Godmode: The Dead Game Odyssey

Chapter 18: Nightmare Over the Abyss

Andrew’s gaze locked onto Liam Watson, his eyes gleaming with a raw, predatory hunger that made no effort to hide itself.

He let out a guttural chuckle. “I’m still starving. If a mermaid tries to flip my boat in the middle of the night, I’ll drag it up, rip it apart, and feast till I’m full.” His words spoke of devouring a mermaid, but his stare lingered on Liam’s neck as if it were his throat he longed to tear into.

Liam’s thoughts grew sluggish, a haze settling over his mind—a clear sign of his plummeting mental stability. It dawned on him too late: Andrew’s scent had overwhelmed him earlier, sparking a fleeting urge to bite the man. If Liam felt that pull, then to Andrew—whose transformation was far more advanced—Liam must smell like an even more irresistible delicacy.

Andrew wanted to eat him.

But Liam was in no shape to fight back. His strength, intellect, and reflexes were crumbling; his stats flashed red across the board. His mental value teetered on the edge of sixty. Facing Andrew, a fully mutated monster, alone on the open sea for a night? It was a death sentence.

There had to be a way—a countermeasure against Andrew. 

His mind felt shrouded like every idea was trapped behind a veil. He could sense the outlines of plans and strategies he’d prepared, but they slipped through his grasp. He vaguely recalled setting up something to deal with Andrew, but the memory wouldn’t surface.

Liam blinked hard, swaying slightly, and murmured a soft “Okay.”

Before the small TV screen, a crowd of onlookers tensed as they watched Liam stumble. 

Shawn, who’d followed Liam’s journey from the start, knew the man was a gifted player. He’d seen countless others tackle Eclipse Harbor, but never with this much nail-biting suspense. Holding his breath, Shawn whispered, “He’s mutating. His mental value’s about to drop below sixty. He’ll start seeing hallucinations soon.”

A cluster of players had gathered around Shawn, drawn by the drama unfolding on the screen. One, a veteran who’d been watching alongside him, spoke with a heavy tone. “Mental value at sixty—that’s the line between life and death.”

Sixty was the threshold separating reality from illusion. Above it, you fought monsters. Below it, you battled your own mind—a far deadlier foe. Monster weaknesses could be uncovered, tracked, and exploited. But hallucinations? They were born from your own psyche, unpredictable and unknowable. No one could pinpoint their flaws or tell where the line between truth and fantasy blurred.

High mental stats gave players a massive edge in the game, which explained the buzz Liam had stirred up. Those easily spooked or vulnerable to mental corruption—like the monsters’ influence—saw their values plummet below sixty. From there, death rates spiked, with some players literally scared to death by their own visions. Among players, the sixty mark was grimly dubbed “the life-or-death gate.”

The audience sighed with a mix of pity and resignation:

“He’s done well to last this long before dropping below sixty.”

“Without a mental cleanse item, it’ll only get worse. He’s hanging by a thread.”

“Eclipse Harbor’s got a fifty per cent clear rate, sure, but for newbies with no guide? Survival’s less than one per cent.”

“Didn’t a newbie clear it last batch?”

“Yeah, one out of a hundred. Came out with a mental value of twenty-five—completely unhinged. What’s the point?”

“This guy’s probably gonna lose it any minute now.”

On the ship, the sailors watched with smirking anticipation. They’d prepared two small boats—one for Andrew, one for Liam—and set them adrift in the deep sea.

Liam stood dazed by the railing, his expression blank. He even asked the sailors for an extra blanket, mumbling something about getting cold overnight. 

The sailor smirked mockingly, piling two or three thick blankets onto his boat. One leaned in with a sly, “Sweet dreams, Mr. Watson. Good night—if you manage to wake up.”

Liam smiled faintly. “I will.”

Dozens of smaller boats clung to the sides of the main ship, each manned by fishermen whose features mirrored Andrew’s—grotesque, deep-sea fish-like faces. In the dark, their boats were lit only by faint lanterns, and their eyes glowed an eerie green. 

They stood unnaturally still on their rocking vessels, staring at Liam as he clutched his blankets. Their gills flared slightly, trembling with a faint, hungry hum like predators sizing up prey.

On his own boat, not far from Liam, Andrew drooled, his eyes radiating the same ghostly green glow. He rasped, “Liam, take your stupid blankets and sleep at the bottom of the sea.”

The main ship churned away, a sailor shouting that they’d return at dawn to pick them up.

Liam scanned his surroundings. Beyond Andrew, the fishermen in their boats hadn’t left with the ship. Instead, they paddled closer, their oars slicing through the water, encircling him. 

Even with his head pounding and foggy, Liam knew one thing crystal clear: as the weakest “larva” here, spending a night with these ravenous fishermen—and Andrew—meant he’d be torn to bloody scraps in under thirty minutes.

Out on the midnight sea, he was utterly alone.

Though still mutating, jumping overboard wasn’t an option. Liam’s transformation was only in its early stages—his mouth and nose still functioned, and the gills budding by his ears didn’t seem to work yet. Whether they’d let him breathe underwater was a gamble. Even if they did, he’d never outswim the fully mutated fishermen or Andrew. Diving in just swapped a death on the surface for one below.

Then there was the “True Love Ship” task. Surviving the night seemed impossible already, let alone winning his bet with Andrew. At the same time, his mental value dangled on the brink.

It felt hopeless.

Before the screen, Shawn set down his pen, his sigh heavy with genuine regret. “Such a shame. To win this bet, the best tool’s the underwater bubble.”

“It repels fish swarms,” he explained. “Two of those, three uses each, and you could last till morning. Pricey at a hundred forty points, sure, but effective. If Liam hadn’t squandered his points earlier, this would’ve been a breeze.”

The veteran beside him nodded, arms crossed. “He’s a newbie, after all. Can’t expect him to know the ropes. Liam’s had his moments of brilliance, but mostly, he’s been flailing—typical rookie mistakes.”

“Looks like this is the end of the line.”

The few lingering spectators began to drift away.

Then, on the screen, Andrew’s boat lurched violently. A figure—or rather, a mermaid—flipped onto the deck, its jagged teeth bared in a feral grin as it lunged at Andrew.

The scattering crowd froze.

Shawn shoved his glasses up, leaning in close. “What the hell?! This isn’t how it’s supposed to go! The fishermen and Andrew should be attacking the player by now—why are they turning on him?!”

The mermaid on Andrew’s boat was relentless. It had vaulted from the water in one fluid motion, catching him off guard, and sank its teeth into his neck with savage force. 

Andrew unleashed a piercing, agonized scream, his gills quivering in pain. 

Foul, black blood sprayed across the boat, splattering into the sea and blending with the inky night. 

The stench of blood flooded the air, and the fishermen’s throats gurgled with strange, wet sounds, their eyes sliding toward Andrew’s boat. The scent pouring from him was intoxicating, irresistible. The boats that had been closing in on Liam veered off, converging instead around Andrew.

A sickening crunch of teeth on flesh filled the night. Andrew’s boat swarmed with starving mermaids, their bodies piling onto the deck. He thrashed, trying to leap into the water, but a clawed hand snagged his ankle. They dragged him down, burying him under a writhing heap. 

Andrew raised a hand, his garbled wails of torment swallowed as the mound of mermaids consumed him whole.