Martin had seen much of the same despair beneath that canopy.
Those creators had been full of confidence, hoping to save the world, only to drive it toward destruction in the end.
The greater the expectations, the deeper the despair that followed.
Martin watched agonized tears spill across the canopy, salty droplets overflowing between the words. That indescribable despair reached his heart as well.
As those creators atop the canopy were killed by despair, Martin beneath it was being killed at the same time...
He had wondered countless times whether he was truly any better than those creators.
Without exception, those creators possessed the finest talents in their respective worlds. They could be called the most "perfect" humans in every world. If even they could not save humanity from the Abyss's erosion, how could he possibly have a better solution?
Martin knew himself well. He knew he was "lucky," lucky enough to receive the favor of all kinds of powers. Blood replacement, Dream—these strange and powerful Abyssal forces had happened to favor him amid the interweaving of fate, choosing him as their agent.
Had it been someone else, the outcome would have been the same.
Yet whenever Martin thought that way, Dream's tentacles would suddenly emerge from the Glass Jar and bang, bang, bang against its walls, as though urging Martin to pull himself together.
"Why did you choose me?" Martin asked the tentacles in the jar.
The tentacles did not answer. They simply continued tapping against the jar, beating out a pleasant rhythm...
Dream's decisions were always so baffling, just like dreams themselves.
Repeatedly caught between despair and hope, Martin had also developed a strong resistance to those tears. Sometimes, although his mind felt despair, his body would keep going on its own.
That was true even now, at