Player World—Late Night. Cycle 12.
Ethan didn’t feel victorious.
He’d stopped the sketch, sure—but the aftertaste was bitter.
Godly Power wasn’t like throwing a punch or snapping a lock. It wasn’t even like telekinesis.
It was editing someone.
He’d felt Quinn’s intent collapse. He’d watched memories blur.
And he’d watched his own Mental Power evaporate in the process, as if the world itself demanded a price for that kind of interference.
That led him to an uncomfortable thought:
What if this “Godly Power” was exactly how the Seven Gods kept the Endless Sea obedient?
Ethan dug out the gray, cloth‑bound notebook he’d taken from Gerd’s seaside cottage.
The one that didn’t belong in that world.
The one written in simplified Chinese.
Faranir’s handwriting.
A man from the Endless Sea, leaving notes like a player from Earth.
A player… from long ago.
Ethan’s gaze narrowed.
If Faranir was a player…
The Seven Gods—those distant, untouchable entities worshiped across the sea—might be the same kind of existence.
Just… the first ones who climbed high enough to pretend they were divine.
Ethan looked toward the living room.
Xueyu was still on the couch, watching TV like she’d lived on Earth her whole life.
She glanced over. “You’ve been making that face for ten minutes.”
“What face?”
“The one where you’re about to ask something dangerous.”
Ethan held up the notebook. “Xueyu. Be honest with me.”
Her tail flicked. “That depends on the question.”
“Do you think the Seven Gods are players too?”
Xueyu’s expression stilled.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the distant chatter of the television.
She exhaled, slow and careful.
“…It’s possible,” she said at last. “And if it’s true, it explains too much.”
Ethan leaned forward. “Tell me.”
Xueyu hugged a pillow against her chest, gaze unfocused, as if she was staring through the wall and into an older world.
“In mermaid legends,” she began, “there was a time before the Seven False Gods.”
“Back then, the Endless Sea wasn’t divided into churches and doctrines.”
“There was a Sea King.”
Ethan’s brow lifted. “A real god?”
“A ruler,” Xueyu corrected. “A sovereign. Something closer to… the Creator God’s steward.”
She hesitated, then continued.
“We mermaids truly worshiped the Sea King once. We weren’t always what we are now.”
“The Seven came later. They weren’t born from the sea. They arrived from outside—like invaders.”
“And when they arrived, they did three things.”
She held up a finger.
“First: they stole the names of power.”
“The sea already had extraordinary paths. But the Seven rebranded everything as their ‘blessings.’ They renamed abilities, repackaged destinies, and told every race: you only have power because we allow it.”
A second finger.
“Second: they built the System.”
Ethan’s eyes sharpened.
Xueyu nodded grimly. “The System is their cage. Their pipeline. Their harvest.”
“Talents. Classes. Levels. Missions.”
“All of it turns living beings into predictable, controllable pieces. And it turns faith into fuel.”
A third finger.
“Third: they made examples.”
Ethan’s mouth tightened. “The angels.”
Xueyu’s voice dropped. “Yes.”
“The angels didn’t bow. So the Seven fought them.”
“And when the angels lost… they didn’t just die.”
Xueyu’s fingers clenched.
“They were broken.”
“The Seven tore off their wings—one by one—and used those wings to craft a new race.”
Ethan felt a cold prickle crawl up his spine.
“…Mermaids,” he said quietly.
Xueyu nodded, eyes hard. “Beautiful. Voiceless. Bound to the sea.”
“A reminder that even angels could be turned into tools.”
Ethan sat back, the notebook heavy in his hands.
If the Seven could do that…
Godly Power—this ability to sense intent, to interfere with thought—wasn’t a “reward.”
It was a signature.
A mark of the same kind of existence.
Xueyu watched his expression and gave a humorless laugh.
“Still think it’s cool to become a god?”
Ethan didn’t answer immediately.
He thought about how easy it had been to make a sketch artist’s hand freeze.
How quickly a memory could become fog.
He thought about Faranir’s notebook.
About the Creator God.
About the Seven False Gods squatting on thrones like thieves.
Finally he said, “If they’re players…”
“…then the game might not be for us,” Xueyu finished. “It might be for them.”
She shifted, tone turning bitter. “Do you know what the System gave me this cycle?”
Ethan’s eyes flicked to her. “The Sign‑In Talent already gave you a lot.”
“Too much,” Xueyu said.
“The System handed me a Tier‑5 Soul Devourer fragment.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. That wasn’t generosity. That was bait.
“And then it assigned me a mission,” Xueyu continued. “Advance to Tier‑2 Soul Devourer.”
Her smile was thin. “It promised that if I do, I can return to the Endless Sea.”
Ethan frowned. “You want to go back?”
Xueyu’s gaze sharpened. “I want my home back. But I don’t want to be the System’s pet.”
She leaned closer, voice low. “Doesn’t it feel like it’s guiding us?”
“Like it wants you to grow fast.”
“And it wants me to grow into something ugly.”
Ethan didn’t deny it.
He’d felt that hand on his back too, pushing.
A different thought surfaced, sharp as a hook.
“…If the Seven are players,” Ethan said, “then someone like Shia…”
Xueyu’s expression darkened.
“The black dragons,” she said softly. “The ones who tried to change the sea.”
Ethan swallowed. “You told me Shia’s mother was important.”
Xueyu nodded once.
“In the old stories, there was a Black Dragon Queen who refused to kneel. She fought the Seven. She tried to tear down their churches.”
“And the Seven answered the only way tyrants know how.”
“They slaughtered her.”
“They hunted her kin.”
“They turned the black dragons into a warning to every other race.”
Ethan’s pulse thudded.
Shia’s rage wasn’t just personal.
It was inherited.
He looked at Xueyu. “You’re saying…”
Xueyu met his gaze without blinking.
“Shia’s mother was the last Black Dragon Queen,” she said. “The one the Seven False Gods personally erased.”
Ethan’s fingers tightened on the notebook.
“…So that’s why she’s willing to burn an entire island down,” he murmured.
Xueyu didn’t disagree.
She only asked, quietly, “Now do you understand what kind of world you’re playing in?”
Ethan didn’t answer.
Because the answer was obvious.
And it was terrifying.