Everything that happened ever since the System made its appearance felt like a dream.
At any moment, Rex was expecting to wake up, especially after achieving his vengeance against Ruston.
He was nothing but a normal human before all of this. Weaklings. Inconsequential. Having this much power should be nothing more than a pipe dream. This must be the illusion from the madness inside his mind, appeasing his soul with the impossible.
Sometimes, Rex feels the soil on his back.
Perhaps he was still lying in that forest, surrounded by the charred carcasses of Ghouls.
Perhaps his dying mind wanted to make him believe that before meeting with his parents, he managed to avenge them when, in reality, there's nothing for him to give. Dying as cannon fodder—completely sidelined by the grand scheme of the war is his only role.
Sometimes, he misses the moments when everything was slower.
