Threads of Fate Across Universes

Carol's Perspective

Carol's lungs burned as she ran, her hand gripping Sophia's so tightly it hurt. The little girl stumbled behind her, struggling to keep up, her small legs no match for the pace Carol was setting. But Carol didn't dare slow down. Not now. Not when the sound of gunfire still echoed in her ears.

"Mom, I can't—" Sophia gasped, her voice trembling.

"Just a little further," Carol urged, her own voice strained. She tugged Sophia along, her heart pounding in her chest. The farm was just ahead. They were so close.

The trees thinned as they broke into the clearing, and there it was—the Greene farm. But the sight that greeted them made Carol's blood run cold.

The once peaceful haven was now a slaughterhouse.

Blood soaked the dirt. Bodies—so many bodies—were sprawled across the ground, limbs twisted, faces frozen in agony. And in front of them, right there for all to see, was a man with no head.

Carol didn't need to ask what had happened.

It was clear.

These men had gotten on the wrong side of Shane and Elio.

A shiver ran down her spine.

She had seen them fight before—had known they were strong, different—but this? This was something else.

Sophia clung to her side, her small hands gripping Carol's arm as her wide eyes darted between the bodies and the two men standing in the middle of it all. Elio was barely even breathing hard. Shane looked like he had just finished warming up.

Carol swallowed, forcing herself to look away.

And that's when she saw them.

Walkers.

At least a dozen, moving over the hill with purpose.

Not wandering. Not aimless.

They were coming.

And something about the way they moved made her stomach turn.

"Elio," she called, her voice sharp.

Elio didn't move. His gaze was still locked on the mess around him, as if lost in his own thoughts.

Carol took a step forward, pointing. "Elio."

This time, he heard her. His head snapped up, following her line of sight—first to her, then to where she was pointing.

His expression hardened.

His axes flew into his hands on instinct. He took a step forward. Then another. Then another.

Carol knew that stance.

He was going in.

Alone.

Hershel must have realized it, too, because the old man suddenly moved.

"No!"

Hershel rushed forward, boots kicking up dust as he ran straight for Elio. He grabbed his arm, fingers gripping with desperate strength.

"Elio, stop," Hershel said, his voice firm, pleading. "If you go now—if you leave—I have no chance of getting my family back."

Elio didn't look at him at first. His gaze stayed locked on the approaching walkers. The grip on his axes tightened.

For a second, Carol thought he was going to ignore him.

Then, finally—slowly—Elio turned his head, meeting Hershel's eyes.

And for the first time since they had arrived, there was hesitation in them.

Not doubt. Not fear.

Just a moment of pause.

A moment where a choice had to be made.

Elio yanked his arm free from Hershel's grip, turning to face him fully. His expression was cold, unreadable, but his voice—his voice was sharp.

"Your family is already dead."

Hershel flinched like he'd been slapped.

Elio didn't stop.

"Those things over there?" He pointed at the walkers, still making their slow but determined approach. "They're your families killers. There's nothing left in them, Hershel. Nothing. Can't you see?"

Hershel's hands curled into fists. "You don't know that."

Elio laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. "Oh, I know. I know because I've seen this play out before. I've seen men like you hold on to hope until it kills them. I've seen them risk everything for a lie. And you wanna know how I know for sure?"

He took a step closer, eyes locked onto Hershel's, voice dropping lower.

"Look at them."

Hershel hesitated.

"Look."

He did.

His gaze flickered toward the walkers, shambling closer with every passing second.

Their skin hung in rotting strips. Eyes sunken, cloudy, lifeless. Their mouths opened and closed like gasping fish, teeth blackened, hands reaching mindlessly for anything living.

They were dead.

Elio's voice cut through the air like a blade.

"How the hell do you think people come back from that?"

Hershel said nothing.

His jaw was clenched so tight Elio thought his teeth might break, but still—nothing.

And that was what did it.

The silence.

The refusal to face it.

Elio exhaled sharply and shook his head. "You know what, Hershel? I think it's time you stop being so selfish."

Hershel's head snapped back toward him, eyes flaring with anger. "Selfish?"

"Yes. Selfish."

Elio took another step forward, practically towering over him now.

"You lost people. I get it. I really do. But you still have Maggie. You still have Beth. You still have Otis. And yet, instead of keeping them safe, you're risking everything for a fantasy. You're playing god with their lives because you don't want to admit the truth."

Hershel's nostrils flared. "That's not true—"

"Yes, it is."

Elio's grip tightened on his axes.

"So here's the deal. Either you let me kill those things you love so dearly, or you'll end up with a lot more family dead—by your own hands."

The words hung in the air.

And for the first time, Hershel didn't have a response.

Hershel didn't speak.

Didn't argue.

Didn't even move.

Elio didn't wait for permission. He turned, eyes locking onto the approaching walkers, his grip on his axes tightening before—

He let them go.

The weapons flew from his hands, spinning like saw blades through the air, cutting through the silence with a deadly whirr.

The first walker didn't even react. One moment it was stepping forward, reaching for something that wasn't there—

The next, an ax buried itself into its skull with a sickening CRACK, splitting its head nearly in two. The force sent the body crashing backward into the others, like a domino effect of the dead.

The second walker barely had time to stumble before Elio flicked his wrist—his second ax ripped itself from the first corpse and shot through the air toward its next target.

Another head caved in.

Another body dropped.

And then Elio was moving.

Not walking. Not running. Just—there.

One second, he was at Hershel's side. The next, he was in the thick of it, hands raised, fingers twitching as his axes came back to him, flashing through the air like twin comets of death.

He moved like he was dancing—sidestepping a slow, reaching hand, twisting just out of the way of a snapping jaw. But nothing got close.

Because every time one of them so much as breathed in his direction, his axes moved faster than thought.

A head went flying.

Another caved in.

One walker tried lunging at him, and before it could even get close, Elio flicked his fingers—an unseen force slammed into its chest, launching it clear across the field. It hit the ground with a sickening crunch, ribs folding inward like an accordion.

And still, he didn't stop.

Beth, Maggie, and Otis had made it onto the porch now, drawn out by the sound of something impossible.

And when they saw it—when they saw the way the axes moved on their own, saw how they twisted and arced through the air, slaughtering everything in their path without Elio even needing to touch them—their mouths fell open.

"What the hell…" Otis breathed.

Beth clutched at Maggie's arm, her knuckles white.

Maggie?

She just stared, eyes wide.

Because this wasn't just some guy killing walkers.

This was something else.

Something inhuman.

The last walker staggered toward Elio, slower than the rest, its rotting jaw hanging from barely connected skin.

Elio tilted his head, almost in amusement, then lifted his hand.

His ax—dripping with blackened blood—flung forward.

And the moment it struck, he twisted his fingers.

The blade didn't just sink into the walker's skull—it ripped straight through, carving its way out the other side before snapping back to Elio's palm like it was summoned.

The last body hit the ground.

Silence.

Elio exhaled, rolling his shoulders, the axes disappearing as if they were never there. Then, finally, he turned.

Maggie. Beth. Otis. Hershel.

They were all staring at him.

Mouths open.

Eyes wide.

Faces pale.

And in the stunned quiet, Elio only had one thing to say.

"Told you they weren't alive."

The sun was dipping toward the horizon, casting long shadows over the farm as the scent of cooking filled the air.

Carol and Sophia had settled in, being welcomed by the farm's residents, though the tension from earlier still lingered. The weight of what had happened—of what had been done—was not something easily washed away.

Inside, Beth and Maggie moved around the kitchen, preparing dinner. Their hands worked automatically, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, but their minds were clearly elsewhere.

Elio could see it. Feel it.

Their gazes flicked toward the window every few minutes, toward the fields where Otis and Hershel had been since morning, shovels in hand, burying what was left of the town folk. Their family.

Elio had offered to burn them. To grind them down until there was nothing left—to make sure they were gone, for good.

But Hershel had refused.

"They deserve a proper burial," he had said, voice hoarse but firm.

And so, instead of letting the flames consume the dead, they dug. For hours.

The sounds of shovels hitting dirt had been the only thing filling the silence.

Now, as the sun set and dinner approached, there was only one thing left to do—say goodbye.

Elio went for a walk around the farm staring at the barn that once contained the townsfolk, Shane approached from behind, his boots crunching against the gravel. He stopped beside Elio, his arms crossed and his expression calm but firm. "Well, that's one problem solved," Shane said, his voice carrying a hint of dry humor. "Though I'm guessing Hershel's not gonna be sending us a thank-you card anytime soon."

Elio chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hey, I gave him a free butcher service. If anything, he should be thanking me for saving him the trouble of doing all that himself."

Shane smirked, shaking his head. "You're something else, you know that?"

"Yeah, I've been told," Elio replied, his tone light and teasing. He glanced toward the farmhouse, where Hershel stood on the porch, his silhouette framed by the fading light of the setting sun. "He'll come around. Once he realizes we just did him a favor, he'll be baking us pies or something."

Shane snorted. "Pies, huh? I'll believe that when I see it."

Inside the farmhouse, Carol sat by the fireplace, her arm wrapped around Sophia, who was clutching a tattered stuffed rabbit. The events of the day had shaken them all, but Carol's calm demeanor was a balm for the group's frayed nerves.

"Do you think they'll be okay?" Sophia asked, her voice small.

Carol smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Sophia's face. "Elio and Shane are strong. They'll keep us safe. We just have to trust them."

Maggie sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. Her eyes kept darting toward the window, where her father stood alone, staring at the remains of the barn. She wanted to go to him, to offer some kind of comfort, but she wasn't sure what to say. The 'people' in the barn had been his last connection to the past, to the ones he'd loved and lost. Now, they were gone.

Hershel's hands trembled as he clutched the Bible to his chest. The pages were worn, the edges frayed from years of use. He had always turned to his faith in times of crisis, but today, the words felt hollow. The barn had been a symbol of his hope, a desperate attempt to hold onto the past. Now, it was gone, reduced to ashes by a stranger with powers he couldn't comprehend.

Elio approached with his usual easy stride, his hands still in his pockets and a casual smile on his face. "Hershel," he said, his tone light but not unkind. "I know it's not the best time, but I figured I'd check in. How're you holding up?"

Hershel didn't look up. "You destroyed them," he said, his voice heavy with bitterness. "You took away my hope."

Elio tilted his head, his expression thoughtful but unapologetic. "Hope's a funny thing, Hershel. Sometimes it keeps you going, and sometimes it blinds you to what's right in front of you. Those things in the barn? They weren't your family anymore. They were a threat—to you, to Maggie, to all of us. I did what I had to do to keep everyone safe."

Hershel finally turned to face Elio, his eyes red-rimmed but sharp. "And what gives you the right to make that decision?"

Elio's smile didn't waver. "The fact that I can," he said simply. "And the fact that I will. Every time. You don't have to like it, Hershel, but you'll see—this was the only way."

Later that evening, Shane found himself standing at the edge of the property, staring out into the darkening fields. His thoughts drifted to Carl, the boy he'd come to care for like a son. It had been weeks since they'd left Rick's group, and though Shane didn't regret his decision, he couldn't help but wonder how Carl was doing. Was he safe? Was he scared? Shane's jaw tightened at the thought, but he pushed it aside. Carl was with his father, and that was where he needed to be.

Elio appeared beside him, his hands still in his pockets and his usual playful grin on his face. "Thinking about the kid?" he asked, his tone light but knowing.

Shane nodded, his expression steady. "Yeah. He's tough, though. He'll be okay."

Elio smirked. "You're not worried about him. You're worried about Rick screwing it up."

Shane let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe. But it's not my place anymore. Carl's got his dad, and we've got our own path to follow."

Elio clapped Shane on the shoulder, his grin widening. "That's the spirit. No looking back, right?"

"Right," Shane said, his voice firm. "No looking back."

As the night deepened, the group gathered around the fireplace, the flickering flames casting long shadows across the room. Elio and Shane sat side by side, their presence a reassuring anchor for the others. Elio's playful energy was infectious, and even Hershel seemed to relax a little as the tension in the room eased.

But beyond the safety of the farm, the world was still dark and dangerous. The destruction of the Living had sent ripples through the survivor community, and whispers of Elio and Shane's powers were already spreading. Some saw them as saviors; others, as a threat.

As Elio leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with mischief, he couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation. "You know," he said, his voice light but carrying an edge of steel, "I have a feeling things are about to get interesting."

Shane smirked, his expression calm but ready. "Bring it on."