The wraith guardian silently took out another dish and lifted its lid. A strange fragrance surged forth, spreading everywhere.
"Have you ever heard of something called 'the Life Rewind Phenomenon'?"
He spoke calmly, addressing the figure sprawled across the dining table opposite him.
"When a person falls into the boundary between life and death, where existence and nothingness are separated by but a single instant…"
BOOM!!
An explosion rang out—yet the sound was faint, as light as a passing breeze.
The guardian lowered his gaze to the dish he had just opened. Inside it lay a miniature city district, and at its center stood a lone figure.
The tiny figure—no more than an ant—stood atop an ancient building, looking down upon several battles unfolding below.
Blood, fire, screams—everything raged without pause.
Dozens of people wielding swords and spears slaughtered one another, yet from this height, they resembled nothing more than ants tearing each other apart.
Mist rose from the dead "ants," all of it drifting into the endless void beneath the wraith guardian's hood.
"At that moment, you enter a long dream—"
The battle continued endlessly. Blood and viscera splattered everywhere. The screams grew louder and louder. Some among them began to go mad, as if they were wolves reveling in the thrill of the hunt.
The figure watching from above suddenly raised a hand to his ear, whispering as though speaking to someone unseen.
He spoke casually, one hand tucked into his pocket, looking almost cheerful.
But then—his expression stiffened.
His eyes went vacant as he stared at his own hand. His mouth opened, then closed, as if he had realized something.
BANG!
The sound detonated, drowning everything in its echo. A thick stench of gunpowder smoke rose from the dish.
The miniature city began to melt—softening, collapsing, mixing everything together.
Only when it had all blended into a single shade of dark blood did it stop, releasing the nauseating odor of corpses.
"In that dream, everything you once cared about, everything that ever happened to you, everything that ever came to you—becomes manifest."
The wraith guardian set the dish aside, placing it among many others already neatly arranged.
He took out yet another dish, lifted the lid, and continued savoring what unfolded within.
"GAHHHH!!"
A scream rang out.
Below, a man was being torn apart by a horde of starving people, like zombies consumed by their hunger for flesh.
The victim had brown hair, but his face and body had been mutilated beyond recognition—twisted into something no longer human.
"It's like a film reel," a deep, warm voice echoed, as though absorbing the surrounding air."It plays everything back, lays it all bare—everything within just a few fleeting seconds—"
In moments, everything inside the dish warped and decayed, collapsing with time until nothing remained.
"NO—NO!!!"
Another scream.
A bound figure lay on his back in the middle of a golden wheat field.
His screams grew louder, more frantic, as four horses at the four corners began to run.
The louder he screamed, the more softly the figure beside him whispered.
In his panic, he confessed everything—everything, including himself—to the one standing beside him, watching as he was torn apart by the four horses.
In an instant, his body was ripped into five separate pieces.
"But alas, everything comes and goes too quickly. Just a few seconds—only a few seconds—and an entire lifetime passes."
"So I had no choice but to do this."
The wheat field slowly turned blood-black, blending into a single mass.
"GRAAAAAAAAA!!"
A figure screamed in agony, writhing in unbearable pain as he burned upon a crucifix.
Below him stretched a vast plaza, where thousands stood watching—delighted by the spectacle.
But soon enough, they too would share the same heartbeat, reduced to ash together.
"You see, in dreams, people always tend to tell the truth," the voice said softly."No matter how well you hide it, you cannot deceive a dream."
"Ha… ha…"
Labored, pained breathing echoed beneath the soil of a graveyard.
Gravestones surrounded the area, funeral flowers scattered everywhere.
A young man had been buried alive, with only his head left exposed.
His face crawled with maggots, flies feasting upon him—horrifying to behold.
When a black crow descended from afar and perched upon his face, his grotesque expression softened, as if he had finally let go of everything.
The crow uttered strange sounds, and the young man replied with broken, agonized whispers.
The crow pecked directly into his eye, plucked out the eyeball, and flew away—leaving the corpse behind in that desolate place, before all things merged back into one.
"Still, I apologize for this," the voice said."Humans are fragile creatures. The more you cling to the past, the more painfully you die."
"NO!!"
"But you cannot do anything else. You want to run. You want to escape the shackles of this body."
"Ughhh!"
"You must face it. You must see it. You must look at it no matter what—oh, dear God."
"…Why…?!"
"And you—you remember that you are not allowed to forget!"
"…"
"After all, the brush with death has already solidified the nature of your soul. So why continue running from reality?"
The man in white spoke calmly as the world collapsed around him, unfazed by the pile of mangled flesh drenched in blood before his eyes.
The wraith guardian gazed at the banquet table before him—now completely empty.
Beside him, the dishes were stacked neatly, perfectly arranged.
He looked at the figure seated across from him, who seemed groggy, slowly sitting upright as if just waking from a long sleep.
"Is everything all right?""Our honored guest?"