The descent was instant.
One blink, and the world unraveled.
Color drained first—ripped away like peeling paint—followed by gravity. They weren't falling. They weren't floating. They were—just were—in a place that defied every rule they'd known. The Hollow Deep was not a realm. It was a rejection of reality itself.
There were no walls, no floors. Only fragments of thought: broken doorways hanging in midair, staircases that led into themselves, shreds of familiar landscapes smeared across a black sky with no stars. The smell of ink and mildew hung thick, as if the universe had rotted.
But the worst part was the noise.
Not loud. Not sudden. Just... ceaseless. Whispers, overlapping and discordant, echoing every regret, fear, insecurity. Voices that sounded like their own thoughts—only distorted, poisoned, corrupted.
Evelyn clutched her head. "I can hear myself. But not me."
Sera looked around wildly, fists raised. "Where's the enemy? Show yourself, you slimy void bastard!"
