**Welcome, Master. You've been out cold for a while.**
Ceron's voice echoed softly as Dax stirred awake. The black sphere hovered nearby, a cup of wine held in its mechanical grasp.
"Thank you, Ceron." Dax accepted the cup, his fingers tracing its smooth surface. He swirled the crimson liquid before taking a slow sip. Smooth, rich, yet carrying a faint metallic aftertaste—it reminded him of the battlefield.
His gaze sharpened. *I've wasted enough time here.* He shifted his attention.
"Inerous, how do I exit my lab space?"
**Master, all you have to do is relay the command: 'Return.'**
Dax nodded, draining the cup in one swift motion. A familiar wave of drowsiness brushed over him—a side effect of the potent brew tailored for Gagarions. Their bodies adapted quickly to intoxication, but this wine wasn't meant for leisure—it was a controlled poison, crafted to test the limits of even the strongest.
Before leaving, he clenched his fist and struck the nearest wall. A deep crack splintered through the pristine surface.
**Damage detected. Initiating repair.**
The warning resonated throughout the lab, and within moments, the damage began mending itself, the fracture sealing as if it had never existed.
Dax smirked. *Perfect.*
This lab was more than a refuge—it was the culmination of his struggles. A testament to his resilience. To his brilliance.
"I need to return before I attract too much attention," he murmured.
He gave the command. The sterile air of his lab vanished, replaced by the damp musk of his chamber. A dull glow flickered against the rough walls, welcoming him back to the imperfect world.
The shift was jarring. From the calculated stillness of his lab to the raw, unfiltered existence of this place. His sharp eyes immediately landed on the tray of food atop his bed—fresh clothing neatly folded beside it.
The aroma of roasted meat and spiced vegetables filled the air, an unexpected luxury.
"For a depressing place, they serve really good food," he muttered, smirking.
After finishing his meal, he left his quarters. The moment he stepped outside, a familiar presence blocked his path.
Mela.
Her gaze was unwavering, burning with something between hatred and challenge.
"Lowly human, I see you're making yourself comfortable." Her tone dripped with disdain. "But don't mistake Master's kindness for weakness. I see the way you look at us—like we're beneath you. For a weakling, you have quite the arrogance."
Dax held back a sigh. *So it's this again.*
Mela's hatred ran deep. She didn't know why, but every fiber of her being despised him.
"Mel—"
"Don't ever address me that way."
His smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew wider. More devilish.
"Madam Mela," he corrected smoothly. "Ever since you laid eyes on me, it's you who has looked at me with disdain. I believe this is the first time we've properly spoken, yet I've sensed your unhidden hatred—not just toward me, but toward humanity itself."
He had encountered this sentiment countless times before. The same contempt. The same desire to see his kind erased.
But unlike them, Dax had no loyalty to humanity. He had been betrayed by it. Crushed beneath it. If anything, he understood Mela's hatred better than she did.
Mela's eyes narrowed. Then, in a flash, she moved.
Faster than expected.
A vice-like grip wrapped around his throat.
"I dare you, human. Say that again."
Dax's eyes widened—not in fear, but in mild surprise. *She's strong.*
Her fingers pressed harder, testing, squeezing. But Dax had endured far worse. This? This was nothing.
His patience thinned. His hand shot up, gripping her wrist. A sharp twist—bone strained, and the pressure around his throat vanished.
Mela stumbled back, eyes widening.
His strength was abnormal. She had felt it.
"Madam," he said, voice steady, "refrain yourself."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Mela scoffed. "You're abnormally strong for a Level 15 human."
Dax stilled. His muscles tensed, his mind sharpening. *How does she know?*
"I see that got your attention." A sly smile played on her lips.
Dax said nothing, but his stance had shifted—subtle, but predatory. *Should I kill her?*
Mela tilted her head. "I have a skill called Appraisal."
Her eyes gleamed with an ethereal glow. "I can see the stats and skills of my target."
Dax remained silent. Calculating.
"But you…" Her expression darkened. "Something is blocking me."
The more she focused, the more blurred his information became. It was like staring into the sun—impossible to decipher.
Her frustration was evident. "Master must have noticed your abnormality. That's why she kept you alive. Otherwise, getting a master enchanter wouldn't be a problem."
But even as she spoke, she couldn't deny what she had witnessed—Dax's enchantments were unlike anything she had ever seen. No master enchanter she knew could forge weapons with their own blood. It was unnatural.
Unsettling.
Dangerous.
Yet before she could dwell on it, Dax moved.
Fast.
Mela barely had time to react before he was in the air, a devastating kick aimed at her skull.
Instinct kicked in. A dark force field materialized, crackling with energy.
The impact sent shockwaves through the air. The shield fractured.
Dax adjusted midair, twisting his body into a flawless follow-up attack. His fist struck the barrier's weakest point.
It shattered.
Mela's breath hitched. *He's a monster.*
This wasn't the Dax she had observed before. His killing intent coiled around her like a vice.
Her grip tightened around her dagger. *Master will be angry with me… but she'll forgive me over a mere slave.*
Without hesitation, she activated her Shadow Art, sinking into the darkness. Her shield detonated, sending a concussive wave outward.
Dax skidded back, but his movements remained fluid. His instincts flared—no need for Origin Eyes. He already knew where she was.
*There.*
A shift in his shadow. A flicker of intent.
His fist lashed out—Mela barely dodged, her body reappearing inches away.
Their eyes locked.
"You're really a monster," she muttered, shaken. "You even sensed the smallest leak of my killing intent."
Had she hesitated for a second longer, she would have been dead.
Dax's smile was gone. In its place, a cold, unreadable expression.
"Predator."
The single word was enough.
Mela's body tensed, readying another spell.
"Oh mighty shadow, welcome my enemy into your—"
"Stop!"
A voice cut through the air, laced with authority.
Instantly, Dax halted. His bloodlust dissipated, his expression smoothing over as if the battle had never happened.
Mela appeared behind Dalia, her head bowed. "I'm sorry, Master. Please punish me."
Dalia exhaled sharply. "I'll deal with you later." She turned to Dax. "Apologize."
Mela stiffened. "Wha—"
"Now."
"…I'm sorry, Dax." The words were empty, forced.
Dalia ignored her insincerity. She turned back to Dax, her gaze unreadable.
"Master Dax, I apologize for my servant's behavior. But I have rules, and I do not tolerate internal fighting. Refrain yourself next time."
Dax met her stare, unmoving.
Then, his voice came, cool and unwavering. "You watched from the start. You only interfered when it escalated. Why?"
Dalia held his gaze for a moment. Then, her lips curled into something cold.
"Know your place," she said simply. "Though you are a Godfall, you are still a slave."
With that, she turned and walked away.
Dax stood still, the weight of her words settling over him.
Then, slowly, he smiled.