The presence circling Yves was a being of the brightest ashen light. But only at first glance; then Yves realised that everything was fundamentally wrong. The Stalker appeared distorted, roaming amidst the shard structures emerging behind the colossal Vicha, at a greater distance than the voice implied. He was not much taller than the wandering entities but lacked their geometrical intricacy of shards and light. His form had the fluidity of smoke, which in this fractured world appeared surreal and false. Yves felt him more than seeing him; his presence was raw energy compressed into a fluid form, not insubstantial like mist, but a silhouette so potent that it seemed severed from the world, now expanding and rapidly obscuring everything around Yves.
“𝔈𝔵𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔦𝔩,” the Stalker said.
As this energy enveloped him atop of the Vicha, Yves faltered under the pressure. The weight of the Stalker’s presence bore down on the Vicha, the sole barrier between them. Through brute intensity, the heavy liquid energy forced the rotten mass further into Yves. Yves strained to maintain awareness, to perceive his form in its entirety, to delineate the boundary between the energy that was him and what was not, what was within his control and what tore into him. The Breath of Light was long suffocated and his voice again reduced to horrid screeching. The compressed light within him burned through his core, out of his core, where pain took its place.
RUN!
“ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔬𝔲𝔱, 𝔴𝔦𝔷𝔞𝔯𝔡,” the Stalker said.
RUN!
NO!
The raw energy emanating from him was so powerful, so intense, that it disrupted all that surrounded Yves. He fractured shards. He bent light. He forced the Vicha into Yves. He was watching Yves die.
NO!
“ℑ 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔦𝔱,” the Stalker said.
Everything in Yves screamed.
NO!
RUN!
RUN NOW!
He had no time to struggle with words. No time to justify himself or seek answers. He had the mirror world stalker around him, the Vicha between them and within him, and only seconds until the curse would breach his last outer shard layer, pierce through his many layers of light and touch his core. And he had his mirror right below him.
The presence circling Yves was a being of the brightest ashen light. But only at first glance; then Yves realised that everything was fundamentally wrong. The Stalker appeared distorted, roaming amidst the shard structures emerging behind the colossal Vicha, at a greater distance than the voice implied. He was not much taller than the wandering entities but lacked their geometrical intricacy of shards and light. His form had the fluidity of smoke, which in this fractured world appeared surreal and false. Yves felt him more than seeing him; his presence was raw energy compressed into a fluid form, not insubstantial like mist, but a silhouette so potent that it seemed severed from the world, now expanding and rapidly obscuring everything around Yves.
“𝔈𝔵𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔦𝔩,” the Stalker said.
As this energy enveloped him atop of the Vicha, Yves faltered under the pressure. The weight of the Stalker’s presence bore down on the Vicha, the sole barrier between them. Through brute intensity, the heavy liquid energy forced the rotten mass further into Yves. Yves strained to maintain awareness, to perceive his form in its entirety, to delineate the boundary between the energy that was him and what was not, what was within his control and what tore into him. The Breath of Light was long suffocated and his voice again reduced to horrid screeching. The compressed light within him burned through his core, out of his core, where pain took its place.
The presence circling Yves was a being of the brightest ashen light. But only at first glance; then Yves realised that everything was fundamentally wrong. The Stalker appeared distorted, roaming amidst the shard structures emerging behind the colossal Vicha, at a greater distance than the voice implied. He was not much taller than the wandering entities but lacked their geometrical intricacy of shards and light. His form had the fluidity of smoke, which in this fractured world appeared surreal and false. Yves felt him more than seeing him; his presence was raw energy compressed into a fluid form, not insubstantial like mist, but a silhouette so potent that it seemed severed from the world, now expanding and rapidly obscuring everything around Yves.
“𝔈𝔵𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔦𝔩,” the Stalker said.
As this energy enveloped him atop of the Vicha, Yves faltered under the pressure. The weight of the Stalker’s presence bore down on the Vicha, the sole barrier between them. Through brute intensity, the heavy liquid energy forced the rotten mass further into Yves. Yves strained to maintain awareness, to perceive his form in its entirety, to delineate the boundary between the energy that was him and what was not, what was within his control and what tore into him. The Breath of Light was long suffocated and his voice again reduced to horrid screeching. The compressed light within him burned through his core, out of his core, where pain took its place.
RUN!
“ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔬𝔲𝔱, 𝔴𝔦𝔷𝔞𝔯𝔡,” the Stalker said.
RUN!
NO!
The raw energy emanating from him was so powerful, so intense, that it disrupted all that surrounded Yves. He fractured shards. He bent light. He forced the Vicha into Yves. He was watching Yves die.
NO!
“ℑ 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔦𝔱,” the Stalker said.
Everything in Yves screamed.
NO!
RUN!
RUN NOW!
He had no time to struggle with words. No time to justify himself or seek answers. He had the mirror world stalker around him, the Vicha between them and within him, and only seconds until the curse would breach his last outer shard layer, pierce through his many layers of light and touch his core. And he had his mirror right below him.
The presence circling Yves was a being of the brightest ashen light. But only at first glance; then Yves realised that everything was fundamentally wrong. The Stalker appeared distorted, roaming amidst the shard structures emerging behind the colossal Vicha, at a greater distance than the voice implied. He was not much taller than the wandering entities but lacked their geometrical intricacy of shards and light. His form had the fluidity of smoke, which in this fractured world appeared surreal and false. Yves felt him more than seeing him; his presence was raw energy compressed into a fluid form, not insubstantial like mist, but a silhouette so potent that it seemed severed from the world, now expanding and rapidly obscuring everything around Yves.
“𝔈𝔵𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔦𝔩,” the Stalker said.
As this energy enveloped him atop of the Vicha, Yves faltered under the pressure. The weight of the Stalker’s presence bore down on the Vicha, the sole barrier between them. Through brute intensity, the heavy liquid energy forced the rotten mass further into Yves. Yves strained to maintain awareness, to perceive his form in its entirety, to delineate the boundary between the energy that was him and what was not, what was within his control and what tore into him. The Breath of Light was long suffocated and his voice again reduced to horrid screeching. The compressed light within him burned through his core, out of his core, where pain took its place.
The presence circling Yves was a being of the brightest ashen light. But only at first glance; then Yves realised that everything was fundamentally wrong. The Stalker appeared distorted, roaming amidst the shard structures emerging behind the colossal Vicha, at a greater distance than the voice implied. He was not much taller than the wandering entities but lacked their geometrical intricacy of shards and light. His form had the fluidity of smoke, which in this fractured world appeared surreal and false. Yves felt him more than seeing him; his presence was raw energy compressed into a fluid form, not insubstantial like mist, but a silhouette so potent that it seemed severed from the world, now expanding and rapidly obscuring everything around Yves.
“𝔈𝔵𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔦𝔩,” the Stalker said.
As this energy enveloped him atop of the Vicha, Yves faltered under the pressure. The weight of the Stalker’s presence bore down on the Vicha, the sole barrier between them. Through brute intensity, the heavy liquid energy forced the rotten mass further into Yves. Yves strained to maintain awareness, to perceive his form in its entirety, to delineate the boundary between the energy that was him and what was not, what was within his control and what tore into him. The Breath of Light was long suffocated and his voice again reduced to horrid screeching. The compressed light within him burned through his core, out of his core, where pain took its place.
RUN!
“ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔬𝔲𝔱, 𝔴𝔦𝔷𝔞𝔯𝔡,” the Stalker said.
RUN!
NO!
The raw energy emanating from him was so powerful, so intense, that it disrupted all that surrounded Yves. He fractured shards. He bent light. He forced the Vicha into Yves. He was watching Yves die.
NO!
“ℑ 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔦𝔱,” the Stalker said.
NO!
RUN!
Everything in Yves screamed.
RUN NOW!
He had no time to struggle with words. No time to justify himself or seek answers. He had the mirror world stalker around him, the Vicha between them and within him, and only seconds until the curse would breach his last outer shard layer, pierce through his many layers of light and touch his core. And he had his mirror right below him.
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