Chapter 133: Not Human
Nightfall.
The skies were bruised with red and black as if the heavens themselves had been bleeding. The desert winds moaned through the rusted bones of long-dead cities. Cracked highways stretched into nowhere, littered with husks of cars and corpses half-eaten by time.
Axel walked alone.
No convoy.
No backup.
No orders.
Just him—and the weight of the truth.
He had left Redhold before sunrise. Slipped past the outer guards. Hotwired one of the old world motorcycles and gunned it across the Wastes until the fuel gave out. Now he walked, katana strapped to his back, a half-burned cigarette in his mouth, and fury coiled deep in his gut like a second heart.
He wasn't running away.
He was hunting.
The Ashen Circle had left him a message. They wanted him to come. To return to them. But Axel didn't follow breadcrumbs. He burned the whole trail.
You're not human.
The words echoed.
He had always known. Deep down. There was something off. Something beneath his skin that didn't quite belong.
He remembered the first time he broke another boy's ribs during training. The first time he threw a man across the yard like a doll. The way soldiers twice his size hesitated before sparring with him.
He remembered the blood.
Too much of it. Always too much. Like his body craved it. Like it thrived in carnage.
And the way he could do things no one else could.
Cut a man's throat clean with one arm.
Drive his hand through a ribcage and tear out a beating heart.
Take bullets and keep moving.
Heal faster than anyone
No one said it aloud. But they all saw it. Felt it.
Monster.
Weapon.
Aberration.
He was stronger. Faster. Meaner.
But that didn't make him proud.
It made him hate himself.
And now he knew why.
His father hadn't raised him. He had programmed him. Designed him to be a living warhead—filled with rage, just waiting to detonate. A project. A vessel.
Axel spat on the ground and kept walking.
The horizon glowed faintly. Smoke. There was a town up ahead. A ruined place called Hollow's End. It used to be a settlement, but it fell . Rumors said the Ashen Circle had been seen near there.
He passed the bones of a checkpoint. Barbed wire. Gun nests. All burnt to ash.
The Circle had been here.
Axel entered what was left of the town. Burnt homes. Bloodstains. Symbols scrawled in ash on the walls. Spirals. Eyes. The Circle's language. Warnings to outsiders. Or invitations.
He moved like a ghost, quiet and slow.
Until he heard it.
A voice.
Low. Chanting.
He crouched near a ruined church and peeked through the broken stained glass.
Inside were seven figures in robes—hooded, pale, unmoving. Candles lit the altar. A woman was tied to it. Gagged. Bleeding.
One of the robed men raised a knife.
Axel didn't hesitate.
He kicked the doors open with a scream of splintering wood, moved like lightning, and in five seconds, four of them were dead.
Throat. Skull. Spine. Heart.
Quick. Brutal. Efficient.
The remaining three tried to run.
Axel grabbed one by the collar and slammed him into the altar so hard it cracked.
"Where is your priest!?" he snarled.
The cultist choked, trying to peak some stupid stuff —but Axel crushed his larynx with a twist.
He turned to the next.
This one pulled a blade, lunged.
Axel let the blade stab into his side.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he grabbed the man's arm and twisted until bone jutted out through the skin. The man screamed. Axel leaned close.
"You people think I'm yours?" he whispered. "You think I belong to you?"
He dragged the man's head down and bashed it against the altar.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Blood sprayed. Teeth scattered.
The last cultist knelt, trembling, hands raised in surrender.
Axel walked toward him slowly.
"I'm not human," Axel said. "But I'm not yours."
The cultist whispered, "You were born in fire. You were carved by wrath. You are the vessel of—"
Axel snapped his neck with a flick of his wrist.
The church went silent again.
He freed the woman. She sobbed. Tried to thank him. Axel didn't speak. Just walked out into the night, blood dripping from his boots.
He stared at his reflection in a broken mirror nearby.
He didn't see a man.
He saw something worse.
Something cold. Hollow. Engineered.
He took a long drag from his cigarette.
"You're not human," he told himself.
And maybe that was okay.
Because whatever was coming next…
It would take more than a man to stop it.
It would take something born for war.
Something made in hell and raised on hatred.
Axel adjusted his coat and walked into the dark, leaving the cultists' corpses behind him like a trail of ash.
He was just getting started.
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