The rain had stopped, leaving Velistra glistening beneath a pale moon. The streets were quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional flicker of neon signs reflecting off puddles.
Drax walked slowly, the dagger in his hand dripping faint black mist, the essence of the mutated monarch still thrumming within him.
The guardian of the realm — a creature of immense power — had tried to overwhelm him, but the Abyss had adapted. He had absorbed its essence completely.
> A warning. A challenge. And a gift.
He could feel it now: a surge of strength unlike any he had felt before. The Abyssal World beneath his consciousness pulsed and expanded, black roots spreading further into the unseen void, its crown tree growing taller, more oppressive, more alive.
And then he noticed it.
The essence had whispered something new into his mind — a word, a concept that resonated deep inside the foundation of the Abyss:
> All-Father.
He understood instinctively. The ability to command, to unify, to be the source of life and death within his dominion. Not only could he absorb and evolve, but now, the Abyss would respond to his intent with even greater precision. Any essence entering his domain — friend, foe, or neutral — would be analyzed, devoured, or integrated as he willed.
Drax flexed his fingers. Shadows curled around him, responding instinctively to his thought. His body felt lighter, his senses sharper, his mind more aware.
> I am the All-Father. Every essence in my world kneels to me.
He continued walking through the damp streets, past the crumbling buildings of Velistra's outer district, towards the home he had left behind. The city seemed… smaller now. Easier. Insignificant in comparison to the infinite possibilities of his inner world.
And then he felt it.
A gaze. Not ordinary. Heavy. Calculated. Patient. A pair of eyes in the shadows — watching, analyzing, measuring.
Drax stopped mid-step. The streets were empty, but he could sense the observer's presence like a faint tremor beneath his skin.
He tilted his head. Calm. Slow.
The eyes blinked.
He took a single step forward. And another.
> One glance…
And the observer faltered. Reality itself seemed to twist around them. Their breath hitched, stomach turning as though the floor beneath them had disappeared. Drax's essence — Abyssal dominance — stretched outward like invisible chains, touching their mind.
> Falling… forever…
The investigator's eyes widened. The sensation was impossible to describe. Existential. Complete. A vision of the void within the Abyssal World, staring back at them. Their world had no weight, no ground — only Drax.
Yet Drax did nothing. He stepped past the investigator as if he were nothing more than a shadow.
> "Don't follow me."
No malice in the voice. No anger. Just calm, absolute authority.
The investigator stumbled back slightly, unsure if they had been physically touched or mentally crushed. Yet the fear — deep, primal — burned in their chest. They had felt the Abyss, but had not been destroyed. Not yet.
> Interesting, Drax thought, walking toward the faint glow of his home. So they are aware of me… watching. Curious little pests.
He reached the door, stepping inside. The familiar warmth of the house greeted him, smells of home and memory mingling with the faint scent of rain. Lyra sat at the edge of the bed, awake and alert now, while their mother hovered nervously nearby.
> "You're back early," his mother said softly, still tense from worry.
Drax's lips curved faintly, almost imperceptibly.
> "The world doesn't sleep," he replied simply, removing his coat and letting it hang over his arm.
Lyra looked at him, eyes narrowing with curiosity.
> "You're… different," she said quietly.
> "I had to be," he muttered, glancing toward the window. "The world outside doesn't care who's weak."
No one pressed further. Drax didn't offer explanations. He didn't need to. His presence alone carried the weight of everything he had become — the Abyss, the All-Father, the devourer of the mutant monarch, the master of his own inner world.
Yet in the shadows of the city, beyond the reach of his home's warmth, the investigator lingered, notebook clutched tightly, and thoughts racing.
> Who is he… really?
And Drax, sitting calmly with his family, had already decided:
> Let them watch. Let them wait. They don't deserve to know. Not yet.