Outside the void, Melissa fell to her knees, her breath shallow, her body trembling under the weight of pain. Blood trickled down her arms and legs, mixing with the dirt beneath her. Cuts and bruises covered nearly every inch of her skin, some clotted over, others still raw and stinging. Her muscles ached with every twitch, and sharp pulses of agony throbbed in her ribs where something inside had cracked—or maybe broken entirely. She could hardly feel her fingers, but she clung to the faintest spark of hope as if her life depended on it.
The void loomed in front of her, a swirling, infinite darkness that seemed to breathe and pulse with unnatural energy. It was cold, not in temperature, but in presence—soulless, empty, and hungry. She had no idea what lay beyond it. No one ever really did.
But she waited.
Her vision blurred from exhaustion and blood loss. Her limbs screamed for rest. And still, she waited.
Then she heard it.
A voice.
Deep, clear, and brimming with the same confident edge she could never forget.
Her heart lurched in her chest.
"That voice… it's him. It's Dylan."
Her lips parted in disbelief, and a tear traced a clean path down her filthy cheek. The sound of his voice broke through her pain like sunlight piercing storm clouds. It wasn't just familiar—it was grounding. Solid. Real. She knew him. Knew the way his voice rose ever so slightly when he was about to take command, the subtle rhythm of his words when he was calm but dangerous. There was no mistaking it. It was definitely him.
Hope flooded her veins, bright and sudden. For a moment, it washed away the agony. She tried to stand, her legs trembling beneath her, as if drawn toward that voice. He's alive. He's coming back. He made it through the void. I'm not alone.
But then—laughter.
Loud. Manic. Unhinged.
Melissa froze.
It echoed out of the void, a sharp, insane cackle that sent shivers racing down her spine. Her hope faltered, teetering on the edge of fear. Her brows furrowed in confusion.
"Why is he laughing like that?" she whispered aloud, voice hoarse. "What the hell is going on?"
The laughter continued, echoing, layered, rising in pitch. It wasn't joyful. It wasn't Dylan—not the Dylan she knew. Not the Dylan who protected her, who faced the impossible with a grin and a sharp mind. This laughter was wrong. Twisted. Like something inside him had snapped. Or been… taken.
Her stomach turned.
"Has the void done something to him?" she wondered. "Has it driven him insane? Is he even still… him?"
Her hands clenched into fists, though her arms trembled with weakness. She didn't know what scared her more—losing Dylan forever, or seeing him come back as someone… else.
And still, that laughter echoed, haunting and cruel.
And she could only wait.
The creature smiled—no, twisted its face into something resembling a grin, though it bore no joy. Only darkness. A hideous reaction, carved in fury and disbelief.
"The first time…" it growled, voice echoing like thunder in a storm-torn sky. "The first time a human has not only dared to sit on my throne… but has pushed me forward…" Its voice rose into a furious scream, vibrating through the void. "AND CHALLENGED ME IN MY OWN DOMAIN!"
Its breath burned like molten tar. Rage spilled from its pores. This was an insult it could not forgive—a defilement of its power, its reign, its sacred terror.
But Dylan remained unfazed.
Sitting lazily on the throne, legs crossed, arms draped over the rests like a king without a care in the world, he simply tilted his head and smirked.
"You gonna keep yapping," he said coolly, "or do you actually have the strength to fight this 'monster' you keep bragging about?"
The creature let out a laugh, wild and guttural, like bones cracking underwater. In a heartbeat, it unfurled enormous wings—ancient, leathery things soaked in void energy—and launched itself high into the air before diving straight down, fangs glinting like obsidian blades.
But Dylan moved like a whisper.
A blink—and he was gone from the throne, narrowly dodging the brutal dive. The creature didn't pause; it was relentless. With a snarl, it ripped open its flesh, revealing three hidden arms covered in chitin and shadow, each ending in a claw that could shred steel.
They came at him—slashing, tearing, striking from every angle.
But Dylan was too fast.
He weaved through the attacks with impossible precision, sliding under limbs, leaping between claw strikes, vanishing and reappearing mid-air in flickers of light. His footwork was a blur; his reflexes sharp as a blade. He darted across the battlefield, drawing the creature into a frenzied chase.
Then, in a flash, Dylan teleported again—and when the creature turned, enraged and disoriented, he saw him.
Back on the throne.
A glass of red wine in hand.
Dylan took a sip, his expression amused.
"You smoke?" he asked. "If yes, any chance you've got a cigarette and a lighter? Hard to find anything in this black hole—or whatever this is."
The creature roared, more furious than ever. It hurled itself through the air, fangs wide, screaming with blind rage.
Dylan sighed. "You really never learn, do you?"
At the last second, he flipped backward, dodging the attack. With one swift motion, he summoned his molecular-sharp claws—silver extensions of will and power—and blocked the beast's bite. Then, springing into the air, he landed a solid kick to the creature's head, sending it crashing backward into its own throne, smashing it into pieces.
Dylan stood tall and cracked his knuckles.
"Look what you did," he said mockingly. "I told you—you're nowhere near beating me, you dumb beast."
The creature didn't speak. It charged instead, this time with its colossal legs. One struck Dylan like a meteor. He flew across the void, crashing into the darkness with a thunderous impact.
"So…" Dylan coughed, blood on his lips, "you're finally getting serious, huh?"
Without hesitation, both of them soared into the air, their auras colliding like stars going supernova. Dylan had no wings—but he had teleportation, bending space to launch himself at the creature.
They clashed mid-air, blow after blow. Dylan slashed viciously, but the creature regenerated with every strike, growing stronger. Hungrier. It laughed with every cut, mocking Dylan's efforts.
"I'll show you what power is," the creature growled. "I'll show you your place, you insignificant human."
Suddenly, the beast vanished.
Gone—completely. Swallowed into the black.
Dylan hovered, eyes darting. "Shit."
He was blind. Powerless. Alone in the endless void. The creature used the shadows against him, striking from within. In a single, devastating lunge, it appeared behind him, sinking its massive fang across Dylan's chest.
Blood sprayed.
Gallons of it.
Dylan's vision dimmed as pain overwhelmed his senses. He crashed down—hard—into the bottomless black, barely conscious. Everything around him was silent, save for the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his own dying heart.
He could barely breathe.
"Is this… the end of my chapter?" he murmured, voice a faint rasp. "I didn't deserve this…"
Floating alone in the darkness, he saw it—the creature. Towering. Galactic. Its entire body lit with galaxies and horrors, approaching with final intent.
It raised a massive claw for the killing blow.
And in the next moment—
BLOOD.
A violent spray filled the void. Crimson painted the blackness, like rivers of red tearing through space itself.
But whose blood was it?
And who struck first?