The entire spatial construct fragmented into countless shimmering shards before dissolving into nothingness. The illusion of the corridor collapsed around him like a mirror struck by a hammer.
Behind it lay the real path.
Stan slowly straightened, breathing heavily, his fist still raised, then he looked around.
He was standing in a much larger chamber now. The corridor had merely been an enclosure imposed upon a room that had always been three or four times its true size. The actual chamber stretched far into the distance, its walls barely visible. The ceiling soared high overhead. At the far end, a broad passage led deeper into whatever place he had, apparently, been trying to reach all along.
His gaze dropped to his fist.
His knuckles were scraped and slightly bloodied, but the strike had accomplished exactly what he had needed it to.
Yet he also knew... The blow had not been entirely his own.
His current strength should never have been enough.
