Chapter 123: The Blade Beneath the Skin
Axel didn't want to stay.
Every step he took away from the command center felt like dragging chains. He wanted to run—back to Alexandria, back to Maggie, back to whatever part of him hadn't been carved out by violence and grief.
But then he heard it.
Michael's voice. Loud, cruel, calculated.
"If you don't come back right now… you know exactly what will happen to Alexandria."
The words landed like fire in Axel's spine.
It wasn't a threat. It was a promise.
His fists clenched. Wrath stirred like a storm breaking under his skin.
He turned around.
And walked back.
Back through the corridors of Redhold. Back through the maze of soldiers who stared at him like he was a ghost resurrected. He said nothing. His eyes burned, and the rage brewing in his chest threatened to crack through his ribs.
When he reached the training grounds, Michael was already there, surrounded by his officers. The area was massive—open-air, surrounded by elevated platforms where soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, eager for blood.
Michael nodded. "Strip down."
Axel didn't argue. He pulled his shirt off, revealing a body sculpted by war—raw muscle, veins like wire, skin marred by countless scars. Bullet holes, knife wounds, burn marks. A history of violence written across flesh.
He wore only black pants. No armor. No weapon.
Across from him stood a soldier—a behemoth of a man. Tall, broad, brutal. His eyes were cold. His fists wrapped in black tape.
This wasn't a match. It was an execution.
Michael stood outside the combat ring, hands behind his back. "Begin."
The soldier attacked without hesitation.
Brutal. Fast. Unrelenting.
Blows rained down on Axel—fists cracking against ribs, elbows smashing into his face, knees slamming into his gut. Blood spilled. Bones groaned. The crowd roared.
But Axel didn't fight back.
He stood there. Took it.
The soldier hit harder, faster, growing more ruthless by the second. Ten minutes passed. Axel was drenched in blood, one eye nearly swollen shut, lip split. He dropped to one knee.
The whispers started.
"He's not a fighter."
"This is the legend?"
"Looks weak to me."
"They said he burned Alice. This one can't even lift his arms."
Michael didn't flinch. He sighed.
"Just like his mother," he said, voice sharp and cold. "Pathetic."
The word froze Axel's blood.
In front of him, the soldier laughed, turned his back, and started walking away.
"The fight's over," someone muttered.
But for Axel—it had just begun.
His hand twitched.
And then, it changed.
It wasn't a hand anymore. It was something darker. Harder. A gleaming black blade, rippling with shadows—jagged, curved, humming with silent fury.
The blade of death itself.
In one motion, fluid as breath, Axel surged forward.
His arm swung.
The blade screamed through the air—cutting clean through the soldier's neck.
Silence.
The man's head dropped to the ground with a wet thud. His body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
Gasps echoed through the grounds. Soldiers froze, stunned.
Axel didn't stop.
He picked up the severed head, eyes burning, blood dripping down his arm.
He threw it—hard and fast—straight toward Michael.
It landed with a sickening smack at Michael's feet.
And then Axel spoke, voice broken and thunderous:
"Don't you dare bring my mother's name into your disgusting mouth. Or i swear by everything i will cut you in a million piece "
Michael didn't move. He didn't blink.
He just smirked.
Not with joy. Not with pride.
But with something colder.
Like he'd been waiting for this.
Michael stood still, blood spattered across his boots from the head Axel had thrown at him. He didn't flinch. Instead, he wiped his cheek with the back of his glove, almost casually. His eyes, however, burned with something deep — not anger, not pride. Something colder. Calculating.
"Finally," Michael said, his voice low but carrying across the training grounds. "Now that's the monster I trained."
Axel stood over the headless corpse, his breathing calm despite the blood pouring down his chest, his arms, dripping from his fingertips like rain. The silence from the gathered soldiers was eerie. No cheering. No fear. Just silence — the kind reserved for a force of nature they never expected to witness.
Michael turned to the second officer beside him and nodded.
"Send in D-42."
The officer hesitated. "Sir, D-42 is—"
"I said send him in."
The crowd shifted uneasily. Whispers began again.
D-42 wasn't a soldier. He was a beast in uniform. A man who volunteered for every punishment detail. Who broke a man's jaw with a grin. He was taller than Axel by half a foot, all brawn and brutality. A wall of rage barely controlled.
Axel didn't even blink as the next challenger stepped into the sand-covered circle. He didn't speak either. His eyes were locked on Michael.
"Don't think, act," Michael barked. "That's what I taught you. That's what you are."
The whistle blew.
D-42 charged.
Axel didn't move at first. He waited.
One step.
Two.
D-42 raised his fist to strike—then dropped to his knees, screaming.
Axel had closed the distance in a blink.
His hand was buried in D-42's chest.
The crowd gasped.
When Axel yanked his arm back, he held the man's heart in his hand. It pulsed once. Then stopped.
Five seconds. That's all it took.
Axel dropped the heart to the ground.
He didn't look at the corpse. He didn't care about the shock, the awe, the horror in the soldiers' eyes.
His eyes were still locked on Michael.
"You want your monster, old man?" Axel growled, voice low, feral. "You want what you made? Then you got him. But don't expect him to obey."
Michael's smirk faded slowly.
But just as tension built again—he clapped.
Once. Twice.
Then the entire yard filled with applause.
The soldiers, unsure, followed. Some clapped because they were afraid. Others because they were impressed. But none dared speak.
Michael walked toward Axel, stopping just inches from the bloodied young man. "Obedience?" he whispered, leaning close. "I don't need you to obey. I need you to remind them why they kneel."
Axel didn't answer. He turned his back and walked away.
The blood on his hands didn't bother him. But the chill down his spine… that came from knowing Michael had more plans—and this was only the beginning.
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