The forest did not have time to recover.
Before the smoke could settle…
before the Abyssal Sea could fully retract…
before the mountain could finish groaning—
Velgrid laughed.
It was deep. Low. Ancient.
The sound rolled through the ruins like distant thunder, shaking loose ash from the trees that still stood and splitting the cracked earth even further.
Drax paused.
Velgrid straightened slowly, blood—golden and molten—sliding down his forearm. He flexed his fingers once… twice… and then stopped pretending.
"You've earned it," Velgrid said, voice resonating unnaturally. "Very few have."
The air collapsed inward.
Reality bent.
Velgrid's humanoid form began to fracture—bones snapping outward, muscles swelling and rearranging. His spine elongated violently, tearing through flesh as black scales erupted from beneath his skin.
The ground cracked as his mass increased.
Wings unfurled.
Not formed—torn into existence.
Each wing was vast, blotting out the sky, membranes etched with molten veins of crimson energy. His arms elongated into claws the size of siege weapons, fingers tipped with talons that glowed white-hot at their edges.
His head reshaped last.
A massive draconic skull emerged, horns spiraling backward like carved obsidian towers. His eyes ignited—twin suns burning behind slitted pupils.
When Velgrid finished transforming—
The true ruler of the forest stood revealed.
The volcano behind him erupted in response.
Lava surged skyward like a crown.
Black scales covered his body—dense, layered, impossibly compact. They didn't shimmer or glow.
They absorbed.
Nuclear-pasta density—matter compressed to the edge of absurdity, each scale heavier than mountains, resistant to force, heat, and annihilation alike.
Velgrid inhaled.
The sky trembled.
"I was born before your kind learned fear," the dragon rumbled. "Before inner worlds had names."
Drax stared up at him.
Slowly…
He smiled.
"…Good."
The Abyss responded.
Not violently.
Not explosively.
Inevitably.
The black sea expanded outward in a perfect circle, swallowing terrain, trees, magma, and flame alike. The stars above multiplied, false constellations forming in impossible geometry.
The red moon descended further.
Its pupil widened.
Drax raised his hand.
And the Abyssal World pushed into reality.
Not an overlay.
Not a domain.
An encroachment.
The temperature dropped sharply—not cold, but absence. Sound warped. Light dimmed. Even gravity felt hesitant, as though unsure whether it was still welcome here.
Velgrid's wings beat once, generating a hurricane of superheated wind.
Drax didn't move.
Black water surged upward, hardening mid-air into jagged spires that tore through the gale and shattered it. The Abyss drank the force, growing denser, deeper.
"You adapt frighteningly fast," Velgrid said, lowering his head.
"I own what I adapt to," Drax replied.
His blade appeared in his hand.
Forged from the Black Tree of the Abyssal World, its surface absorbed all light, its edge undefined—existing somewhere between physical matter and conceptual severance.
Abyssal essence poured into it.
Not coating it.
Claiming it.
The blade screamed—not audibly, but existentially. Space around its edge thinned, reality recoiling from contact.
Velgrid lunged.
The ground detonated as his massive body moved faster than something that size ever should. His claw came down like divine judgment, weight and heat sufficient to erase cities.
Drax stepped forward.
He slashed.
The collision shook the world.
The claw met the blade—
—and for the first time, Velgrid felt resistance inside his scales.
The Abyss bit.
Black fractures spiderwebbed across Velgrid's talons, draining heat, draining force, draining dominance. Velgrid roared and reared back, wings beating violently as he unleashed a torrent of dragonfire point-blank.
Drax vanished into shadow.
He reappeared above Velgrid's skull, driving the blade downward.
The impact sent both of them crashing through the forest floor, burying them deep into the earth. Shockwaves rippled outward, flattening the last standing trees miles away.
Velgrid surged upward, smashing Drax into the sky.
They collided mid-air.
Claw. Blade. Wing. Fist.
Each exchange tore chunks from the world below. Velgrid's raw power was overwhelming now—every strike carried extinction-level force.
But Drax kept growing stronger.
Every hit fed the Abyss.
Every clash deepened his world's presence.
Velgrid slammed Drax through a mountain ridge.
Drax stood back up.
Velgrid crushed him into the ground.
Drax rose again.
"You don't break," Velgrid growled.
"I don't end," Drax corrected.
He thrust his blade into the ground.
The Abyss erupted.
A colossal black sea surged upward, forming a vast circular basin around them, its surface reflecting stars that did not exist. Chains of void-light rose from its depths, latching onto Velgrid's limbs and wings.
Velgrid struggled.
For the first time—
He slowed.
"This isn't dominance," Velgrid snarled. "This is imprisonment!"
"No," Drax said calmly, walking forward. "This is my territory."
He appeared before Velgrid's massive eye and drove the blade forward—
Not to kill.
But to mark.
The blade pierced Velgrid's scales, Abyssal essence flooding inward. Velgrid roared in fury and pain as his body convulsed, chains tightening, the sea surging higher.
Drax twisted the blade once… then pulled it free.
The chains dissolved.
The sea receded.
Velgrid collapsed to one knee, breathing heavily, steam rising from his scales. Blood—thick, blackened gold—dripped onto the ruined earth.
Drax stood before him, blade resting on his shoulder.
"I could end you," he said quietly.
Velgrid looked up at him, eyes burning—but clear.
"…But you won't."
"No," Drax agreed. "You're more useful alive."
Silence settled.
The volcano calmed.
The red moon faded slightly.
Velgrid exhaled slowly, then laughed again—this time low, genuine.
"The forest remembers now," the dragon said. "And so do I."
Drax turned away.
"Rest," he said. "Next time, I won't be testing."
Behind him, Velgrid watched—defeated, but not broken.
And deep beneath the forest, something ancient stirred, awakened by the collision of worlds.