Godmode: The Dead Game Odyssey

Chapter 10: Eclipse Harbor's Haunted Corridors

The museum caretaker warned Liam Watson that the hot water room he was heading to was tucked away in a remote corner. A few lights were busted, so he'd need to watch his step. With a sly, unsettling grin, the caretaker added that the area was cluttered with haphazardly stacked mermaid statues—better not bump into them.

Liam wove between towering marble columns, each wide enough for two or three people to wrap their arms around. They stood like sentinels down the center of the path. On either side, spaced at intervals, were the mermaid wax figures. Their fishtails rested on the ground, faces blank and expressionless. Liam noticed they all seemed to be staring out the windows, longing to escape this place.

The hot water pool waited at the end of the long corridor. Someone had left it running, and the water gushed steadily. Steamy mist filled the air, curling around the wax figures. Under the heat, they looked like they might melt—drips of wax slid down their forms, and their bodies shifted ever so slightly.

Walking through the corridor felt like drifting across a foggy sea, surrounded by mermaids swaying beneath the surface. But a few steps in, Liam realized something was off. The wax figures' heads, once turned toward the windows, were now slowly twisting toward him. Their blank faces followed his every move. And with subtle, almost imperceptible movements, they were inching closer from both sides, their melting wax spreading further.

The grand, shadowy European-style building swallowed the light. Liam, a lone visitor, moved steadily across the polished floor. With every blink, the wax mermaids seemed to shift—drawing nearer, their postures changing. A faint smile crept onto their once-empty faces. Their tails dragged greasy trails of wax across the ground. Pale and flawless, they resembled ghosts frozen in time, capable only of sluggish motion.

Liam silently counted the figures in his head, glancing back now and then to track the ones trailing him, gauging their speed. There were too many to keep tabs on. When he focused on the ones behind him and turned back, the mermaid directly ahead—its face now etched with a pitying smile—reached out, fingers inches from his throat.

He'd calculated their pace and timed his steps and glances, weaving around the columns to keep them from boxing him in. They were menacing but not invincible—tricky due to their numbers and indestructibility. If they surrounded him, escape would be impossible.

The wax figures closed in tighter. Liam noticed a change: what had seemed like lifeless statues were starting to feel alive. Their generic, assembly-line faces—standard Western wax museum fare—began to morph. The closer they got, the more their melting features resembled… him. With eerie, exaggerated grins, they clawed their way toward him.

Finally, Liam reached the hot water pool the caretaker had mentioned. The faucet, perched above a yellowed, rusty sink, dripped with stains—rust or maybe blood, he couldn't tell. A rectangular boiler hummed above it, churning with boiling water. Amid the flow rush, Liam calmly slid the newspaper from his jacket into the sink and turned around.

Behind him stood rows of wax mermaids, their faces now disturbingly similar to his own. They towered and crowded around him, blocking every exit. Their eyeless gazes cast shadows in the dim museum light, and their mouths stretched into grotesque, jaw-splitting smirks. The malice in those grins sent a chill down the spine, and their warped, melting faces radiate menace.

They stared at Liam with a heavy, greedy hunger. He met their gaze, unflinching, feeling oddly like dozens of warped versions of himself surrounded him. They were hunting him.

He'd dismissed them as dim-witted, incapable of strategy—but here they were, instinctively encircling him. Impressive learning curve, he thought. Almost human.

Hot water overflowed from the sink behind him, but Liam didn't turn. Couldn't turn. One glance away, and they'd pounce. He couldn't even blink. Reaching back, he shut off the faucet.

A blink—and the mermaids edged an inch closer, their expressions growing fiercer. But Liam barely reacted. Instead, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, muttering, "Incubation, huh? The closer they get, the more they look like me… So, whatever hatches will probably be my spitting image. Hmm, the fishy smell on me got stronger when they approached. Does that mean I'm part of the Incubation too? Are the townsfolk caught up in this?"

Liam stayed cool-headed, but the players watching his small TV screen weren't calm. They jeered and scoffed.

"Still analyzing like a poser at a time like this? What's he gonna do with those useless projectors—show the mermaids a movie?"  

"Tch, mental stat at 100? I thought he'd be tougher than this."

A sudden shout broke their taunts: "The newbie with the torch broke through! Check it out!"  

Two screens over, a male player wielded a blazing torch, snarling as he swung it at the wax mermaids surrounding him. "Back off! Get lost unless you wanna burn!" he roared. The figures retreated, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

"Told you this guy's got it! Picked the right tool—mermaids hate light, and that flaming torch is perfect. Solid choice!"  

"Upvoted! His combat stats are decent, too. Could hit the rising star list if he keeps it up."  

"Ugh, I should've bet on him instead of Liam. Whatever. Wasted points."

Liam's screen showed single-digit likes now. The few lingering viewers weren't there to cheer—they were waiting to watch a rookie crash and burn.

Liam casually pulled out the three discounted 3D projectors from his pocket onscreen. The last onlookers snickered.

"He's using them? What's the plan?"  

"Torch guy's where it's at—cleared them out in one swing."

The wax mermaids crept closer, their tails brushing Liam's toes. They loomed in the dim space, dozens of melting hands reaching for their prey. Unfazed, Liam tossed the projectors—one behind them, one to the left, one to the right—and pressed the buttons with a smile.

Three lifelike projections of Liam sprang up, mirroring his grin. The four Liams—one real, three fake—stood at all sides. The advancing mermaids froze, hesitating for a few seconds.

The crowd wasn't impressed.  

"They're dumb enough to fall for projections at first—human eyes confuse them—but it won't last. Ten minutes tops, and he's still trapped."  

A viewer who'd backed the torch player smirked, "That flashlight he bought? One's not enough. It'll scare them off, but it's no match for a torch's firepower. Useless."

The mermaids onscreen backed off slightly as he spoke, staring at the projections.  

"Ten minutes," the critic sneered. "Wait for it—they'll figure out the fakes soon."

Sure enough, the mermaids started to stir, sidestepping the flashlight's beam, ready to lunge.  

"Told you," the viewer laughed.

But before he could finish gloating, his jaw dropped. Onscreen, the three projected Liams pulled out flashlights, too, aiming them at the mermaids. Four beams pinned the figures in place, like a firing squad locked on target.

Liam grinned. "One's not enough, sure. But four? That ought to do it."