Threads of Fate Across Universes

(Elio's POV)

The dead were everywhere.

They were on him. The stench of rot filled his lungs, and for a split second, Elio's mind threatened to freeze—just long enough for a walker to get too close.

His muscles screamed at him to move faster, to get a grip, but there was no room for hesitation. His body was a blur of action, swinging, dodging, and slashing, every move a calculated blur of violence.

One walker got too close—claws raking across his back. His shirt tore, and for a moment, he could feel the cold breath of death brushing his skin. His axes came down in one fluid motion, both blades burying themselves in its skull. The thing dropped, twitching before its body went limp.

He wasn't sure how many he'd killed. There was no time to count. The camp was in full panic.

He could hear people screaming—Andrea shrieking for Amy, Dale barking orders to people, trying to get them to run for cover.

But Elio couldn't stop.

Not yet.

A walker lunged for his legs, but he was faster, side-stepping and spinning, his ax taking its head off in a single, smooth swing. His senses were heightened, more alert than ever—every motion, every twitch of muscle, every snap of bone felt like it was happening in slow motion, and yet, it wasn't enough.

More. There were always more.

"Elio! Look out!"

Elio's head snapped to the side, just in time to see a walker barreling toward him. It was larger, its eyes empty sockets of rage, its jaw snapping open and shut, hungry for blood.

But Elio was ready.

He raised his axes, slamming both into its chest with all his might, sending the thing stumbling back before its head hit the dirt with a sickening crack.

But before he could catch his breath, another one took its place.

There was no room for slowing down.

He could feel the weight of his own exhaustion creeping into his limbs. Every swing, every move, was costing him more energy than the last. He couldn't keep this up forever, and he knew it.

But then, amidst the frenzy, something changed.

He moved around the camp so much that he ended up next to a bit Amy.

He whipped his head around, heart hammering.

Andrea knelt beside her, cradling her head in her lap, but there was no mistaking it. The bite. The way Amy's face contorted in pain.

A walker had gotten to her.

And it was too late.

Elio's stomach turned, but there was no time to think.

"Get away from her!" Andrea's voice was wild, shrill with grief. She pulled Amy away from her, as if in denial, as though pulling her away would make the inevitable stop.

But it didn't.

Elio saw the slow change in Amy's face—the blankness in her eyes, the stillness in her body.

And then she turned.

And the horror was instant.

Amy's mouth opened in a guttural growl.

"Shit!"

Elio acted without thinking.

He ran, faster than he thought he could, grabbing Andrea and yanking her away just as Amy lunged at her.

Andrea screamed, thrashing in Elio's grip, but Elio wasn't about to let her die—not like this.

The axe came down again, and again, and again, until Amy's body fell to the ground in a heap.

It didn't feel real.

It didn't feel like anything but the echoes of blood and screams and death.

But there was no time to mourn.

The walkers were still coming.

"Elio—look out!"

He spun just in time to see Carol running toward him, her face pale, horror-stricken.

"Stay back!" Elio barked, but it was too late.

A walker lunged from behind her, dragging itself over the earth like it was born to kill.

Without thinking, Elio's arm shot out, grabbing Carol and spinning her away from the incoming threat, just as the walker grabbed at her shoulder.

The weight of its body nearly knocked Elio off balance, but he thrust his axes into its skull before it could get a better grip on Carol.

She gasped, hands shaking as she clutched at him, wide-eyed and terrified.

"Thank you," she whispered, but Elio couldn't focus on that. Not now.

Another scream pierced the night.

Dale.

A figure lurched toward him from behind.

Without thinking, Elio shot forward, shoving Dale out of the way and taking the brunt of the hit himself.

The weight of the walker knocked him to the ground, but Elio's reflexes kicked in—his legs driving him upward, his hands grabbing hold of his axes and bringing them down with brutal efficiency.

It wasn't clean.

It wasn't easy.

But he didn't stop.

And then there was a shift.

The walkers stopped moving.

All at once.

Their bodies now turned in his direction.

They just kept coming.

Elio's axes were slick with gore, the weight of them dragging at his arms, but he didn't slow. He couldn't slow. Every swing, every kill, was another second bought for the people behind him. The camp had retreated to higher ground, clustered behind makeshift barricades of overturned chairs and crates, with Rick, Glenn, and Daryl forming a defensive line.

He didn't know they were back, but it didn't matter.

Because all the walkers' attention was on him.

The dead swarmed toward him, drawn to something he couldn't understand. Their moans filled the air, a sickening chorus of hunger, and even as his body burned from the effort of fighting, he knew it wasn't enough.

There were too many.

His breath came hard and fast, his boots sliding in the blood-soaked dirt as he spun, axes flashing in the dim firelight. Another walker fell, its skull split in two. Then another. And another. But they kept coming.

Then he felt it.

The shift in the air. The wrongness of it.

A shadow loomed behind him.

Elio turned, but he was too slow.

A walker lunged—its jaws open, inches from his throat.

Shit.

Before he could react, a flash of steel blurred past his vision, and with a wet crunch, the walker stiffened—then slumped, a kukri knife buried deep in its skull.

Elio barely had time to register what had happened before Shane was beside him, yanking the blade free and pivoting to face the horde.

They stood back-to-back, bodies tense, weapons ready.

The firelight gleamed off Shane's sweat-slicked skin, his chest heaving, his expression locked in that razor-sharp focus that made him dangerous.

"Gotta stop meetin' like this," Shane muttered, his voice low and rough.

Elio smirked, despite the situation. "Next time, bring dinner first."

A guttural snarl cut off Shane's retort as another wave of walkers closed in.

Elio adjusted his grip on his axes. Shane spun his knife and crouched into a defensive stance.