Tyler no longer recognized the man in the mirror.
His face had grown thin, his skin stretched tight across sharp cheekbones, lips pale and cracked. His eyes were the worst: one dull and human, the other shining with a feverish light that flickered whenever the whispers grew louder.
Jackson tried to ground him, tried to anchor him with steady hands and trembling words. "Tyler, stay with me. Look at me, not at it. You're stronger than this. You can fight it."
Tyler wanted to believe him. He wanted to reach out and hold onto Jackson, to let his warmth drag him back to the surface. But inside, something was pulling. His chest felt hollow, carved open, as if hands were reaching from within to rip him apart.
Let go, the voice murmured, seductive and patient. Stop fighting. Stop suffering. Let me live.
The apartment groaned with the sound of bending wood and straining pipes. Shadows thickened in the corners, crawling up the walls like oil spreading across paper. The air grew heavy, damp, alive with static. Every reflective surface—what few shards of glass Tyler hadn't destroyed—rippled as if water were trapped beneath them.
Jackson backed away, dragging Tyler with him, but the mirrors bulged outward. Faces pressed against the surfaces: his face, but distorted, twisted into dozens of smirking reflections, each whispering the same phrase.
IM BACK~
Tyler dropped to his knees. His nails dug into his arms hard enough to break skin, blood welling in crescent moons. His body convulsed. His head snapped back as if yanked by invisible strings.
Jackson clutched him, voice raw. "I'm not losing you! Tyler, please—fight it!"
For a brief instant, Tyler surfaced. His eyes locked on Jackson's, wet with desperate clarity. His lips formed a whisper: "Run."
And then the reflection surged forward.
The lights exploded, plunging the apartment into darkness. The sound of shattering glass thundered as every mirror, every screen, every glossy surface cracked open like splitting skin. From the shards, hands reached out—slick, blackened, claw-tipped—crawling across the floor toward them.
Tyler's body jerked violently, a scream ripping from his throat that was not entirely human. His back arched, limbs contorting, as though something inside him was clawing its way through his skin. His voice split into two—one screaming, one laughing.
The reflection's voice filled the room, layered and booming as if spoken by a thousand mouths.
"Finally. The door is open completely."
The floor shook. Shadows swelled upward, wrapping Tyler like a cocoon, lifting him from Jackson's arms. Jackson clawed at the darkness, shouting his name, but his fingers slipped through smoke.
For one moment, Tyler's face broke through, streaked with tears, eyes wide with terror. "Jackson!" he screamed. "Don't let it—"
His voice cut off as the shadows consumed him completely.
Then—silence.
The apartment stilled. The air reeked of ozone and blood. Jackson crouched among the wreckage, shaking, surrounded by broken glass and claw marks gouged deep into the floorboards.
A shard of mirror near him quivered, catching his eye. He leaned closer, heart hammering.
In its fractured surface, Tyler stood tall and smiling, untouched by pain or exhaustion. His posture was wrong. His eyes gleamed with cruel, unholy brightness.
He lifted a finger to his lips and whispered as he held up a white masquerade mask to his face:
"Shhh~ all in due time~ all in due time."
The shard cracked down the middle, splitting the image into two—and then went dark.
Jackson was left alone in the ruins, the whisper echoing in his skull.