For twenty years, Ethan had believed himself ordinary—a man of mundane habits treading a predictable path toward an unremarkable end.
But those days now seemed to belong to another lifetime entirely.
The sky hung heavy with dusk-laden clouds spreading like dense wool from the northeast, swallowing the city whole. The air thickened with moisture, pregnant with the promise of rain that would likely break within minutes.
Clutching groceries from the supermarket—vegetables and seasonings—Ethan moved among the dwindling crowd. He crossed the street with quickened steps, heading toward his residence beneath the increasingly somber sky.
Passing a storefront, he halted instinctively, his gaze lingering on the signboard for several seconds before he tore his eyes away and resumed his hurried pace.
The streets gradually emptied as the immense city grew silent beneath the threat of impending rainfall. Ethan lifted his gaze toward the commercial district ahead, illuminated by merchant lights despite the gloom. Though familiar, the scene stirred something ineffable within him—a disquiet rising from the depths of his consciousness.
Unfamiliarity—yes, that was it. Despite having lived in this city for over twenty years, this absurdly vast, seemingly boundless "Boundary City" had become foreign territory.
Because this place wasn't the "real" city he remembered. While certain locations bore resemblance, most did not. The Boundary City of his youth had never been so immense. He recalled that the central tower should have been called Boyuan Building, not the present "Council Tower." The intersection at Siyuan Street once featured a wall where now a store stood. And his original home was nothing like the dilapidated, crumbling mansion deep within the old quarter.
More significantly, the city he remembered never contained so many... aberrations. The antiquated telephone booths appearing randomly at certain crossroads. The phantasmal steam engine that thundered across rooftops in the dead of night. Empty classrooms echoing with disembodied recitations. And...
In the rain-threatening twilight, beneath a streetlamp, stood a shadow as thin and tall as a utility pole.
Ethan raised his head, staring fixedly at the distant light. A humanoid silhouette—resembling a telegraph pole—stood rigid beneath it. Atop the three or four-meter body perched a pitch-black face devoid of features. The shadow seemed to sense his attention but remained motionless, confronting Ethan's gaze from afar.
Hurried pedestrians passed directly beneath—even through—the elongated shadow, utterly oblivious to its presence. None noticed the aberration standing beside the streetlight.
Only Ethan could see it.
After several seconds of meaningless staring, he averted his gaze, suppressed his quickening heartbeat, and hastily diverted his path.
Ethan remained uncertain whether the city had suddenly transformed, or whether the transformation had occurred within himself. But he clearly remembered that the ordinary, normal life he recalled had vanished one early morning two months prior—
He remembered pushing open his front door on that sunny morning, intending to purchase oranges from the corner market.
That was the last time he had opened the door to "his home." After that moment, he never again saw the dwelling he remembered.
He had theorized that perhaps this constituted some manner of "crossing over"—he had pushed open a door and stepped into a parallel world that superficially resembled his own, only to find the passage collapsed behind him, the doorway back to his original reality sealed forever.
Another possibility was that some "strange alteration" had befallen him personally. Perhaps when he stepped through his doorway—or sometime thereafter—an unknown influence had rendered him "different from ordinary people." Perhaps his eyes now perceived certain things "hidden" beneath the world's surface. Perhaps he still inhabited the familiar realm, merely seeing unfamiliar things...
But all such analyses proved pointless.
Regardless, he could not return to the "ordinary and normal world" of his memory. This strange and vast city resembled a boundless forest, confining a bewildered wanderer within its eerie, intertwined branches. Two months provided insufficient time for Ethan to unravel the secrets of this "forest."
He had barely grown accustomed to his familiar yet foreign "new home" and scarcely resumed some semblance of "daily life."
Fortunately, in this Boundary City so different from his recollections, he remained Ethan—complete with valid identification, a legal address, modest savings, and employment of questionable reliability. If this indeed constituted some form of "crossing over," at least he hadn't faced the three cardinal problems that plagued most dimensional travelers: "Who am I? Where am I? And where might I acquire proper identification?"
In an ordered modern metropolis, such considerations proved especially vital. The population management systems of contemporary society were comprehensive; establishing legitimate residency posed no small challenge for interdimensional wayfarers.
Of course, viewed from another angle, materializing in an ancient society of chaotic governance or an otherworld of barbaric laws might present alternative complications—such as being summarily executed as an enemy spy, dismembered as an alien invader, butchered as a demonic entity, or stewed by cave-dwelling kobolds as impromptu provisions...
Ethan's mind wandered through these random musings as he bypassed the shopping district and approached his "home" via an alternate route.
The sky grew increasingly oppressive, and perhaps precisely because of this deepening gloom, those "not quite right" things began to manifest with greater frequency.
At the periphery of Ethan's vision, unstable silhouettes flickered across the mottled walls of roadside buildings. An agile cat leapt from the shadows, deftly climbed a beam of light from an unknown source, meowed twice in Ethan's direction, then melted and dispersed with the raindrops, splattering the ground with liquid shadow.
The rain began falling, earlier than anticipated.
The wind turned biting, cold air swirling like tangible matter, infiltrating the crevices of his clothing.
Ethan clicked his tongue in annoyance, holding his shopping bag over his head as he quickened his pace.
Had he not diverted his path to avoid that dark figure beneath the streetlight, he could have reached home much faster via the avenue—though that dwelling, too, retained elements of unfamiliarity and strangeness, it at least offered shelter from the elements.
Contemplating that shadowy presence beneath the streetlight, Ethan felt a twinge of regret.
Experience had taught him that the aberrations he witnessed posed no danger—at least, if unprovoked, they ignored him just as ordinary people ignored them. Yet despite this intellectual understanding, he instinctively avoided particularly sinister manifestations. But now, taking the longer route had proven unwise.
The temperature plummeted.
For a mere rainstorm, this cold seemed unnatural.
Ethan realized his exhalations had begun condensing into frosty mist. The raindrops descended like icy nails, striking with painful force.
The ground gradually transformed into a smooth mirror beneath this freezing deluge.
Profound unease jolted Ethan to heightened awareness. Something was wrong—profoundly wrong. Even in this aberrant city, he had never before encountered such a phenomenon.
Unlike the usual "shadows" that merely unsettled the eye, this time he sensed... malevolence.
This rain harbored malice.
He looked up sharply. The sparse pedestrians who had occupied the street moments earlier had vanished. The once-populous thoroughfare stood empty.
No one remained visible. Distant lights appeared hazy and unreal. The intersection at the edge of his vision seemed obstructed by some indefinable barrier. Only rain existed now—cold, relentless rain—and the silent, sealed buildings.
He felt as though the entire world rained solely for him.
Ethan drew a sharp breath and sprinted toward the nearest structure—an old iron door that appeared to be the rear entrance of some ground-floor establishment. Whatever it might be, he needed to find help immediately.
For the raindrops had begun assuming the texture of blades, and the ambient temperature had dropped until each inhalation sent needles of pain through his lungs.
In a few swift strides, Ethan reached the door, extended his hand, and pounded upon it. "Someone—"
His eyes widened as his voice faltered.
His hand struck solid wall. The door was merely painted on the surface.
The nearby window, too, proved a painted illusion.
A rustling sound emanated from nearby.
Ethan slowly turned toward the sound's origin.
Within the mirror-like puddles formed by the razor-sharp, freezing rain, something strange emerged, gaining solidity from the shadows, regarding Ethan with indifference.
A frog—nearly one meter tall—with a head densely covered in eyes, its amphibian body reflecting the churning, frigid downpour.
The creature opened its mouth, projecting a barbed tongue directly toward its prey's heart.
"Spawn of stagnant water—..."
Ethan's profanity proved elegant, his reaction swift. Before the auxiliary words left his mouth, his body had already responded—violently dodging sideways while extracting his customary defensive implement from his pocket, twisting from the waist as he lunged forward...
The frog's tongue executed an impossible angle mid-trajectory, penetrating Ethan's heart from behind.
Ethan: "...?"
He blinked, watching as the creature's appendage protruded from his chest, his still-beating heart impaled upon its tip.
"...? Asshole, this thing is mine..."
The thought formed briefly in his mind.
Then he died.