Silence.
Not the kind that comes from peace, but the kind that comes after destruction.
Drax sat cross-legged in the middle of his abyssal domain — the Abyssal World, now vast and alive with eerie luminescence. Fragments of the Death Knight's essence still drifted in the air like black embers, swirling toward the colossal Black Tree at the world's center.
Each ember that touched its roots sent a pulse through Drax's body — his veins glowed faintly, like molten cracks in stone. He inhaled deeply, feeling the rhythm of the world beat alongside his heart.
> "So this is... what it means to command a world."
He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into meditation. The void responded. The soil beneath him rippled like liquid shadow, and the red moon hanging above trembled — a tear of light split across its surface, and from it descended a figure cloaked in smoke and starlight.
It wasn't human — it was something older. The Spirit of the Abyssal World.
Its form wavered between shapes, its voice like a distant echo whispering through time. Drax didn't need to hear words; he understood it instinctively. The connection between creator and domain needed no language.
The spirit extended a hand toward the Black Tree. From its trunk emerged faces — countless, faint, and weeping — souls he had devoured, bound eternally under his dominion.
Drax understood now: the Black Tree wasn't just the core. It was the heart of consumption, turning everything he absorbed into new growth.
He raised his hand, and shadows spiraled upward. The Death Knight — no longer clad in decayed armor — took shape beside him. Its helm was gone, replaced by a crown of thorns forged from obsidian flame.
It kneeled.
> "Your name…" Drax muttered, his voice low but firm. "You'll be called Nocturion. My blade in the dark."
Nocturion bowed silently, dissolving into a cloud of essence that merged with the soil — a guardian spirit under Drax's rule.
A faint smile tugged at Drax's lips. Cold, faint, and sharp.
> "So this is evolution."
He stood. The Black Tree's roots pulsed in acknowledgment, the entire world bending slightly toward him — like an organism recognizing its master.
And then, he opened his eyes.
Light flooded in. The scent of stone, dust, and blood returned — reality. Drax stood inside the dungeon's final chamber, its corrupted air still humming with residual mana.
The portal shimmered weakly before collapsing into dust, leaving only silence.
He dusted his coat, his expression unreadable. The once timid boy who entered this place was gone; in his place stood someone else — composed, emotionless, calculating.
Outside, daylight stabbed through the dungeon's cracked archway. As Drax stepped out, a gust of wind swept past him — carrying the scent of steel and ozone.
Waiting for him was a man clad in white combat gear, his hair streaked silver and eyes burning like cold fire.
Kane's brother.
> "You… you came out alone."
His voice was low, heavy with disbelief. "Where's my brother? Where's the rest of the team?"
Drax's steps never slowed. His boots echoed on the broken stone as he walked past the man without a word.
> "Hey, I'm talking to you."
The S-rank extended a hand toward Drax — and instantly, his expression twisted. His aura flickered violently, like it had been bitten.
An invisible pressure rippled around Drax, devouring even the mana in the air.
For an instant, it felt as if reality itself was being drained — even the wind hesitated to move.
The S-rank froze, eyes wide.
> "...What the hell are you?"
Drax's gaze shifted, finally meeting his.
> "I'm someone they didn't care about when it mattered," he said softly. "Don't touch me."
He walked past him, the space around him slightly warping from the weight of his essence.
Not long after, glowing sigils appeared in the air — portals opening in the sky. Figures in long white cloaks descended — the Inner World Association. Their crests shimmered like constellations as they stepped between Drax and the S-rank.
> "That's enough!" one of them barked. "Two S-ranks fighting here could level the city!"
But Drax didn't even glance at them. His eyes were on the horizon — distant, hollow, unshaken.
> "Where were you," he murmured, "when I was nothing?"
No one answered.
He turned away, his coat fluttering in the wind. The dungeon behind him cracked, folded in on itself, and vanished — erased from existence as though it had never been.
The man who entered had been a failure.
The man who left was something the world wasn't ready to understand.