The mushroom tasted strange—salty and metallic, with an odd aftertaste that reminded him faintly of blood. "Hmmm, Weird," as Dave was muttering to himself, he was suddenly hit with a head-splitting pain; it was like someone was pounding his head with a hammer over and over again. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't; something was preventing him from making too much noise. He clutched his head as he grunted in pain and collapsed into the table.
If someone could see his eyes, they would notice that his irises, which were usually black, had turned blood red, and even the white part of the eyes had considerably darkened. Dave felt something trickling down his face, but he couldn't do anything because of the pain. But thankfully, the pain only lasted for a few moments before vanishing, which felt like a distant dream. And his eyes became normal, but his irises still had a slight red tint.
Dave's breath still came in ragged gasps, the air sharp in his throat. His head felt hollowed out, ringing faintly as though the pain had left behind an echo. 'What the hell was that?' Did this happen because he was tired? Or was it because of that mushroom? Whatever it was, it was not normal.
Dave suddenly became aware of a strange sensation—a slow, warm trickle crawling down his cheeks. Instinctively, he raised a trembling hand and brushed at his face. His fingers met something thick. Not the clean wetness of sweat or tears, but something heavier—sticky, almost viscous. A shiver ran down his spine. He pulled his hand back into the dim light, and the sight froze him where he sat.
Black. His fingertips glistened with a dark, oily sheen, catching the light like spilled ink. It clung to his skin, slow-moving, alive in its own way. The smell hit him next—faintly metallic, like rust and rainwater. For a heartbeat, his mind refused to make sense of it. Then the realization crept in, cold and certain. It wasn't sweat or dirt. It came from his eyes.
He suddenly stood up; the force made the chair tumble, and it fell to the ground. Metallic ringing echoed throughout the restaurant. He hastily cleaned his face with his sleeves and decided to go home. Priya came after hearing the noise. When she saw Dave's relentless look, she asked worriedly, "Are you okay? Did something happen?" Dave glanced at her and forced out a smile, "I am fine, just a bit tired." He hurried, took out some cash, and shoved it into Priya's hands.
Before Priya could give him the change or ask about the half-eaten meal Dave had left behind, she was puzzled. Dave didn't want to confront Priya about the mushroom; if it turned out to be an illicit substance, he might alert whoever was behind it, so he decided to play it safe. He rushed home—it was nearby, only about a ten-minute walk. On his way, he noticed a few people walking and eating, which was not unusual in a residential area. What caught his attention, however, was that some of them were wearing strange masks. They were spaced apart and talking with various people, yet, oddly enough, no one else seemed to notice them.
Among these masked people, one of them stood out; he was wearing an oni mask. His impressive physique, bulging muscles, the intimidating mask, with two black eyes that seemed like endless abysses, and horns and fangs jutting from his head and mouth, resembled an infernal creature moving among humans, hunting for his next victim.
A shiver ran down his spine, and he quickly looked away from the oni; thankfully, he hadn't noticed Dave. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. When he looked again, the masked people were gone—or rather, their masks were. Where the oni had stood moments ago was now a man in his late thirties, of Asian origin, with curly black hair and eyes as dark and depthless as a pit.
He had a nasty scar on the left side of his face running from his eye to his lips. As the man adjusted his cuffs, the edge of a tattoo surfaced—just a hint of the artwork that sprawled beneath his shirt. Black and crimson scales curved up his forearm, the tail end of a dragon or koi vanishing beneath the rolled sleeve.
The ink shimmered faintly where sweat met skin, each stroke precise and deliberate, the mark of a true master. From the visible fragment alone, one could sense the story it told: discipline, pain, and power hidden under the guise of civility.
Dave quickly looked away. He instinctively felt that man was not normal; looking at him felt like looking at a predator, and he was the prey. He quickened his pace as he passed the man. The man gave Dave a brief, curious glance before returning to whatever he had been doing.
Dave heaved a sigh of relief and soon reached his home. His home was nothing spectacular, just an old studio apartment with one huge room that combines the living, sleeping, and kitchen areas into one open space, with a separate bathroom. Dave was a minimalist, so he didn't have much to begin with. He got a good deal for the room because it was old, but it was still clean, so he was quite satisfied with it.
As soon as he got home, he collapsed onto his bed. The day's work had exhausted him, and everything that had happened only deepened his fatigue. He decided to think about the strange incident at the restaurant later—it was the weekend, after all. Without even changing his clothes, he drifted slowly into sleep.
After falling asleep, Dave dreamed he was stained with colors of light that pulsed like something alive. Dave's thoughts were swirling in his head, and he was finding it difficult to quell them.
It was at this time that he suddenly felt the surrounding air seem to stop, becoming thick and mysterious. Immediately after, a low whisper could be heard beside his ears that sounded at times real, at times sharp, at times imaginary, at times alluring, at times maniacal, and at times crazy.
He clearly did not understand the murmuring that went on, but Dave still couldn't help himself from wanting to listen to it and distinguish what it was saying. His head was in pain again. It was so painful that it felt like someone had stuck a steel drill rod into it.
Dave felt like his head was going to explode. His thoughts were filled with a psychedelic of colors. He knew that something was wrong and tried to open his eyes. However, he wasn't even able to complete such a simple action.
His entire body was getting tighter and tighter, and it felt like he could break apart at any time. He could no longer bear it. Just as his mind was about to collapse, the murmuring of voices became clear, and he heard something.
"Welcome to Lucid - Where dreams become reality and reality becomes a dream." The voice was alien; it sounded like nothing he had heard before.
As he thought about the mysterious voice, it quickly faded away, and his surroundings grew very quiet. The mood was an erratic one. It was not only the mood; Dave felt his own body going through the same sensations as well. He tried once more to open his eyes, an effortless, easy task this time.
Dave lay on a soft patch of green grass, the blades cool against his skin as the wind gently toyed with his hair. A lazy breeze swept through, playing with his hair, cool and clean, and for a brief moment, he felt… renewed, like waking from a long, heavy sleep. Above stretched an endless blue sky, so vast and perfect it seemed to go on forever.
He blinked, sat up slowly, and the sight before him stole every trace of breath from his lungs.
The horizon was gone—replaced by a boundless expanse of floating islands suspended in the sky. Some were small, no bigger than a cottage, while others stretched vast and wild, crowned with dense forests or sweeping golden deserts. Rivers spilled over the edges of certain islands, their waters tumbling into the open air and breaking into rainbows that never faded.
And then there were the impossible ones—floating upside down, their waterfalls rising instead of falling, with people strolling along the undersides as if gravity itself had given up and chosen chaos.
On one of the largest islands stood a magnificent castle of pale stone, its towers glinting in the light. Near it, Dave's brain nearly stalled—a group of armored knights rode comfortably inside the pouch of a colossal kangaroo, the creature bounding gracefully across the floating plain as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world.
"What… what was that about?" he muttered, blinking hard. The scene refused to make sense. Every glance revealed something stranger, something more unreal. Whatever this place was, it played by no rules he'd ever known.