Chapter 128: The Wrath of a Son
The air was thick with blood and smoke, the scent of death lingering like a rotting prayer. Axel lay in the dirt, ribs cracked, breathing in short, shallow gasps. Blood dripped from his mouth as he struggled to rise, pushing himself up with trembling arms. His coat was torn, his body bruised and broken. And across from him, towering like a nightmare brought to life, stood the behemoth.
Three times Axel's size, the monster was a mountain of rotted muscle and bone. Its face was a twisted mask of rage, with soulless eyes that burned with ancient hunger. It roared, the sound shattering through the trees like thunder in hell.
"Fuck you," Axel growled, dragging himself to his feet. He spit blood, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and laughed—a wild, broken sound. "And fuck that old man too. Send me to die? I'll show him death."
He planted his katana in the ground beside him and rolled his shoulders, every joint screaming in agony. No weapons. Just fists. Just fury.
The behemoth charged.
Axel braced himself, let the beast come. At the last second, he ducked low and slammed his elbow into the thing's gut. It barely flinched. With a grunt, the behemoth backhanded him across the clearing like a ragdoll. Axel slammed into a stone wall, leaving a dent. He collapsed, coughing up more blood.
"Goddamn you, Michael," he muttered. "You want me to be a monster? Fine."
He stood again.
The ground trembled under the creature's steps. Its growl was deeper now, more curious—almost amused. As if it couldn't understand why this little thing kept getting up.
Axel ran at it this time.
He leapt, drove both knees into the behemoth's chest, and locked his hands around its throat. The beast slammed him into the wall , then again into the earth, trying to shake him loose. Axel held tight, teeth bared, snarling like a feral animal.
"You think you're big? You think you're strong?!" Axel screamed. "You're just a puppet like me! You hear that, Michael?! I'm still your monster!"
The behemoth finally flung him off, and Axel rolled across the ground, his shoulder dislocating on impact. He popped it back into place with a scream and didn't stop. He launched forward again, fists flying, hammering into the beast's face, chest, throat—anything he could reach. His knuckles split, bones cracked, blood splattered.
Still, he fought.
The behemoth bellowed and grabbed Axel, lifting him overhead. It slammed him down, once, twice, again. Dust and blood rose like mist. Axel's vision blurred. His ears rang. He felt his spine scream.
But then he saw her—Maggie. Just a flicker. Just her smile. Just a whisper of her voice.
"Don't die out here," she had once told him. "Not alone."
And Axel snapped.
He screamed, a primal roar that matched the beast's. His eyes blazed. He surged to his feet, charged again. This time, he ducked under the beast's swing, grabbed its arm, and with every ounce of rage, torque, and pain in his body—snapped it.
The creature howled.
Axel punched its throat, then its jaw, then drove his knee into its chest, again and again and again.
"You think I'm afraid of you?" he roared. "I watched my mother die! I buried my brother! I was forged in pain!"
He grabbed the behemoth by the hair and slammed its head into a rock. Over and over. Blood gushed. Bone cracked.
"You're just another nightmare," he whispered through clenched teeth. "And I've lived through worse."
The behemoth flailed, threw Axel off again, and staggered back.
Axel grabbed his katana from the dirt—but didn't unsheathe it. He used it as a cane, dragging himself upright, breathing like a dying animal.
The beast came again, one final charge.
Axel dropped the sword, ran forward to meet it—and as they clashed, he drove both thumbs into its eye sockets.
The creature wailed. It stumbled. It tried to retreat.
Axel mounted its back, wrapped his arms around its throat, and squeezed. And squeezed. And screamed with all the fury he had locked inside for years.
"I'M NOT YOUR MONSTER!" he screamed into the void. "I'M MY OWN MONSTER!"
With that axel Behead The behemoth
The behemoth fell to its knees
Axel's grip never faltered.
Moments later
Axel stood above it, chest heaving, blood-soaked and trembling. His fists were ruined. His body broken.
But he was alive.
He looked up at the sky, and for a moment, everything was silent. No birds. No wind. Just the weight of his survival.
Then he looked down at the corpse.
He spit on it.
"Tell that to the next one you send, old man," Axel muttered. "I'm not done."
And with a limp and a smirk, he walked
....
The hum of the truck engine echoed through the barren wasteland as dust swirled in its wake. The Redhold Hive came into view, its towers like iron fangs jutting into the overcast sky. Inside the vehicle, Axel gripped the wheel tightly, blood caked on his fingers, his knuckles cracked and raw. His entire body screamed in agony, each breath shallow, each heartbeat thunderous.
The truck creaked and groaned beneath the weight of its cargo. Strapped down across the back, covered in dried blood and seared flesh, was the corpse of the hulking behemoth. Massive, grotesque, and unmistakably dead.
The Redhold guards opened the gates when they saw the vehicle approaching. But as the truck rolled through, silence swept over the compound like a curse.
Everyone—soldiers, officers, engineers—stopped what they were doing. Their eyes locked on the bloodstained truck and the monster it carried. Then they saw him.
Axel stepped out of the cab, stumbling as his boots hit the ground. He caught himself on the door. Barely. Blood dripped from his mouth. One of his arms was limp. His face was bruised and his coat torn, burned at the edges. He looked like a revenant dragged from the pits of hell.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
They couldn't.
Because in that moment, no one could tell who the real monster was—the grotesque corpse in the truck bed or the man who had killed it.
Axel didn't acknowledge them. He just started walking—or rather, dragging himself forward. Every step was a miracle of willpower. Every inch forward was bought with pain. The iron corridors of Redhold loomed ahead like the gates of damnation.
Inside, in the main war chamber, a meeting was underway. Michael sat at the head of a long table, surrounded by his officers. Charts, reports, and mission updates lay scattered before them. They were speaking in calm, measured tones—until the explosion.
The iron door to the chamber didn't just open—it flew off its hinges and crashed into the floor with a deafening boom.
Everyone rose in alarm, hands going to sidearms.
And then he appeared.
Axel stood in the doorway, blood-soaked, eyes hollow, chest heaving. His presence sucked all the oxygen from the room. The air thickened with fear.
"You motherfucker," Axel said.
His voice wasn't a scream.
It was worse.
It was quiet. Raw. Broken. Spoken like a dying vow.
Michael met his son's eyes—those burning, hellish eyes—and for a second, even he felt something close to fear.
Axel took one step inside. Then another. His boots left bloody prints on the floor. And then, with no more strength left in him, he collapsed.
The officers rushed forward, startled and confused. Michael remained seated, eyes fixed on the unmoving form of his son.
"Medic!" one of the officers shouted. "Get a medic in here now!"
Two soldiers arrived moments later, lifting Axel as gently as they could. He didn't respond. He was unconscious, pale, barely breathing.
Michael stood slowly, walked over to the chamber door, and looked out toward the truck parked outside.
And he saw it.
The behemoth.
Dead.
Strapped down like a trophy from a war that should've been lost.
One of his officers joined him.
"My God," the man whispered. "He brought it back. Alone."
Michael didn't answer. He only stared.
Because what he saw was not just a victory.
It was a warning.
A warning that maybe, just maybe, he had gone too far.
—
Two hours later, in the Redhold medical bay, Axel lay hooked up to IVs. Bandages covered his torso, his arms, his forehead. Blood bags hung beside him. The machines beeped softly, counting the rhythm of his stubborn, unbreakable heart.
Outside the glass, a group of soldiers gathered, speaking in hushed tones.
"He dragged it here himself?"
"I heard it crushed three squads before he got there."
"Why didn't the general send backup?"
"Because he wanted him to face it alone. He wanted to see if the monster was still in him."
They fell silent as Michael approached the med bay. Everyone stepped back, making a path.
He didn't speak as he looked through the glass at his son.
Axel stirred faintly, brow furrowing.
Michael turned to the attending medic. "Will he survive?"
The doctor nodded. "He's stable. Internal bleeding stopped. Broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, serious muscle trauma—but nothing fatal. The man's built like a goddamn tank."
Michael didn't react. He stepped into the room.
Axel's eyes opened. Barely.
Michael stood beside the bed, arms crossed behind his back.
"You survived," he said.
Axel turned his head slowly to face him. His voice was a whisper, dry and sharp.
"No thanks to you."
Michael nodded. "And yet... you dragged that thing all the way back here. Why?"
Axel coughed, wincing. "Because I wanted you to see it. To see what you made."
Michael's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes.
"You've grown stronger than I expected," he admitted.
Axel sneered. "This isn't strength. It's survival. It's hate. It's me refusing to die just to spite you."
Michael stepped closer. "You said you wanted to be left alone. That you wanted to return to your life."
"I did," Axel rasped. "And I will. But not until I bury you with all the monsters you built."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"
Axel smiled. A slow, painful smile.
"No. It's a promise."
He closed his eyes again, body sinking deeper into the bed.
Michael watched him a moment longer, then turned to leave.
Outside the medical bay, the whispers continued, but softer now—more reverent than afraid.
Not of the behemoth.
But of the man who killed it.
---
.
.
.
.
You can contact me through my official page on the following Accounts:
telegram:
miraclenarrator
tiktok:
miracle_narrator
instagram:
miracle_narrator