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Chapter 13: Fragments kept in chains

Chapter 13: Fragments kept in chains

Drax stood at the viewport of the Milano, the Guardians of the Galaxy's ship, and gazed out into the cosmos. Beyond the stars, he saw the remnants of battles waged by beings of godlike power—scars etched across the fabric of reality. For a moment, he felt old, ancient even, weighed down by memories that haunted him like specters from a forgotten time.

In the quiet solitude of space, Drax's thoughts inevitably turned to his past—a past marred by tragedy and loss. He remembered his wife, Ovette, and his daughter, Kamaria, their faces etched in his mind with a painful clarity. They had been innocent victims caught in the crossfire of war, their lives extinguished beneath the relentless march of their enemies.

Drax was jaded, a warrior adrift in a universe that no longer held purpose for him. Anguish coiled within him like a serpent, his grief and rage a constant companion wrapped in the flesh of a killing machine. Despite his outward stoicism, he carried the weight of his past like a burden he could never fully escape.

The other members of the Guardians knew Drax as a formidable fighter, a force to be reckoned with in battle. They respected his skills and his unwavering loyalty, but they did not know the depths of his pain. To them, he was the Butcher of Gadbora—an infamous title earned during his days of wanton destruction, when he had laid waste to civilizations in pursuit of glory and revenge.

But Drax kept his past locked away, hidden behind a facade of gruff indifference and occasional bursts of humor. He rarely spoke of Ovette and Kamaria, choosing instead to bury his grief beneath layers of righteous fury. Yet, there were moments when the memories clawed their way to the surface, when the itch for violence returned—a primal urge to slaughter in remembrance of all he had lost.

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As he stood alone at the viewport, Drax clenched his fists, the scars on his knuckles a testament to the countless battles he had fought and survived. He had sworn an oath to protect the innocent, to ensure that others did not suffer the same fate as his family. But in the depths of his soul, he knew that no amount of vengeance could bring them back.

The stars blurred as tears welled in Drax's eyes, emotions he rarely allowed himself to feel. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the overwhelming tide of sorrow threatening to engulf him. His reflection in the viewport betrayed the conflict within—a warrior haunted by his past, seeking redemption in a universe that seemed indifferent to his pain.

In the distance, a celestial storm raged—a cosmic reminder of the battles that raged beyond mortal comprehension. Drax watched the swirling maelstrom of energy and debris, a silent witness to the chaos that defined existence itself.

As the Milano hurtled through the cosmos, carrying Drax and the Guardians towards their next adventure, he knew that his journey was far from over. He would continue to fight, not just for vengeance, but for a flicker of hope amidst the darkness—a hope that somewhere, somehow, peace could be found, even if it remained elusive to him.

And so, with each passing star and each new horizon, Drax carried the weight of his past, a testament to the complexity of his existence—a warrior scarred by loss, driven by purpose, and bound by the unbreakable ties of family and memory.