Nightfall in Siren's Cove

Andrew stared hungrily at Liam Watson, eyes gleaming with predatory hunger.

Andrew let out a low, guttural chuckle. "I'm still starving. If any merfolk try flipping my boat tonight, I'll drag them up and tear them apart myself."

Despite the words, Andrew's gaze never left Liam's neck, as if he were envisioning not tearing into a merfolk but sinking his teeth straight into Liam.

Liam's thoughts began to dull, the drop in his sanity taking hold. Only now did it dawn on him—if even he had nearly lost control of his growing hunger earlier, how much worse must he appear to Andrew, who was further along in his monstrous transformation?

Andrew wanted to devour him.

But Liam's strength, cognition, and reflexes were in freefall. His stats flashed red across his HUD. His sanity hovered dangerously close to 60—the infamous threshold. Staying out here on the open sea with Andrew, fully mutated, would be certain death.

There had to be a way. A method he'd planned for this exact situation.

But it was like a veil covered his mind. He could see the outlines of his strategy but couldn't grasp it. Somewhere, in a fogged corner of his brain, he knew he had prepped for this. Yet, the details slipped away.

Liam blinked, swaying slightly before murmuring, "Sure."

Back in the viewing lounge, the spectators watching the live feed tensed as they saw him falter.

Shawn, who had followed Liam's journey closely, whispered, "He's nearing full aberration. His sanity's tanking toward 60… hallucinations are next."

More players crowded around Shawn.

"Sixty is the death line," someone muttered grimly.

Crossing 60 meant battling not just external monsters but one's fractured mind.

Unlike monsters, which could be studied and outmanoeuvred, hallucinations came from within—unpredictable, shifting, and without clear weaknesses.

"He's lasted longer than most," a viewer sighed. "But without a sanity recovery item, he's as good as dead."

"Siren's Cove boasts a 50% clearance rate on paper, but for newcomers without a guide? Less than 1%," another scoffed.

"The last newbie who cleared it barely survived with 25 sanity. He lost his mind after exiting the game."

"He's next," a voice muttered. "He'll crack before dawn."

Meanwhile, the sailors on the ship looked on with morbid anticipation as they prepared two small boats—one for Andrew, one for Liam—and lowered them into the black waves.

Liam stood numbly near the railing, almost dazed. He even requested an extra blanket, muttering something about it getting cold out on the water.

The sailors sneered as they threw two or three heavy blankets onto his tiny boat.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Watson. If you live to see them."

Liam smiled faintly. "I will."

Around the larger ship, small boats drifted silently, manned by grotesque fishermen who resembled deep-sea creatures. Their faces were eerily similar to Andrew's—scaly, hollow-eyed, and monstrous. In the dim light of their swaying lanterns, their eyes gleamed an unnatural green.

Despite the rocking waves, the fishermen stood unnervingly still, gills flaring as they fixated on Liam, clinging to his blankets on the tiny boat.

On a nearby boat, Andrew drooled, whispering hoarsely, "Liam, wrap yourself in your stupid blanket… and sink into the deep."

The main ship slowly sailed away. One sailor shouted that they'd return at dawn.

Liam scanned the encroaching boats. Besides Andrew, the other fishermen remained behind, silently paddling closer to encircle him.

He knew—even through the brain fog—that as the weakest "larva" on these dark waters, he wouldn't last half an hour surrounded by these starving predators.

And Andrew? He loomed close, ready to strike.

Diving into the sea wasn't an option. Liam's partial transformation wasn't enough to guarantee he could breathe underwater through his budding gills. Even if he could, he wouldn't outswim these fully mutated fishermen—or Andrew.

And he couldn't forget the ominous "True Love Boat" task. In this nightmare scenario, he still had to outlast Andrew until morning, all while teetering on the brink of madness.

It was hopeless.

Back in the viewing lounge, Shawn sighed and set down his notes. "It's a shame. The best item for this challenge would've been the 'Air Bubble'."

"Right," another player nodded. "Repels fish for three rounds. Costly, but worth it—140 points for survival until dawn. If he hadn't wasted his points earlier, this would've been easy."

"Beginner mistake," someone else added. "He's shown flashes of brilliance, but mostly it's been reckless play. Classic newbie."

Some spectators were already starting to leave.

But then, the feed showed Andrew's boat suddenly lurch violently.

A flash of movement—merfolk lunged aboard his vessel, jaws wide, teeth gleaming.

The spectators froze mid-step.

Shawn shoved up his glasses, leaning in. "What the hell?! Aren't the merfolk supposed to attack the player? Why are they going after Andrew?!"

The merfolk tore into Andrew, sinking sharp teeth into his neck.

Andrew's scream echoed across the water as black, reeking blood sprayed across his boat and into the waves.

Instantly, the scent of blood tainted the air.

The surrounding fishermen groaned hungrily, eyes swivelling toward Andrew's boat.

One by one, the boats that had been converging on Liam shifted course, pulled by the scent.

Crunching sounds filled the night as merfolk scrambled onto Andrew's boat. He tried to leap into the water but was yanked back by clawed hands.

Within moments, Andrew was engulfed.

His muffled screams and flailing arms were the last signs before the merfolk swarmed over him like a feeding frenzy, burying him beneath a writhing mound of razor teeth and ravenous hunger.