After defeating the King of Sentinels, the strange realm known as the White Void—now slowly turning into something more unstable, something more volatile—began to tremble. Cracks, jagged and spreading like veins of light through glass, splintered across the infinite white space. The once serene silence fractured with an invisible pressure. Fury. Rage. The realm itself seemed to be howling in protest.
Before the void could shatter completely into shards of oblivion, a voice echoed from above—not spoken, but felt. It was like a whisper carved into Dylan's very soul, ancient and commanding.
"No one before has managed to escape this dark void," the voice began, reverberating like the hum of dying stars. "You not only defeated the creature… but you broke the very matrix that binds this prison. As you know, I have already given you your reward for bravery—I hope it pleased you. But before we part ways…"
There was a pause—a weight in the air, as though reality itself was holding its breath.
"Since the king is dead… the Sentinels require a new monarch. And I have chosen you. You, Dylan, are the finest choice to lead them—your strength, your fury, your will… they surpass all others. You will command them. And with this, comes power beyond even what you now know."
The moment the voice ceased, the white void shattered like a mirror slammed with divine force. Glass-like fragments of light fell around Dylan, scattering into a pitch-black abyss. A silence followed—deep, thick, alive with waiting.
Then, laughter. Dylan's laughter.
Low at first, then rising into something sharp and mocking, echoing into the darkness.
"He was the king? That insect? Seriously? Oh my god… hahahahaha!" His voice rang through the pitch black like thunder in a void, raw and half-mad. The absurdity of it all tickled something twisted in him.
And then—flash.
A blinding brilliance, pure and merciless, exploded in front of him. It stabbed into his eyes like burning needles, and Dylan staggered, crying out as pain flared in his sockets. He clenched his eyes shut against the agony, but the light wasn't just around him—it was inside him, searing its way into his very being.
Moments passed like centuries. Then, slowly, his body adjusted. His muscles relaxed. His breath evened. And he opened his eyes.
What he saw ahead was not darkness or void, but a corridor of light—a path paved not with stone or earth, but with glimmers of celestial energy. Standing behind him, motionless yet ready, were the Sentinels.
No longer enemies. Now his army.
Their forms—once twisted and hostile—were calmer now, more regal. Their glowing eyes followed his every move, awaiting commands, accepting his rule. Each one bore the mark of the slain king burned into their armor—but beneath it, a new symbol began to pulse: Dylan's own.
As Dylan stepped forward, the darkness around the corridor stirred. His black, resonating aura—once only a defensive meditation—now flowed like a living river from his body, cloaking his soldiers. It pulsed in harmony with the new power humming in his veins.
He was more than a man now.
More than a conqueror.
He was the Commander of the Sentinels. He was the one who broke the void.
A rupture in the void opened like a wound in space. Dylan turned his head, calmly. It was time.
With a thought, he stepped forward—and was gone.
He reappeared outside the void in a flash of crimson light, hovering just above the fractured earth where Melissa still knelt, battered and broken.
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him.
"Dylan…?" she whispered, almost afraid to believe it.
His feet touched the ground gently, yet the air still trembled. The soil cracked beneath him from residual energy. He looked at her—not with pity, not with worry, but with quiet understanding. He knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"I told you I'd come back," he said softly, his voice carrying a new depth. It echoed faintly, like it belonged to a being from beyond this world.
She stared at him, eyes wide, barely recognizing him.
And then—a sound.
Not thunder. Not footsteps.
A march.
From behind the veil of the void, dozens of portals began to open—circles of light and energy, part technology, part arcane.
And from each one, they emerged.
Figures in gleaming armor, forged from celestial alloys and imbued with ancient magic. Sentinels—each at least eight feet tall, cloaked in dark crimson and silver, their visors glowing with the same energy Dylan now carried within him. Their movements were perfect. Synchronized. Silent.
An army.
His army.
They formed rows behind him, kneeling as one in absolute obedience. Their formation was flawless. Reverent.
Melissa gasped. "W-What the fuck?"
"Sentinels," Dylan said. "Awakened by the energy I released. They've waited... for centuries. Waiting for a signal. A reason."
He turned to face the horizon, where storm clouds now began to part under the weight of his aura.
"They've chosen me as their commander."
The sentinels stood in unison. A massive banner materialized from light behind them—an insignia none had seen for eons: a crimson flame wrapped around a circle of void, symbolizing balance through destruction.
Dylan walked forward slowly, his cloak of energy trailing behind him like a royal mantle. The earth bent with every step, not in submission, but in respect. He was no longer just a challenger or survivor.
He was a warbringer. A leader. A harbinger of judgment.
Melissa stood, still weak, but stronger in his presence.
"What now?" she asked.
"Now?" Dylan replied, with a half-smile.
"Let's get some rest."