twd: the last silence

Chapter 49

The house stank of death.

Simon stumbled through the entrance, gagging the moment the door slammed shut behind him. The scent wasn't just blood. It was old, rotten flesh, piss, bile, and something worse—something that didn't smell like anything human.

Darkness coated the walls. The windows were smeared in something black, like someone had painted them with tar. There was no light. Only shapes. Only silence.

Then the silence cracked.

A sound slithered through the house. Not a groan. Not a voice. A wet sound. A sob. A breath dragged through torn lungs.

Simon's heart pounded in his chest. "Alice?"

His voice cracked. He took another step forward, boots crunching glass—or maybe bone. He couldn't tell anymore.

A shadow shifted.

Two shapes emerged from the dark.

One slumped low—broken, twitching, barely alive.

The other stood tall, like a statue, unmoving except for a slight tilt of the head.

It was Axel.

Barefoot. Covered in blood. His silver-black hair matted to his skin. His face blank. His katana lay forgotten somewhere in the corner. In his hand now… was a nail.

Just one. Small. Rusted. Drenched in red.

Simon's chest heaved. Rage replaced fear.

He saw her. Saw Alice on the ground, barely clinging to life. Her body was a ruin. Her face—gods, her face—was no longer there. No lips. No nose. Her eyes had been torn out. Her scalp was bald, a canvas of bleeding holes, each marked by a nail driven in just deep enough to hurt. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Her arms were gone. Her legs cut off. She had been peeled like a fruit, and still… she breathed.

Simon roared, "YOU BASTARD!"

He charged and kicked Axel with all his strength.

Axel flew backward, crashing against the far wall. A sickening crunch echoed in the small room. Any normal man would have died instantly.

But Axel rose.

Not gasping. Not groaning. Just rising. Quietly.

Simon dropped to his knees beside Alice. "Alice… Alice, I'm here…"

She moaned, gurgling blood. No strength left to scream.

He held her close. Tears burned his eyes.

"You're going to be okay. I'm here. I'm—"

Movement.

Axel approached again.

Simon turned to him, shaking with rage. "I'll kill you—"

But Axel didn't flinch.

He knelt beside Alice.

And with one soft, gentle motion… he raised his blood-soaked finger and pushed it into the ruined socket of her eye.

The scream that followed—

It wasn't human.

It wasn't from earth.

It tore through the walls like a storm, rising from a soul shattered beyond saving.

Simon's heart stopped. He froze.

And then Axel did something worse.

He pulled that finger back, coated in what was left of Alice's eyes.

He turned to Simon.

And with the same hand, the same finger, he reached out…

And touched Simon's lips.

A hush.

A whisper.

"Shhhhhhhhh…"

Simon flinched.

And then Axel spoke.

For the first time since all this began, Axel Winchester—once a boy, now something else—spoke.

His voice was soft.

Not broken.

Not angry.

Not even human.

"Don't speak," he whispered. "She's trying to sleep."

Simon's skin crawled. His blood turned to ice.

This wasn't vengeance.

This wasn't rage.

This was something else.

Something hollow.

Simon choked. "You… you're a monster."

Axel blinked slowly. "She killed my brother. Laughed as he screamed. My parents… my life. All gone because she wanted to."

He stood again, looming over Simon like a god of ruin.

"I'm not a monster," Axel said.

He glanced down at Alice.

"I'm her lullaby."

Simon screamed and swung a punch.

Axel caught it mid-air.

He didn't squeeze. Didn't crush.

He simply held it.

"I used to be filled with wrath," he said softly. "But wrath ends."

He released Simon's hand and turned back to Alice.

"Now… I'm just nothing."

Simon backed away, trembling.

Axel knelt once more.

Alice whimpered. Blood dribbled from her mouth.

She couldn't scream anymore.

So Axel did it for her.

He let out a sound. A long, slow sigh.

Then drove another nail into her side. Just enough to make her twitch.

"No!" Simon shouted. "Stop! She's had enough!"

Axel looked up at him.

That stare.

Those hollow eyes.

"She's not done," he said.

Then he leaned closer to Alice, brushing a nail across her cheek.

"Still awake," he whispered. "That's good. You always said you hated nightmares. Let me help you forget."

Simon shook his head. "Please. She's dying."

Axel smiled faintly. "Not yet."

He took a hammer from the floor, rusted and red.

Simon recognized it.

It was his. From the old camp.

"Where did you—"

"She kept it," Axel said. "Said it reminded her of the boy she broke."

He raised the hammer.

Simon lunged—

Axel turned and slammed it down—

But not on her head.

On the floor beside her.

Just loud enough to jolt her. Wake her.

Make her feel.

"She's trying to sleep," he said again.

And Simon understood.

He wasn't torturing her to kill her.

He was torturing her to keep her alive.

To deny her death.

Because sleep would be mercy.

And Axel wasn't here to give mercy.

He was here to make her remember.

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