Bitter Murmur | Abby Anderson x Male Reader

Chapter 25

With a snarl, the first of the walkers lunged at Abby, its arms outstretched, ready to embrace her in a deadly embrace. Time seemed to slow as Y/N watched, his heart pounding in his chest. But instead of the cold, dead touch of the creature, she met it with a swift, brutal swing of her machete. The head rolled away, the body collapsing to the ground in a spray of gore, making Y/N flinch, feeling the pain of his kin.

Abby fought with a ferocity he had never seen before, her eyes never leaving his. The whispers grew more insistent, their hunger for her a living fire in his mind. He knew he had to act fast, but he didn't want to, not anymore.

In a moment of exhaustion, one of the walkers broke through her defense, sinking its teeth into her shoulder. She screamed, her body jolting with pain. The whispers in his head grew louder, demanding that he finish her off, claim her as their own. But something within him rebelled, a spark of humanity that had not yet been extinguished by the whispers' embrace.

Y/N watched, frozen, as the walker feasted on the woman he loved, the woman who had stabbed him not long ago. The conflict in his soul was a physical ache, the whispers screaming for his compliance while his heart begged for her salvation. He could feel the power within him, the whispers of the dead that he could now control, but the cost was too high.

Abby's eyes searched his, a silent plea for help, for mercy. Her hand, trembling with pain and fear, reached out to him, her fingers brushing against his own. The contact was like a lightning bolt, jolting him into action.

With a roar that seemed to drown out the whispers, Y/N swung his knife in a wide arc, cutting through the neck of the walker that had bitten her. The creature's head tumbled to the ground, its jaws still snapping, the whispers of its rage fading into the night.

Abby's body went limp, the lifeblood draining from her. Y/N caught her, cradling her in his arms as the whispers grew to a cacophony, their fury at him killing one of his own, a maelstrom in his mind. He could feel their power pulsing through him, a dark energy that begged for release, for the destruction of all that stood in their path.

But amidst the chaos, a single voice pierced through, a whisper so faint it was almost lost in the din. "Please," it said, a ghostly echo of humanity that brought him back to reality. He looked down at Abby, her eyes glazed over, her breath shallow. The whispers grew quieter, their rage replaced by a solemn understanding.

With trembling hands, he pressed the knife to her throat, whispering an apology that was lost to the night. The blade was cold against her skin, a frozen contrast to the feverish heat of her body. She closed her eyes, bracing for the inevitable.

But as the whispers grew to a crescendo, so too did the love that burned within him. His hand hovered for a moment, the balance between mercy and obedience a tightrope threatening to snap. Some moments passed before he finally brought the knife down.

It was not the swift, clean strike he had intended. The blade sank into the Abby's neck with a sickening crunch, her lifeless body sinking into his arms.

The whispers in his head grew to a crescendo before falling silent, their hunger for her life now sated. The weight of his actions settled on his shoulders, a heavy burden that seemed to crush the very air from his lungs.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he felt a walker's cold, decayed hand on his shoulder. The creature's touch was surprisingly gentle, an extreme contrast to the horror of its existence. Y/N looked up, his eyes blurry with grief, to find the same walker that had first spoken to him. Its face, once a twisted mask of anger and hunger, now held a look of sorrow that seemed to transcend the boundaries of life and death.

The creature pulled away from the group, a silent request for him to follow. Y/N's body was a leaden weight, but he knew he had to move, to do something. He stumbled after the walker, the whispers in his head now a dull murmur of disappointment. The horde parted before them, creating a path through the carnage.

The base was in ruins, the once-proud WLF banners now torn and trampled underfoot. The whispers grew quieter as he walked, their energy seemingly drained by the bloodshed that surrounded them. Y/N's eyes searched for any sign of life, any hope that their love had not been for nothing.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. He spun around, the knife still in his hand, ready to fight. But it was just a lone walker, its eyes filled with the same sorrow he felt in his heart. It gestured towards a building in the distance, a place that had been the WLF's command center. The whispers grew louder again, urging him to follow, their hunger not yet satisfied.

Y/N stumbled after the creature, his legs heavy with the weight of his grief. The once bustling compound was a scene of carnage, the whispers of the dead a constant reminder of the path he had chosen. The walkers had done their work well, leaving no survivors in their wake.

As they approached the command center, the whispers grew more urgent, pulling him forward. The building was a fortress, now breached by the relentless march of the dead. The stench of death and decay was thick, mingling with the coppery scent of fresh blood. The walker's gentle touch guided him through the carnage, past the twisted forms of once-human soldiers, now indistinguishable from the monsters that had taken them.