The world did not shatter all at once. It fractured slowly, like glass under strain.
Walls lost their solidity. Corners that had always been sharp now stretched into strange angles, bending into spaces that should not exist. Windows no longer opened to the outside but instead reflected other rooms, endless corridors of lightless glass repeating into infinity.
Every surface began to shine. Not polished, not natural—simply reflective, as though reality itself had been coated in liquid mirror. A step across the floor left ripples, distorting the reflections beneath. Sometimes the ripple returned not the shape that made it, but something else entirely.
The figure thrived in this new world. Its presence multiplied. No longer a single silhouette, but dozens—hundreds—each moving independently, each dragging long limbs across the surface of reality as though testing its limits. They crawled along ceilings, across walls, even through the floor beneath. Their hollow sockets stared from every angle, and no direction was safe.
Places that were once familiar twisted into labyrinths. Doors opened into corridors that folded back upon themselves, stairways led upward into rooms that should have been below, and windows opened into reflections of spaces that no longer existed. Space itself had become a hall of mirrors, endless and suffocating.
The Stalker's influence infected more than the environment. Reflections in glass began to misbehave. At first, they lingered a second too long after movement. Then they smiled when no smile was made, tilted their heads in directions the real body never moved. Eventually, the reflection stepped away entirely, becoming its own presence, moving with intent, with hunger.
And when the reflection was gone, so too was the one it belonged to.
There was no scream, no warning—only the sudden absence, erased as though they had never existed. The Stalker was no longer taking individuals through mirrors. It was consuming them whole, leaving behind only fractured reality, echoing footsteps, and shadows that multiplied without end.
The fractures deepened. The boundary between world and reflection no longer existed. What remained was neither mirror nor reality, but something in between—a fractured realm where The Hollow Stalker reigned.
And the world itself was being rewritten into its reflection.