Chapter 135: Ashes of a Father
Axel finally reached Redhold.
But he was too late.
He sat atop his black bike as it rolled to a stop on the hill overlooking the facility—once a symbol of safety, strength, and the last semblance of order in a shattered world.
Now?
It was on fire.
The buildings were reduced to flame-slicked skeletons. The walls were crumbling. Smoke towered into the early morning sky like the breath of Hell itself.
And it was silent.
No screams.
No gunfire.
Just fire. Just wind. Just the smell of blood and ash.
Axel's heart dropped.
He didn't even think.
He threw the bike aside—it tumbled and crashed behind him—and sprinted straight into the inferno. The flames licked at his clothes, the heat clawed at his lungs, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
Because inside that fire was everything.
His father.
The innocent people.
The soldiers who trained beside him.
The children.
The last line of defense against The Ashen Circle.
Redhold was the last hope.
And now it was burning.
Axel didn't care if he burned with it.
He sprinted through the broken gates, leapt over rubble and bodies. The charred remains of men and women lay across the ground—soldiers with melted guns in their hands, civilians caught mid-run, faces frozen in fear and pain.
He saw a girl. She looked maybe twelve. Her eyes still open, her doll clutched in her arms.
He clenched his jaw. His hands tightened around the handle of his katana.
And he ran.
The fire cracked and roared, but he didn't hear it.
He only heard one thing:
His father.
He sprinted through the collapsing courtyard, past the barracks and storage halls. All ruined. All painted in red and black and silence.
He reached the door to the Corridors of Redhold—the heart of command, the place where his father always sat, watching everything from behind those cold, calculating eyes.
In Axel's mind, he saw it clearly.
He'd burst through the door, and Michael would be sitting there.
Calm. Unbothered.
Looking at Axel with that same expressionless face, maybe holding a cigarette.
Maybe saying something like:
"Took you long enough, boy."
But that vision shattered the moment he kicked the door open.
And saw the truth.
Michael was on the ground.
Three knives were buried in his stomach.
Blood pooled beneath him like a black lake.
Axel froze. The fire behind him lit the room in gold and orange. His chest tightened. His legs trembled.
"No…" he whispered.
He rushed to his father's side and dropped to his knees.
"No. No, you old fuck, not now—"
He pressed both hands against the wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. It just kept coming. Warm. Sticky. Endless.
"I'm supposed to kill you," Axel growled, voice cracking. "You don't get to die like this. Not on me. Not like this."
Michael's eyes flickered open.
Soft. Barely.
He looked at Axel with something that resembled peace.
"…Axel…"
His voice was weak. Thinner than breath. Blood dribbled from his lips.
"Run… please…"
He coughed violently, staining Axel's hands with red.
"No!" Axel shouted, pressing harder. "You don't die. You hear me?! You don't die! Not now. Not until I kill you!"
His fury collapsed into pain.
His voice broke.
"…Please…" he whispered. "Please don't die. I'm begging you. You're… you're all I got, father."
That word.
Father.
It barely left his throat.
He had never said it. Not once, not in his whole life.
Before the world ended, he called him sir.
In training, he called him commander.
Even in hatred, he never gave him the title.
The first time he said it… was just weeks ago, when he asked him if he'd ever loved his mother and Eil.
And now—now it slipped out like a final prayer.
"Please…" Axel begged, hands trembling, voice like a broken child. "I can't do this without you. Don't leave me. Don't leave me like this."
Michael blinked. Slowly.
And then, for the first time in his entire life—
He smiled.
A soft, genuine, human smile.
A father's smile.
"I'm sorry…" he whispered, voice fading. "Please forgive this old man…"
He coughed again, each word costing him more than blood.
"I only did what I did… to protect you."
His eyes looked past Axel. Into memories long gone.
"I knew the world was ending. I knew what was coming. I made a choice…"
He exhaled shakily. Axel leaned closer, trying to catch every word.
"I chose… to protect you. I left your mother to die… I left your brother to die… I chose you, Axel."
Tears welled in Axel's eyes. He tried to speak but no words came.
"I thought… if I turned you into a monster… maybe the world couldn't hurt you…"
Michael's hand twitched and found Axel's wrist.
"Please fo—"
The word never finished.
Michael's eyes rolled back.
His body went still.
His hand slipped from Axel's grip.
Axel just sat there.
Kneeling in blood. Covered in ash. Alone.
Everything he had ever hated. Everything he had ever fought to prove. Every scream, every scar, every command—it all came down to this.
This moment.
This silence.
This fire.
He looked down at his father's lifeless face.
And for the first time in a long time… Axel didn't feel wrath.
He didn't feel rage.
He felt loss.
He lowered his head until his forehead rested against Michael's shoulder.
.
.
.
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