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Having overexerted his powers, Ruan Qing had long since fallen into an exhausted slumber, sleeping unusually deeply.
Yet the moment the staff member's footsteps drew near, he stirred awake.
His eyes opened slowly, still hazy with sleep, glistening with a faint mist that seemed to scatter like flowing light. He looked utterly drowsy—but within seconds, clarity returned, and with it, full recollection.
He was currently wrapped in "Qi Lintian's" embrace, the man's arm draped possessively around his waist. Their breaths mingled, the intimacy between them almost like that of lovers.
Last night, after being forcibly fed that eye-like object by "Qi Lintian", Ruan Qing had lost consciousness.
Just what... had that been?
His lashes trembled slightly as unease coiled in his chest. He hadn’t believed a single word "Qi Lintian" said.
The minds of madmen weren’t hard to decipher. Most were insatiably greedy—no deranged lover would ever be content with just a mere century together.
Especially not this 'Evil God,' who possessed endless life.
He might not transform into some grotesque, eye-covered monster or lose himself to bloodlust, but there was a very real chance he’d become something like Lin Zhiyan or the staff: a creature with human appearance and consciousness, yet cursed with eternal, undying existence.
For Xia Qing, this might have been a favorable outcome—no death at sea, and the coveted gift of immortality. But for Ruan Qing? It was anything but.
If he became a monster, he’d lose his qualification to clear the instance, trapped forever within this nightmare.
His lips pressed together anxiously. At the sound of the staff member’s voice, he glanced toward the door.
"Qi Lintian" had woken as well. His gaze, too, slid toward the entrance, darkening with malice as an oppressive aura radiated from him—unrestrained, even seeping beyond the door.
The pressure of imminent death would have left an ordinary person paralyzed with terror. Yet the staff member didn’t falter. Instead, they trembled with exhilaration.
Even knowing the Evil God couldn’t see through the door, they bowed their head reverently, voice quivering.
"Great Evil God, breakfast is prepared. We humbly await Your presence in the dining hall."
Ruan Qing’s first instinct was refusal. But if he never showed himself, these people would inevitably grow suspicious—and that would only invite greater chaos.
What's more, staying with "Qi Lintian" wasn't necessarily safe either.
Yet Ruan Qing couldn't possibly go anywhere now.
His body was covered in marks—even his neck and lips weren't spared. Even after several hours, those traces showed no signs of fading.
Sitting silently on the bed, Ruan Qing stared at the marks on his wrist before finally lowering his gaze to look at "Qi Lintian".
The interruption from the staff had put "Qi Lintian" in a foul mood, his entire body radiating hostility. But the moment Ruan Qing glanced at him, that aura instantly dissipated, reverting back to the composed demeanor of a noble young master.
An Evil God had no need for sustenance, but humans did—at least until Ruan Qing's body underwent complete transformation, he would still require food like any ordinary person.
With a slight movement of his fingers, "Qi Lintian" erased all the visible marks on Ruan Qing's skin. Then, kneeling on the bed, he meticulously straightened Ruan Qing's robes with gentle, unhurried care.
His lowered gaze and attentive movements made him seem more like a servant attending to his master.
Yet "Qi Lintian" reveled in this role. As he watched the quiet youth allow himself to be tended to, a thrill of excitement and satisfaction surged through him.
This person belonged to him—now and forever.
An intense emotion coursed through his body, making his fingers tremble with barely restrained excitement. His darkened gaze no longer looked like he wanted to adjust the robes—it was far more like he wanted to tear them off.
Morning was always the most impulsive time of day, and emotions that had yet to be fully satisfied came flooding back, overwhelming his senses.
But Ruan Qing's body was too fragile—it couldn't endure any more of his... attentions.
Taking a deep breath, "Qi Lintian" forced down his excitement and focused on smoothing out every last wrinkle in Ruan Qing's robes with methodical precision.
The robes didn’t belong to Ruan Qing, nor had he been the one to put them on. In fact, they were slightly too large for him, giving the impression that he had stolen someone else's clothes.
On anyone else, the ill-fitting garments would have looked clownish and cheap. But on Ruan Qing, the oversized robes only accentuated his delicate frame—soft and almost... tempting.
'Delicate' might not have been the right word to describe a man, but Ruan Qing was exactly that. His quiet, obedient demeanor made him seem so fragile it could melt hearts—yet at the same time, there was something undeniably provocative about it.
It made you want to... peel those robes right off him.
But as "Qi Lintian" continued adjusting them, the robes somehow became a perfect fit—as if they had been tailored specifically for Ruan Qing all along.
The dark robes seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow under the light, exquisitely crafted and opulent—far beyond anything that could be made by mortal hands.
Coupled with Ruan Qing's detached expression, no one would doubt his divine identity.
No... perhaps some might still question.
If gods truly existed in this world, they would surely resemble this young man.
Rather than an evil deity, he seemed more like an aloof, transcendent god—one who regarded all existence with cold indifference.
It wasn’t just Qi Lintian who thought this way. Every staff member shared the same belief.
The moment Ruan Qing stepped into the dining hall, all eyes turned toward him, filled with deep obsession and fervor, as if they were the most devout followers of the Evil God.
But upon closer inspection, one could detect a trace of predatory hunger in their gazes—something far from the reverence a believer should hold for their deity.
That look alone was enough to send chills down one’s spine. When the livestream panned to the staff, even the viewers instinctively shuddered.
Though the staff quickly masked their expressions, the audience still gasped in horror.
[These people are seriously terrifying. That look made my hair stand on end—I broke out in a cold sweat!]
[For real. Their eyes were like rabid wild dogs, ready to pounce on prey. Just watching it made my scalp tingle. I’ve never seen regular NPCs in a dungeon exude this kind of pressure before. For a second, they even felt more oppressive than the cruise director.]
[Something feels off. Regular NPCs shouldn’t be this terrifying, right? Even high-level dungeons aren’t usually this extreme. Could this be one of those legendary 'Despair Dungeons'?]
[I was thinking the same thing…]
Despair Dungeons were a category of high-level dungeons—ones with a near-zero survival rate, infamous for their hellish difficulty.
But unlike normal dungeons, they weren’t labeled as such. Even if viewers checked the livestream’s dungeon rank, there was no way to confirm whether it truly was a Despair Dungeon.
One curious viewer tried searching for past livestream records of this dungeon—and actually found results.
The <Haunted Cruise> Clear Rate: 0.1%.
Though absurdly low, it wasn’t zero. At least one player must have cleared it before.
But when the viewer tried to find actual footage of those past attempts, nothing turned up—not even clips of players dying immediately upon entry.
The viewer shared their discovery in the chat.
[This dungeon's difficulty is indeed high, but someone has cleared it before. The problem is, hardly anyone noticed this dungeon back then—there aren't any recorded livestreams to be found.]
[I couldn't find any either. The closest was a somewhat related dungeon called <Horror Livestream>, which also featured those eyes. My guess is this dungeon is an upgraded version of that one.]
[Probably because there are too many people? The moment you step in, everyone turns to stare at you in unison—their eyes utterly deranged. The livestream even zoomed in for a close-up. How could that not feel oppressive?]
All dungeon-related comments in the livestream chat were automatically filtered out. Players inside the dungeon couldn't see a single word—not even the mutation progress bar.
But players parasitized by the eyes could feel the changes in their bodies with terrifying clarity.
Lin Gaoyuan never expected that a single drop of water from one of those monsters would alter him like this.
He could sense himself growing stronger, an endless surge of power flooding his veins. At the same time, his emotions were fading. The overwhelming fear of death that had gripped him earlier was gradually dulling, replaced by something far more disturbing—a ravenous hunger when he looked at other humans.
The urge to lunge forward, to sink his teeth into their necks and drain every last drop of their blood.
Lin Gaoyuan didn't want this. But he couldn't control the craving, couldn't rein in his own thoughts. Just staring at his companion's neck made him imagine the scent of blood—
Thick. Rancid. Disgusting.
Yet despite the revulsion, his throat moved reflexively, swallowing hard.
He knew, with chilling clarity, that even as he recoiled in horror... he ached for it.
Pale, bulbous growths had begun forming on his skin, their texture increasingly resembling eyeballs. Soon, he'd become just like those monsters that crawled up from the depths.
Lin Gaoyuan glanced at the other players scattered around the dining hall, discreetly gripping his sleeve-covered arm. His lowered eyes darkened—just as a snarl began twisting his features—
Click. Click. Click.
A crisp set of footsteps echoed through the room.
Instinctively, Lin Gaoyuan looked up—and his breath caught.
His pupils shrank to pinpricks.
That... was the Evil God?
Dumbstruck, he stared at the godlike youth stepping through the doorway, a hand flying to his chest as his heart lurched violently. For the first time since the parasite took hold, he felt something human again—an emotion even fiercer than before the infection.
And when the youth's gaze swept indifferently past him...
Lin Gaoyuan, in that single moment, thought—
Becoming a monster... might not be so bad after all.
Even when that gaze weren't truly directed at him.
