Just because Dylan and the whole cohort had a little relief and were a little bit free after defeating the grotesque creatures of the dark space, the cathedral they stood in began to shift. It creaked and whined like something alive, and in mere seconds, the corrupted gothic structure melted away into something eerily pristine. The cracked pillars healed, the blood-soaked marble gleamed with unnatural shine, and the shattered windows were replaced with glowing white panes. What stood before them now was a cathedral of pure white—every wall, every surface gleaming like bone in moonlight.
Dylan wasn't surprised. He had expected something twisted to happen. Nothing in this place—wherever they were—was ever truly safe. Every break was a trap. Every silence was the prelude to screaming. He stood calmly in the center of the space, eyes narrow, mind racing. This was the pattern of the place: chaos followed calm.
The rest of the cohort? Predictable. Lilith and Zephyr were already bickering over kill counts, her snarling and stomping like a wildcat while he responded with his usual smug grin. Necros was completely silent, but his sunken eyes had narrowed, scanning the white cathedral with purpose. He sensed something. Only Tenshin seemed truly disturbed. He was tense, unnaturally still, like a predator aware of a greater predator nearby.
Before they could react further, the white space erupted in supernatural madness.
Thousands—yes, thousands—of jet-black mirrors materialized around the cathedral, suspended midair like windows into madness. The air went cold. Each mirror rippled and cracked, then shattered outward like glass blown apart by force. From the broken mirror shards came the intruders: beings of unholy design—demon lords unlike anything the cohort had ever faced.
These were not mindless monsters. These were entities from the Mirror World, and their very presence twisted the logic of space around them. They had long, elongated skull-like faces with bony, chiseled structure, their massive curved horns arcing upward like claws ripping through the air. Their eyes—pits of black flame—pierced through the cathedral's light with malice incarnate. Their bodies were cloaked in dark, feather-like fur and shadows that constantly shifted and bled into the space around them. Their long skeletal arms ended in clawed fingers that were clasped together as if in eternal prayer, a mockery of holiness.
Dylan narrowed his eyes. This was no accident. No randomness. There was intelligence behind this—cruel, ancient intelligence. His instincts, sharpened by surviving impossible things, told him: these creatures were sent to test them, to destroy the weak. There would be no salvation here. Only another trial.
He clenched his fists, then extended them outward. His claws extended. Long. Serrated. Familiar. A calmness passed through him as he stepped forward from the others.
Lilith screamed, "What the fuck are you doing?! They're not your average creeps!"
Dylan turned his head slightly, smirking. "Now watch me, weaklings."
"What did you say?!" she yelled, but he was already walking forward, toward the army of demon lords that had begun to close in.
Behind him, Zephyr smiled faintly. "Shit bout to get wild."
Dylan lifted into the air, not with wings but by aura—his meditation technique. A dark, humming shadow pulsated around him. Necros tilted his head slightly, more curious than shocked. "So he was holding back."
Lilith cursed. "That brat was playing us the whole damn time."
In the air, Dylan opened his eyes—no longer the look of a boy, but a killer who had seen too much and bled too long. With one forward slash, he tore the air open, sending a devastating wave forward. It crashed into the army like a tidal wave of blades. Dozens were sliced in half. Hundreds flew backward. The very air screamed as the force cut through it.
The rest of the cohort stood frozen.
Dylan didn't stop. He vanished into the mass of demon lords, his claws spinning, cutting, tearing them apart like fabric. The demon lords were fast, but Dylan was faster—and smarter. They attacked in clusters, some trying to ambush from behind, but Dylan had activated his Shadow Resonance—the meditative aura gifted by the Black Void after defeating the King of Sentinels. The resonance slowed attacks from behind and shielded his back. It shimmered like obsidian armor.
He laughed, leaping from demon to demon, "Too slow."
Then something strange happened. Heads began exploding—not by Dylan's claws, but by another force. One after another, the creatures burst, their regeneration halted.
Dylan turned mid-air, and there he was—Zephyr. Floating above, his blood-soaked white coat glowing like hellfire.
Lilith landed beside Dylan with her shotgun, blasting through a line of demon lords. "You're not the only one allowed to have fun."
Her bullets—jagged, glowing red—pierced through the monsters with paralyzing impact, shattering internal structures. Tenshin joined, his arrows flying like rain, each shot hitting vital points. Necros remained still, watching. He hadn't used his powers—not yet. He knew if he did, the entire space would break.
Together, the cohort turned the battle into a massacre. Dylan danced through the battlefield, limbs drenched in black blood. Lilith screamed, giddy from the thrill. Zephyr moved like lightning, his movements unpredictable and precise. Tenshin whispered to his arrows, each one a silent curse.
Hours passed. Blood pooled into rivers. Bodies stacked upon bodies. In the end, only silence remained.
Lilith wiped blood from her face and grinned. "We did it again. Why the hell are you all so tired?"
They were all exhausted, soaked in demon blood.
But just as Dylan allowed himself a breath of relief, fate struck him harder than ever.
A mass of dark cloud erupted behind him. Tendrils of shadow gripped him like chains and flung him like a ragdoll. His body crashed through the white wall behind him—shattering it like glass. He screamed as he fell into the hole it left behind.
There was no bottom.
He fell.
And kept falling.
Deeper. And deeper.
The light of the cathedral disappeared behind him. Only black remained. Time warped. Space bent. He fell for minutes. Hours. Then a day. Then a year. Time made no sense.
Still falling.
Two years. Three. Four. Five.
Then finally… he landed.
On cold black stone.
The impact didn't kill him. Instead, it jarred him into awareness. He gasped and opened his eyes, his body aching.
He sat up slowly.
He looked at his hands—larger. His arms—muscular. His fingers—worn with callouses. He stood up and felt his body unfamiliar. His hair was long, down to his chest. He looked to the side and saw broken mirror shards. In one, he caught his reflection.
He wasn't the same. He was older. Stronger. Different.
Six years had passed.
"What the fuck is this place?" he whispered.
Then, a voice echoed. Feminine. Eerie. Alluring.
"Welcome, Dylan… to your new nightmare."