Mark Of The Beast

Negan's men were getting mauled. The Wolves and their attack dogs, snarling, spitting canines, were darting across the Sanctuary and mowing down anyone in their path. There had to be at least thirty wolves, all brandishing weapons that ranged from knives to axes to even spears. They called and controlled their beasts with whistles and clicks.

A dozen Saviors lay dead. The ones fighting back were met with snapping jaws - the sound of gunfire and screaming was deafening to Turtle. Negan didn't seem to be bothered by the blood. One of his men had already turned and was snapping, arms extended as it lay, speared clean through the chest and impaled on the ground.

"Hound. He's here," Turtle said quickly. "He has to be."

"The leader?" Negan replied. "Yeah. He fucking is, and I'm going to fucking bash his head and fucking dance on the remains."

"Nice image," Turtle said, moving from the shadows when she saw Paula and Donnie emerge from within the vast factory. Their were firing in unison, rifles raised and pointed at the approaching Wolves.

"Where's Dwight?" Negan asked.

"I don't know," Turtle raised her handgun. It took three shots to send a rushing dog collapsing. His human companion ran at them, snarling, but was knocked back by Lucille's slamming against his chest, then his head with enough force to crack his skull. He collapsed, twitching.

"Fuck," Negan cursed. "Goddamn fucking fuck!"
"Watch your profanity."

Negan gave Turtle a playful shove, before tensing up again. He crouched alongside a parked car with missing wheels, gesturing for Turtle to follow. He brandished Lucille like a club, emerging behind a wolf and scrambling his brains with a hard knock to the side of the head.

It's canine friend leaped. Negan brought Lucille down in a wide arc, driving the dogs head into the concrete.

Bud darted past, gun in hand. Several saviors, at Negan's command, had taken up positions behind trucks and around corners. The wolves were fast, and their dogs were faster - one missed shot spelt disaster for most of Negan's men.

The biggest of the Wolves walked through the wide open gate, a trio of matted dogs nipping at his heels. He was tall - much taller than Negan, but even from a distance Turtle could tell that he wasn't normal. He walked as if he struggled to carry the weight of his own body, and with each step she could see pure muscle flexing beneath his layers of clothing.

"He's huge," Turtle said. "I mean, really huge."

"Yeah, so?"

"You won't be able to take him on."
"Thanks for the fucking support," Negan grumbled. He gripped Lucille, staring down at the barbed bat. "Can't know until you fucking try."
Something arced above their heads and shattered against the factory walls. It was a molotov, and immediately the fire spread, licking at anything it could find.

The skies became alit. Turtle squinted through the fire, past the led Wolf and out the Sanctuary doors. In the distance, hobbling along a long stretch of road, were the undead. At least a hundred of them, drawn to the sound of gunfire.

"We've gotta shut that gate," Turtle said frantically. She pointed, and Negan followed her fingers, mouth twitching when he saw the herd - a small herd, but a herd nonetheless - approaching in the distance.

"You aren't getting past him-"

"Thank's for the support," Turtle mocked. Then, "The guards are dead. No one else is going to do it. We have a better chance against these Wolves than we do a horde. Trust me."

Negan stared at her. Another barrage of gunfire pulled him out of his trance, and he nodded. "I hate it when you're fucking right. I'll distract big-boy, alright? Can you make a run for the gate and close it, with your arm and all…?"
"I can do it just fine."
Negan nodded, though the concern did not leave his otherwise stern face. They split apart, each looping around the lead savior until Negan could approach him from the side. Face to face they stood, Negan uncomfortably tiny next to the lead wolf - Hound, if Turtle remembered correctly. Even from behind Turtle was able to confirm her own internal assumptions that yes, he was most definitely using drugs to enhance his appearance and strength. He had to be - no human was that muscular and that outright calm about the entire situation.

Turtle reached the gate just as Hound's attention fell on Negan. He tilted his big head up and thrust out his chest, attempting to make Negan look smaller than he already was. He'd drawn an axe from his belt to combat the deadly force of Lucille.

Turtle swung the gate closed and secured it. His two dogs growled at the noise, bloodstained muzzles bared and ready to attack. Turtle raised her gun, aiming it towards the dogs while Negan held Lucille in a vice grip, ready to attack.

"I'd tell you to run away, but you've lost your fucking chance at mercy. So, you fuckers have to die," Negan and Hound were circling each other, two dominant males checking each others weak points.

"No. I still plan on taking the cripple," Hound said lightly. "She's your girl, isn't she?"

Negan's eyes darkened. His grip on Lucille became more pronounced, the veins in his wrists and hands bulging.

The two dogs snarled.

The third…

Where was the third?

Turtle's face fell. She didn't dare take her eyes off the two canines before her. Hound's sudden whistle almost caused her to drop her gun. She was only to regain her composure for a moment before something heavy slammed into her from behind. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Negan ruled Hound, swinging Lucille in an arc so to catch him in the head.

The bat did make contact, tearing hair and flesh from Hound's face.

But he was still standing.

Turtle cried out, arm flailing. Her finger squeezed the trigger and the explosion was deafening. It struck one of the dogs in the chest, causing it to whine and topple over.

Hound, who held Negan's arm in a vice grip as he easily wrestled Lucille from his grasp, roared as his companion was gunned down by Turtle. He released Negan, sending him stumbling with a hard kick to his chest. Hound whistled and the vicious teeth assaulting Turtle's arm disappeared, replaced by Hound's strong clasp around her scalp. She was certain that he'd pulled our chunk of her hair as he forced her to her feet into a headlock. He''d practically ripped the gun from Turtle's fingers, using his free hand to aim the weapon at Negan, while the sharp edge of his axe lay against her throat.

He was emotional, heaving, face red with adrenaline.

"Put down the bat," Hound said, sounding almost joyful. "Or her throat gets cut."

Shocked, Turtle watched as Negan obeyed, lowering Lucille to the ground. He stood back up slowly, eyes boring holes into Hound. The Wolf nodded, clutching Turtle tighter.

"Now fucking put her down," Negan snarled. He stepped forward, only freezing when Hound's axe pressed hard enough against Turtle's to draw blood.

Turtle whimpered, breathing through her nose. Negan's expression was heartbreaking, his muscles tensing and Hound began to back away, closer to the gate they'd work so tirelessly to keep shut.

Turtle had one idea, and even she was ashamed at it's pretentiousness and how cliche it was. She desperately hoped she would have something to grab - and she did. She clasped a hand between Hound's legs and twisted as hard as she could. Hound roared, distracted, and Turtle slipped from his grip and fell onto her rear. She saw Negan rush forward, heedless, slamming into Hound and driving him back. Hound's advantage over Negan was noticeable and, as he held Negan back, he whistled.

The dog fell upon Turtle. She screamed, and Negan replied with cry of terror and pain as Hound's fingers closed around his arm. Turtle heard the unmistakable crack of bone as Hound snapped Negan's arm as if it were nothing more than a dry twig. He continued to wrestle Hound for possession of his handgun.

She raised her bum arm and the dogs clamped onto her skin, tearing through what remained. Turtle lashed out with a kick that knocked the wind out of her canine attackers, giving her enough time to draw her machete and swing.

It took three chops to kill the dog. Blood sprayed and it was in her mouth and her eyes and up her nose. She thrust the machete forward, catching the remaining dog in the leg. It yelped, but did not fall, darting behind its human counterpart.

Turtle rolled over, wiping away blood, just an explosion vibrated through her eardrums. She saw the smoking barrel of her handgun, gripped between Hound's bloodstained fingers. For a moment, the fighting between the two men ceased, and Negan staggered back, mouth open in shock.

It didn't register in Turtle's mind that he'd been shot. She saw the dripping blood on his fingers as he cradled his stomach, teeth grit. He glanced at Turtle, looking as if he wanted to say something, but he was forced to twist his body as Hound's axe came tumbling down.

Negan was lucky - his reflexes were second to none, and had he not leaped to the side last minute, the axe would have embedded itself into his skull. Instead, it caught him between the shoulder and the neck, sinking deep. Hound ripped it away, cutting through flesh and sinew.

Negan's face neck became painted in blood. He stumbled back, eyes wide and his hand reached up to clasp at the life-sapping wound.

"Run! Get your ass back and run!"

Turtle begged him to listen. She couldn't tell whether not the saltiness against her lips came from her tears or from the blood. Negan staggered, swaying, before he turned and began sprinting towards the interior of Sanctuary.

Hound whistled. His remaining dog bolted after Negan, making pace behind him. Turtle would have followed, but she saw the glare in Hound's eyes as he stalked towards her, bloody axe by his side.

She was going to die. This man, doped up on drugs, was going to murder her.

Lucille lay abandoned on the grass. She briefly wondered if Negan had left it for her, or if he'd simply forgotten it, bogged down by the gunshot wound in his stomach and the axe wound on his shoulder. There was no way, Turtle concluded, that he would never forget something like Lucille - the barbed bat was a part of him.

He'd left it for her.

Turtle gripped Lucille tightly between her hands. She was small, and the bat wasn't made for her.

Hound swung his axe and Turtle deflected it. The sheer force of his attack nearly caused Lucille to spiral from her grip. She heaved the bat upward, striking Hound in the face. The blow tore the skin from his cheek and around his eye, leaving it a bleeding mess.

He bellow and swung, but the attack was haphazard and messy. Turtle leaped and his axe passed an inch away from her stomach. Hound stumbled, falling to one knee, and Turtle lifted Lucille and brought her down upon Hound's skull.

He shook it off and stood. He hooked his axe around Lucille and tugged, wrenching Turtle off her feet. She fell, the barbed bat slipping from her fingers.

Hound's face was a blood-soaked mask. He looked like a roamer, one eye swelled shut while the other leaked fluid. His teeth were bared and his steroid-infused muscles were flexing as he stalked up to Turtle, ready to chop her apart.

"Hey, asshole!"

Paula stood behind Hound. She raised the shotgun in her hand and fired. The buckshot blew a chunk of flesh the size of a steak from Hound's shoulder.

He still stood. Turtle abandoned Lucille and crawled over to her machete, gripping its slippery handle. Paula fired again and Hound roared, still upright and approaching Turtle with furious abandon.

Paula was pumping buckshot after buckshot into Hound's torso. Turtle rushed him, machete raised She cut a clean slice into his neck, splitting open the jugular and causing blood to spray like a garden hose. She chopped again and again until Paula was out of bullets and Hound's head was rolling onto the grass, mouth open and frozen in the same expression.

Turtle collapsed onto her rear, letting out a choked sob. Paula dropped her gun and limped over to Turtle, pushing her red hair away from her face.

"Get up."
Turtle didn't move.

"I said get up," Paula nudged her. "Your boy is hurt. Probably dead."

Turtle sluggishly stood, retrieving Lucille and following Paula back to the Sanctuary. Bodies were scattered across the lawn, Wolf and Savior alike. A few were staring to turn, arms clutching at the air as they tried to walk on severed legs and burnt limbs.

Despair took hold Turtle. Negan lay on the concrete in a puddle of his own blood. Bud was driving bullet after bullet into the remaining dog that had taken chunks out of Negan.

"Robert! Where's Robert!" Turtle screamed. She saw Dwight rush from within the compound, rifle in hand. Four men were on his heels.

They had the audacity to push Turtle away from Negan's fallen form. Her hands gripped his shirt, searching for life in his closed eyes. He wasn't moving - probably wasn't breathing. Turtle didn't know.

"Get the fuck away!"

"Is he dead? Is boss dead?" Bud was in hysterics. He helped Dwight as they began to drag Negan back inside the compound, leaving Paula and Donnie and whoever remained to deal with their roamers, once Saviors and Wolves, as they began to turn and stalk towards whatever food source they saw.

"He's not dead," Turtle howled, watching as Dwight closed the compound doors shut, allowing Robert to fall over Negan's wounds. He allowed Turtle to approach this time, and she did, setting Lucille against his arm and practically cradling his face between her hands.

Everything fell quiet. No more gunfire. Robert's heavy breathing and the clicking of guns echoed throughout the compound, along with Turtle's soft whimpers.

"Hey. Hey," Turtle whispered. "Look at me. Open your eyes."

Negan remained motionless, though his eyes twitched beneath closed lids.

"You wanna know my name?" Turtle sobbed. "It's Tessa. That's my name. Tessa."

Negan's eyes opened. He stared at Turtle as Robert's gloved hands began patching him up. His face was deathly pale from the amount of blood he'd lost - it pained his body and the floors and Turtle's hands, like red acrylic. Like some sort of surreal art.

"Hi, Tessa."

Turtle bowed her head and wept.