fuck me sideways. That was a mess."

Axel slid his katana back into its sheath. "They chose war."

"And they got it," Negan growled, looking around.

Axel lit a cigarette with bloodstained fingers, took a long drag, then exhaled slowly.

"This is only the beginning," he said quietly.

Negan smirked.

"Good."

And in that ruined hallway, filled with smoke, silence, and the dead—

Two kings stood tall.

....

The war room was a mess.

Blood still painted the corners of the Sanctuary. The bodies had been cleared, but the scent of betrayal hung heavier than the smoke.

Negan stood at the head of the table, breathing steady, Lucille resting against the wall. Around him were the few loyal lieutenants who had survived the ambush. Men and women who had fought back, bled, and lived to tell the tale.

The table was loud—everyone speaking at once. Rage. Confusion. Fear. Questions without answers.

"Who planned it?"

"Why now?"

"Is Rick behind this?"

Negan didn't speak. Not yet. He just stared at the empty chair across from him—the one Axel usually took. And he waited.

Then the doors opened.

Silence dropped like a hammer.

Axel walked in slow.

His coat was torn. Blood on his collar. His katana was sheathed but still stained red at the tip.

And in his right hand—

He was dragging someone by the throat.

A woman.

Beaten.

Breathing.

Rosita.

The room froze.

Axel let her drop to the floor like trash, then leaned against the wall, lit a cigarette, and spoke, calm and hollow.

"This one thought it was a good idea to come alone… and fool your stupid men."

He looked around the room like he was staring through them.

"She told them if they kill me and Negan, Rick will take them in. Give them safety. Shelter. No war. No blood."

He exhaled smoke, watching it rise into the ceiling.

"And your men believed her."

Rosita coughed, bleeding from the lip, trying to raise her head. "I was—trying—to end it…"

"End it?" Axel echoed, almost amused. "By starting it?"

"She was near the car," Axel continued. "Trying to run. Thought I wouldn't check."

Negan stepped forward, his expression unreadable.

"Well holy shit," he muttered, squatting down to look at Rosita. "You really thought you'd play us? Turn my men against me with just a few sweet words and Rick's name in your mouth?"

Rosita spat blood. "We needed a way in…"

Negan stood again, brushing off his knees.

"Way in?" he chuckled. "Honey, you kicked the wrong door."

He looked at Axel.

"What now, kid?"

Axel stared at Rosita for a long time, then flicked his cigarette away and turned his back.

"She's yours. I got what I needed."

"Which is?"

Axel glanced over his shoulder, eyes dark and dead.

"Proof. That this war's already started."

And with that, he left.

Leaving Negan, Rosita, and the rest of the war room drowning in silence—and the scent of smoke and blood.

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