The day had been ordinary. Rain had fallen lightly over Velistra, and Drax sat by the window, watching the streets glisten with reflected neon. His coat hung loosely on a chair, his dagger resting at his side — calm, quiet, almost domestic.
Lyra was reading, her hands steady now, her life essence stabilized. His mother hummed softly in the kitchen, the sound warm and mundane. For a moment, Drax allowed himself the illusion of peace.
And then the ground shuddered.
A tremor rolled through the street outside, subtle at first — almost imperceptible. Then it struck again, stronger, shaking the foundations of the house. Drax's eyes narrowed.
> "Not good."
He stood, boots hitting the floor softly but with authority. There was no hesitation, no fear. Something primal hummed in his bones, a resonance only he could feel.
He stepped outside.
Before the house, where the pavement had cracked and reformed under unnatural pressure, a portal hovered. Its surface was jagged, black, and shimmering with faint crimson veins.
> "An S-rank?" he muttered. His voice was calm, almost amused. "Looks like someone's late to the party."
And then they emerged.
Two high orcs, each taller than a man, muscles like braided steel, tusks glinting in the unnatural light of the portal. Their armor seemed alive, covered in twisting, dark essence.
The first orc roared, swinging a massive spiked club. Drax tilted his head, letting the motion read him — the air around his body rippled faintly as he shifted into combat stance.
> "Really? Two?" he said dryly, almost sarcastically.
The first swing came. Drax moved before it landed, his dagger flashing. Abyssal essence wrapped the blade, coating it like liquid shadow. When it struck, the orc didn't just bleed — its essence was devoured, its screams swallowed into the Abyss.
The second orc attacked, faster, smarter. But it was the same outcome. One touch, one slash, and it crumbled to nothing.
Drax wiped the mist of black essence off the blade. His eyes scanned the portal.
> "Family, stay inside. Call the Association. This… won't be quick."
The moment he stepped toward the portal, something shifted.
The S-rank portal shivered, its surface darkening as though it recognized him. Then the colors bled away entirely, leaving only pitch blackness, veins of crimson energy crawling across the surface.
> "Heh," Drax muttered. "Feels… like Abyssal rank."
No fear. Not a hint. The energy seeping from the portal resonated with his own. It was like a familiar friend, a mirror. The monsters inside weren't just dangerous — they were alive, adapted to kill awakeners of S-rank caliber with no mercy.
Drax's smile was cold, almost playful.
> "Everything I've faced so far… child's play. Let's see what real danger feels like."
He stepped through.
The world around him twisted immediately. The portal's interior was a storm of jagged terrain, floating islands of black rock, rivers of molten essence, and skies that screamed with the color of blood. The roar of monsters echoed across the fractured world, but Drax walked calmly.
> "Bring it," he said, voice low but dripping with sarcasm. "I've been waiting."
The portal responded to his presence. Every shadow, every distorted shape, seemed to bend slightly toward him — recognizing dominance.
The Abyssal World inside him stirred, black roots coiling in anticipation. Every fiber of his being thrummed with power.
> This… is nothing like before, Drax thought. This is what being a Monarch feels like.
The chapter ends with Drax striding deeper into the blackened storm, dagger in hand, essence flaring, the landscape itself seeming to bow to the presence of the All-Father stepping into Abyssal rank danger.
> "Let's play."