Godmode: The Dead Game Odyssey

Chapter 27: Terror at the Front Row — and the Perils Lurking Below

As Mason Shepherd fixed his bizarre, unsettling eyes upon the proud audience members, an icy shock ran down their spines. Chests tightening with fear, they stepped back, swallowing hard and shaking their heads.

With a wry, cheerful grin, Mason pulled out a cartoonish monkey hat from behind his back, gesturing to it grandly. “You see, I hate loud-mouthed audiences,” he said casually, “so in the game, all those annoying spectators? I killed them.”

He tossed out the words like ordering coffee as if murder was nothing more than a daily inconvenience. “If Liam comes out,” Mason added, “I’d root for him to shut you all up too—take that as advice from someone who’s been there.”

He flashed a polite but chilling smile. “You guys are seriously obnoxious. Interrupting my show? Idiots.”

Suddenly, the plush monkey hat opened its mouth, making a creepy, chattering laugh. Crimson lights blinked in its eyes as if encouraging Mason’s murderous suggestion. The effect was both disturbing and surreal.

Panic rippled through the crowd. Those who’d been riding high on bravado moments ago now shrieked and scrambled for the exits, tripping over each other in a clumsy scramble, crawling away from the VIP viewer area reserved for Liam’s playthrough.

Mason set the hat atop his head, hands in his pockets, and casually resumed his spot at the front row—looking for the whole world as if nothing had transpired. He tilted his head back and fixed his gaze on the little screen where Liam Watson’s exploits played out.

Those around him instinctively retreated, giving Mason a wide berth. The usual chatter died to a whisper as if everyone feared disturbing his viewing.

Standing just behind Mason, Shawn found his thoughts spiraling. For the first time, he was staring the true danger of Mason Shepherd in the face.

This was why the top players’ streaming rooms rarely had mouthy or disrespectful audiences: the game let you kill spectators. You cross a legendary player—the “gods” of the game—and your life is worth less than an ant’s.

Only in the newbie or “soft” players’ areas did trolls and armchair critics dare to run their mouths. The brave ones had grown grass twice over their graves in a streaming room like Mason's.

Most of those who talked smack about Liam weren’t worth their salt—they were guild players with barely any skill, reliant on walkthroughs and tutorials just to get through the simplest games. Yet, threatened by newcomers who might take their paying viewers and promo slots, they lashed out at rising stars like Liam—and, once upon a time, Mason himself.

Despite his anxiety, Shawn edged up beside Mason. Curiosity piqued, he whispered, “Shepherd, did you really kill all those viewers who trashed you?”

Mason shrugged. “Hardly. I’m not that bored. It was just to scare them off—those clowns were seriously pissing me off.”

Shawn released a shaky breath: “Oh, it was a bluff.”

“Mostly, anyway,” Mason smirked, catching Liam’s image on the screen. “I didn’t do it, but my monkey headset does love a snack—especially the people who annoy me most. A few of them, well... let’s just say they didn’t make it. But hey, it was their choice to mouth off, not mine.”

Shawn: “....”

——

Meanwhile, outside the ship, Liam Watson wheeled his heavy cart back onto the dock. Several fish-man sailors stalked behind him, but Liam had the Eclipse King in tow—he was no longer concerned with these lesser threats.

Deprived of their weather advantage and protective tokens, the merfolk sailors could only glower at Liam from a distance, their eyes full of hate and greed.

But his mind was elsewhere. According to the System, most monsters on land had been neutralized—why had he never once spotted the weakest and most plentiful mob in the game: juvenile mermaids—larval merfolk?

He’d seen everything except these lowest-level creatures. This could only mean one thing: if the System hadn’t lied, and land-based monsters were mostly constrained, then the juvenile mermaids weren’t on land.

Liam’s gaze fell on the glass-calm, endless expanse of ocean ahead. The answer was obvious: countless mermaids must be lurking below the surface.

[System Alert: One hour remains until the Eclipse King awakens. Please accelerate your completion of the scenario.]

One hour. Liam tallied how long it would take to swim across with the Eclipse King in tow. Barely enough—but not if the monsters below got in the way.

Still, there was no time to hesitate. Liam dumped the cart by the shore and knelt by the Eclipse King. The silver-blue skin of the king now shimmered with life, delicate fins fluttering, chest rising and falling in deep breaths—nearly awake.

He hoisted the king’s hand over his shoulder and sprinted for the waves. As the water rose up his legs and hips, fine greenish-silver scales appeared along his skin, slits forming into gills at his cheeks, his eyes shrinking to half their size.

Liam sucked in a long breath and dove into the open sea.

Back in the viewer lounge, Shawn breathed out: “Finally! He’s underwater. Should be smooth sailing from here, right?”

Mason folded his arms, a haunted look flickering across his face. “Don’t be too sure. When I did this run, dragging the Eclipse Siren through the ocean, I thought it was about to end too—until I hit the ‘Eclipse’s Gift’ zone. Suddenly, the waters were nothing but rows on rows of luminous green eyes—merfolk everywhere. Nearly died out there. Had to spend over two hundred points on a high-powered flashlight just to drive them away.”

Shawn’s jaw dropped. “Two hundred points? Seriously?!”

He paused, putting it together. “Liam’s flashlight already cost him over two-fifty, and prices only go up when you need it most! If you're desperate, if the System jacks the price, it’ll be even more expensive for him?”

“Exactly. The System prices everything based on the market and how much you urgently need it. The more desperate you are, the higher the price.”

Mason watched, almost gleeful, as Liam swam onward, oblivious. “Once Liam hits the ‘Eclipse’s Gift’ zone, surrounded and desperate, he’s gonna pay through the nose. His flashlight runs at least four hundred points.”

Meanwhile, the rising star who’d pushed Liam out of the promo slot—Cole Mackenzie—had already swum into the 'Eclipse’s Gift' region.

Guiding the skeletal remains of the Eclipse Siren, Cole flicked his tail, swimming deeper into utter darkness. Realizing how close victory was, relief and wild joy fought for dominance on his face.

Even from Liam’s zone, the other streams were visible, a bit blurry, like frosted glass—but it was clear Cole was nearly at the very bottom.

Shawn sighed with a touch of regret: “He’s almost there. I guess Cole'll be first from this batch. There’s always a special skill reward for the top newbie—it’s a huge deal. If he hadn’t wasted time on tricks to save points, Liam really had a shot.”

Because Liam had bounced back to the center promo screen from a previous fall, the System ranked Cole one slot higher. With Cole racing to finish and Liam “sleepwalking” through the water, the crowd all but wrote Liam off.

Shawn watched, helpless, like a parent whose brilliant kid kept slacking off, losing to the neighbor’s average but hardworking child.

But Mason disagreed, attention flicking briefly to Cole’s stream. “It’s not over yet,” he said quietly.

Most watchers, though—especially the snide ones Mason had chased out—had already jumped bandwagons, mocking Liam in Cole’s stream:

“Hah, even with the promo slot, Liam can’t match the others—what’s the point of all that effort? As soon as Cole clears and grabs the skill reward, he’ll leave that rookie loser in the dust.”

“Why’s Shepherd even bothering to protect such a useless newbie? If you’re not the first, the System gives you nothing—he’s dead weight, just doesn’t know it yet.”

Sane viewers looked at them with undisguised distaste. There were a hundred rookies, one skill up for grabs. Now, these same loudmouths, almost none of them skilled themselves, acted like having no skill was a death sentence.

One gruff audience member finally snapped. “Big talk for someone with zero skills. Flash yours, why don’t you? Or I’ll make your ‘no-skill, you die’ wish come true here.”

The crowd instantly hushed. A few blushed, shrinking into their seats, hiding their gaming devices—clearly not eager to reveal their supposed ‘skills.’

The heckler shook his head dismissively, tired of the bravado. With killing disallowed in the central hall, his threat was only to shut them up, and he refocused on Cole’s stream.

As Cole dove deeper, his screen was total blackness. Suddenly, pairs of greenish eyes began to glow like sea fireflies across the seabed. First, a few, then hundreds, erupting in dense clusters.

His vision adjusted, and Cole went rigid with horror: thousands of merfolk corpses stared up with luminous eyes, bodies rotted and gnawed by swarms of finger-length black fish—the seabed wriggling, impossible to see any sand. The effect was nauseating: a carpet of black maggots, each corpse marked by burning green eyes.

The audience recoiled. Many found themselves hugging their arms, stepping back from the screens.

Cole panicked, bolting for the surface, frantically opening his item shop. The fish swarmed after him, black as a cloud of hornets, the merfolk among them.

At close range, he could see the little fish were all razor teeth—one sweep and half his arm was gone, the water swirling with blood. Cole’s scream was silent underwater, his severed stump drawing more frenzied monsters.

“Buy something! Hurry!” the audience shouted. “Get an item to ward them off, or you’re dead!”

With his last good hand, he dug into the shop menu. Deep-sea fish hated light—he had one hope.

[I need the high-powered flashlight!]

[417 points. Thank you for your purchase.]

Cole froze, stunned. [How much?!]

[417 points. Thank you for your purchase.]

He didn’t have enough. Desperate, he remembered the [Water Bubble] item—also repelled fish, but it might not withstand this swarm... but he had no choice. He gritted his teeth.

[I need the Water Bubble!]

[322 points. Thank you for your purchase.]

He was short again—a breath away from dying, not at the jaws of monsters, but from the System’s merciless, climbing prices.

The [Underwater Bubble] had once dropped to just 40 points, but now it was over eight times more expensive! This was an absolute highway robbery.

But arguing with the game’s System was useless. Cole could only make a frantic and desperate check of his existing items—The [Flame Torch] still worked, but he was underwater. Fire wouldn't even ignite here. On top of that, he’d already used most of the [Underwater Bubble] for the previous quest, “True Love's Vessel.”

He had only about half an hour left on his last [Underwater Bubble].

Half an hour wouldn't get him to the bottom, let alone through the whole level.

Worse yet, his points had almost all been drained by various purchases...

In his desperation, Cole suddenly remembered he could ask his viewers for tips. His audience saw him bowing repeatedly on his personal stream, begging desperately for donations. He looked pathetic—eyes wild with the need to survive.

He ran while crying, but his tears quickly vanished into the sea, unseen by anyone.

The viewers who once predicted he’d outshine Liam Watson were completely silent.

Elsewhere, Liam was swimming toward the [Eclipse's Gift] region. Shawn, able to glimpse some of Cole’s predicament, watched Liam enter the same pitch-black waters. Worried, he opened his game manager to check his points balance.

He was concerned Liam might fall into the same jam. At least if he did, Shawn could send him a few extra points.

Mason Shepherd noticed Shawn’s move and commented, “Relax. That guy’s got over 3,000 points. Even if flashlights cost 400 each, he could buy ten. There’s no need to stress.”

He said that, but Mason still checked his balance, exhaled deeply, and cracked a slight smile—If it all came down to it, Liam had more than enough to get through.

Not just Shawn and Mason, but a lot of Liam’s viewers, alerted by Cole’s drama, checked their balances too and whispered among themselves:

“If Liam needs points for an item, I’ve got ten I can send.”

“I can spare three or four; that should help.”

Mason found it strange to hear so many viewers willing to chip in for Liam. He glanced at Liam swimming through the water, raising an eyebrow.

“The guy’s got real audience appeal. So many want him to live, to the point of opening their wallets.”

Mason himself, thanks to his unique skill set, split audiences—some loved him, others thought he was unethical and refused to watch.

Like Cole, Liam soon found himself facing the rows of eerie green eyes on the ocean floor.

Shawn held his breath, gripping his fists to his chest, his donation screen ready. He whispered swiftly, “Buy something! Buy something already! If those creatures wake up, there might not be time!”

Mason added, “You don’t need to stress so much. He’s not dying any time soon.”

Mason’s eyes stayed glued to the stream despite his words, his hand twitching near the donation button.

Everyone was on edge; hands hovered over the tip button, ready for whenever Liam hit the shop.

Yet, as Liam saw the terrifying fish and merfolk, he only raised an eyebrow slightly—keeping his cool, swimming downward, unhurried.

The viewers stopped breathing as they watched him provoke the monstrous fish and merfolk with the Eclipse King—taunting them to chase before darting away.

But Liam was a clumsy swimmer, kicking awkwardly like a total newbie. The horde drew closer—about to shred him to pieces.

“Liam, what the hell are you doing?!” Shawn screamed, “Why poke the monsters?!”

Other viewers were on the verge of losing it:

“Aaaah! Buy an item, Liam!”

“Dude, stop messing around! Come out, I’ll play with you at your pace!”

“You’re so close! If you die here, I’ll be scarred for life, Liam!”

“I’m losing my mind! If Liam dies here, I’ll never watch another newbie’s stream again!”

Shawn stared, not daring to blink as sweat slid down his face—merfolk and fish had already brushed Liam’s feet!

Even the usually laid-back Mason was biting his lip, arms crossed tight, his finger drumming anxiously on his arm. “Liam, what the hell is your plan?!”

Liam glanced over his shoulder, confirming all the monsters were chasing him. Then, he pulled ahead with a forceful kick (looking almost rabbit-like in his struggle).

But the gap closed quickly.

Gray, decayed merfolk faces leered, diving in for the kill—their rotted mouths gaping, razor-toothed fish erupting from behind blackened jaws in a black swarm.

Even at this critical moment, Liam wondered why the merfolk turned back to corpses at the sea’s bottom, confirming his theory: The ocean floor revealed their true form. All that was left was the development of the Eclipse King. With that, they’d become regular corpses.

A clumsy dodge and one mermaid bit off half his hand—a bloody trail swirling behind.

[System Warning: Due to an attack by a gatekeeper—Merfolk Corpse, Player LIAM WATSON is now in an Aberration State. SANITY dropping—Current Value: 41.]

[System Warning: 21 Minutes Until Eclipse King Awakens. Please Clear the Level!]

Liam’s head spun like he’d been force-fed cheap liquor at an office party: numb, uncoordinated, almost paralyzed.

Trying to swim, only one leg responded, so he flopped forward like a half-paralyzed rabbit fleeing a predator.

Shawn muttered, “...Only 41 sanity left. He will start hallucinating soon, and there’s only 21 minutes left till the Eclipse King awakens.”

Mason’s face twisted in frustration. “Yeah, but he could’ve cleared the level already...”

The viewers were freaking out, some literally stomping with worry.

Sure enough, Liam’s vision warped—the monsters blurred and multiplied, creating a nightmarish landscape. Anyone else would’ve cracked, but Liam shook his head and dodged.

Oddly, he didn’t swim toward the exit. Instead, dazed and disoriented, he wandered throughout the level.

That meant he got attacked two more times—one foot and his already mangled hand were bitten off. The pain made him curl up, instinctively clutching his wounds.

This weakness only exposed him more. A merperson grinned wide behind him, tail striking with such force it sent a visible current through the water. The blow could’ve snapped Liam’s spine.

Every viewer instinctively shut their eyes, certain it was the end.

Suddenly—a massive, almost plastic-looking bubble appeared between Liam and the monsters, bouncing them away. Liam huddled inside, gills flaring as he breathed.

Shawn gasped, “Underwater Bubble! Of course! Liam bought one earlier!”

Liam was safe—for now. But his viewers were nervous: “Liam, have a little mercy—on both you and us! Just finish already!”

“Damn it, Liam, did I murder pigs in a past life to deserve this agony watching you? My heart can’t take it!”

Strangely relieved to see Liam alive, Mason asked, “When did Liam buy that? I thought he’d never spend points on an item.”

Then he realized something—The [Underwater Bubble] was very expensive mid-game, and Mason didn’t remember Liam buying one. If he’d bought it in the early stages and never used it until now, that was a risky investment for a newbie.

“Did Liam score 70 points just to hoard an item so early?” Mason frowned.

“No,” Shawn said, looking complicated. “When he bought it, it only cost 40 points.”

“Forty? That’s way cheaper than usual—How’d he get that deal?!”

Shawn explained the earlier time window and how Liam’s smart strategy had saved him points.

In the end, Mason could only marvel at the lucky timing and bold thinking that got Liam this far.

[Underwater Bubble] when it was at its lowest. Cole’s [Underwater Bubble] cost nearly four hundred points each, while Liam spent a tenth of that for the same thing. While Cole was nearly driven mad by the System’s manipulation, Liam was already exploiting the loopholes, profiting from the price swing.

Even the audience members who’d mocked Liam for hoarding supplies “just to save his own skin,” claiming he knew nothing about the market, were stunned by his calculated moves.

It was clear now: Liam didn’t just understand the system store—he was gaming it, finding and using every possible edge to his advantage.

One spectator flushed with embarrassment—how could there be such a gulf between people?!

Mason Shepherd stared at the screen where Liam calmly caught his breath behind the flickering bubble.

Just what kind of monster is this rookie?

The last player Mason recalled daring to outfox the System was Spade Thorn—the number one on the leaderboards.

“But one thing still amazes me,” Mason mused, tapping a finger against his chin, eyes burning into the feed. “How did he know the [Underwater Bubble] would be useful here?

‘Eclipse Harbor’ has two endings. The first, the normal end, just requires escaping the harbor—the rest is all land-based. Most people never need the underwater item, and that’s the route everyone takes.

Only the true end goes underwater, and that’s just for the optional ‘Return the Eclipse King’ quest. Frankly, the point reward is barely more than the normal ending, with far higher risks. Logically, nobody bothers with this route.”

Shawn frowned, “But Liam’s a newcomer—maybe he didn’t know all this?”

“I think he figured it out,” Mason replied, shaking his head. “Liam probably saw the pattern: the game splits rewards by quests; each finished objective gives a fixed point award. If it’s just about cost-benefit, the normal end is the way to go.”

Shawn couldn’t help but give Mason a look: “So why’d you chase the true end?”

Mason paused. “High risk, high reward. The true ending doesn’t offer much in points, but there’s something you only get by chasing it—and that thing is worth more than all the points in the world.”

“What is it?” Shawn pressed.

“The monster compendium. You can only complete it on the true end route and only then get the reward. But finishing the compendium? Liam can’t do it.”

“Why?” Shawn’s eyes darted nervously to the stream. Suddenly he got it, “Crap! The Eclipse King in Liam’s compendium is a roaming god-tier NPC!”

“I’m thinking of the worst-case scenario…” Mason grimly said, “Liam probably doesn’t know just how dangerous the Eclipse King is. But he’s certainly aiming for the top reward: completing the compendium. That means he’s stalling, waiting for the Eclipse King to awaken. That’s why he’s not rushing to finish…”

Shawn’s jaw dropped. “...No way…”

On-screen, Liam was crouched behind his bubble, playing a twisted cat-and-mouse game with the fish and merfolk instead of hiding inside the bubble.

Viewers grew frantic once again—Liam always had a way of making everyone more anxious than he was:

“That bubble’s fragile! If the monsters keep hammering it, it’ll burst and be worthless!”

Liam glanced over his shoulder, watching cracks spider across the bubble’s surface where the merfolk were focused.

Water hadn’t broken through yet, but merfolk hands started slipping inside. When the first got through, Liam finally smiled in quiet satisfaction, even as viewers screamed and pulled at their hair—they wanted so badly to jump through the screen and control themselves.

At the same time, Cole was using his own bubble, darting around the map, delaying the inevitable.

Viewers who had migrated to Cole’s channel for “better drama” now saw how close Liam was to a life-and-death showdown—so they flocked back, huddling in corners to whisper:

“Can’t believe so many idiots wasted points on Liam and Cole! They’ll both die! Give the points to me; I could clear ‘Eclipse Harbor’ without breaking a sweat.”

“Damn, newbies stole the spotlight and promotion slots. Hurry up and die already so I can play!”

Liam remained oblivious to those rooting for his demise, his SAN dipping to 40 and teetering on the dangerous edge.

Any lower, and the hallucinations would flood in. He forced all his focus onto the damaged bubble behind him.

Merfolk slipped through a crack; Liam let the bubble go, turning to embrace it, locking eyes with the rotten, ghastly face now trapped inside as he slowly sank deeper into the ocean.

More and more merfolk crowded in. The bubble became an unfillable sphere, endlessly devouring the monsters while Liam, like bait, lured them in.

Viewers were divided—some saw what he was about to do, others only felt confusion:

“What is he playing at? The bubble’s ruined—now it’s just a bit of air. He’s out of tricks, right?”

But the bubble, now only a shell of air, was like a twisted egg swallowing the grotesque, writhing monsters.

With a long exhale, Liam released a stream of bubbles and released his hand, letting the sphere float freely.

[System: Retrieve one bottle of alcohol.]

A bottle appeared inside the bubble, which Liam kicked to the bottom.

As the clear liquid filled the sphere, he shoved his hand inside, flicking a lighter and tossing it before the monsters could reach him.

Suddenly, a blazing fireball erupted at the bottom of the ocean.

The merfolk screamed; the fire reflected off Liam’s pale face, scales flashing beneath his eyes and over his nose, giving him an almost supernatural look—he looked less human than the monsters themselves.

Desperately, the burning merfolk slammed their hands against the bubble, smearing blue-green blood and filthy handprints across the surface as black smoke coiled inside, masking and then consuming their twisted faces.

And Liam—Liam just floated there, calmly watching the monsters that had attacked him disintegrate in fire.

His expression was almost bored, but the subtle curl to his lips radiated a chill deeper than any monster, hinting at a ruthlessness and strength that was frankly terrifying.

When the blazing sphere had done its job, Liam used it like a Flaming Torch Beneath the Waves—protecting himself and luring more monsters through the gap, annihilating them.

Merfolk, once deadly, was now just kindling for his pyre—their burning fat made the fireball even fiercer.

Goaded by the scent, waves of monsters willingly queued up to enter the fiery trap. The resulting scene was bizarre and almost mesmerizing—

Liam, serene as ever, watched as lines of monsters essentially committed suicide before his eyes.

The spectators were stunned and silent. Many just gaped at the screen, unable to process Liam's gambit's utter brilliance—and audacity.

Even the battle-hardened Mason was left shaking his head and pulling his cap low:

“Liam, you maniac. You’re making my playthrough look pathetic—running around, getting fleeced. Damn.”

“I give up. I’m in awe,” Shawn marveled.

“Fire-based items are deadly to merfolk, but you can’t use them underwater—unless you pair them with an [Underwater Bubble]. But only if you break the seal; otherwise, it’s just a useless prop.”

“That’s why you set a hole in the bubble—then it’s a monster trap. It’s not rocket science—it’s nerves of steel.”

Mason nodded. “All those seemingly reckless moves? Liam was baiting the merfolk to break the bubble for him so he could turn a defense mechanism into a weapon.”

“How did he come up with this?” Shawn sighed. “Standing next to Liam, I feel like I’ve never used my brain in a game.”

“It’s not about being clever,” Mason said quietly. “It’s about sheer mental toughness. He could’ve hidden in a fresh bubble and coasted to the end. Sure, bubbles can pop, but it’s the safe bet.

But to abandon that safety, shatter your last shield, and stay calm while playing bait—luring the monsters, then burning every threat to ashes without care for your own life…

That’s not just guts. That’s insane.”

“It’s extreme. It’s madness.” Mason’s tone was almost reverent.

Ordinary viewers who had been screaming for Liam to play it safe now shuffled in embarrassment:

“Oh God, he bought all that cheap alcohol just for this… Earlier, I thought stockpiling was dumb, but now I see the fool was me. Seriously, what kind of mind plans it all out, down to the last bottle and point?”

“He’s almost cleared every monster on the ‘Eclipse Harbor’ map. I’ve never seen anyone do that.”

Those who’d mocked Liam’s “wasteful” purchases could only hide in silence now.

Liam’s left hand dragged a burning sphere of monsters on-screen—only a few stragglers remained.

Then suddenly, the Eclipse King’s eyelids fluttered; the tail twitched. Liam felt a jolt through his mind, and blood spilled from his mouth, drifting red in the water.

[System Warning: Player LIAM WATSON affected by Eclipse King’s awakening. Current SAN: 21, below the safety threshold. Imminent major hallucinations.]

Liam’s mind buzzed—if 41 felt like cheap whiskey, 21 was like tripping on toxic mushrooms.

His vision exploded in kaleidoscopic shards, sounds overlapped in a maddening, psychedelic soundtrack—like the basement of a disco in the ‘80s—leaving him dizzy, unable to control his limbs.

Faces crawled through the colored haze—monster faces and twisted memories from his real life. He saw his boss, Gerald, Andrew—friends and foes, their faces warped onto merfolk corpses, grinning and lunging at him.

The visions flickered—now the Eclipse King opened its eyes. Lucy’s pale, laughing face appeared entwined with him, whispering I love you, while her hand bore into his chest.

Blood streamed from his chest, Lucy devouring his heart, rivulets spilling from her blissful smile. She leaned in to kiss him—when suddenly the vision shattered.

A merfolk’s rotting face replaced hers, its mouth closing over Liam’s shoulder. The sharp pain cleared his mind for a moment.

Maybe this is real, Liam thought absently.

Shawn, watching Liam float limp and vacant in the water, blanched. “Damn! Liam’s deep in the hallucination phase!”

Merfolk latched onto his shoulder; Liam barely reacted, just twitching as if to confirm Shawn’s diagnosis.

Shawn fretted, knowing his words couldn’t reach the hallucinating Liam. “Buy a focus pack! Get your sanity back, Liam! Hurry!”

“No, don’t,” Mason interrupted, shaking his head. “If his sanity exceeds sixty, the system will strip his merfolk hybrid status.”

“He’s still deep underwater. If he reverts to a normal human, he’ll drown immediately. With the pressure, he might even be crushed.”

Shawn watched, desperate. “So what now? He'll become a full monster if his sanity drops to zero!”

Mason took a deep breath. “He has to handle it himself now. He has to stay lucid—somehow—inside this hell.”

Liam couldn’t tell what was real, but he knew, at the very least, he had to keep going down.

So, he went with the simplest strategy: let himself sink. He was a fish, not a man. Releasing the [Underwater Bubble], he kept a grip on the Eclipse King—if he stayed limp, he would drift lower.

As for the attacks that would come on the way down—

Liam closed his eyes, let himself go limp, and drifted down. The coin under his collarbone floated up; it wasn’t real.

The merfolk swirled and nipped around his descending form.