The reckless peek into the light had felt like an eternity to Mu Sichen, but in reality, only seconds had passed. Nearby, doors began to creak open as people draped in cloaks filtered out.

Ignoring the throbbing agony in his left eye, Mu Sichen began to survey his surroundings.

Their “housing” was bizarre. Based on the interior layout, he had assumed he was in an apartment complex. He expected to find a stairwell, an elevator, or at least a hallway leading to other units. Instead, the moment he stepped through his threshold, he found himself standing in a vast, open plaza.

There were no buildings in sight. There was only the wide expanse of the square and a dense, shimmering fog that limited visibility to less than a hundred meters. The mist blanketed the ground and the sky alike, yet it acted as the primary light source; glowing motes drifted within the vapor, illuminating the area. It felt as though, without this fog, he would be cast into total, absolute void.

Battling a wave of nausea, Mu Sichen recalled his glimpse of the “Day.” White feathers had fallen from that celestial eye, dissolving into this very mist.

It was clear: the fog was the Big Eye’s creation. During the “Night,” the entity closed its eyes and likely entered a weakened state. To protect itself and maintain control over the town, it conjured this shroud.

The eye Mu Sichen had seen was positioned high in the firmament, looking down on the world. Even now, if he closed his functional right eye, a mental image of a massive, tightly shut eyelid hanging in the void would flicker in his mind.

That one peek seemed to have granted him a nebulous, inexplicable ability. The System hadn’t provided a description yet, likely because he hadn’t learned to consciously trigger it.

The manifestation of the Big Eye’s power was sight itself. Mu Sichen realized that whatever power he now possessed had been siphoned directly from that entity. He truly felt that his primary skill should be renamed “Wool-Pulling” (Siphoning) rather than “Undermining.”

Calling the entity “Big Eye” and maintaining a cynical sense of humor kept his Sanity (SAN) stable. If he allowed himself to feel true terror, the mere memory of that eye would cause his SAN to plummet into an irreversible abyss. By giving the “Great Existence” a goofy nickname, his fear was replaced with a touch of mockery, which anchored his emotions.

As the crowd of cloaked figures grew, Mu Sichen blended in, quietly observing.

Most people moved with stiff, mechanical motions, their expressions vacant. Their SAN values hovered between 50 and 60—below the passing grade of “healthy,” but not catastrophic. These were the ordinary residents: people who hadn’t become fanatics but lacked the spirit to resist. They simply existed in a state of numbness.

A rare few possessed SAN values between 60 and 90. Mu Sichen watched them closely. Their expressions were strange—a mix of fear and suppressed excitement, like tourists at a high-end haunted house, terrified yet eager for the next jump-scare.

Are these… internal beta players like me? The thought sparked a flame of hope.

He had spent so much time trapped in a dark room that he’d assumed he was the only one. But “My Ideal Town” was a public website with a forum; he wasn’t the only one who had seen it. Several of his professional gaming clients had even complained in group chats about how poor the game’s teaser looked.

If there were other players, it meant there had to be a gateway between this world and reality. He might actually have a chance to go home.

However, he didn’t let his guard down. He wouldn’t treat this like a typical game where death was just a respawn timer. Everything he had encountered so far transcended modern logic, morality, and law. In this place, treating it like a “game” was a one-way ticket to a horrific end.

He decided not to approach the other players yet, choosing instead to keep observing.

SAN values above 90 were incredibly rare, but he saw plenty of -90s. Normal SAN bars were white; negative SAN bars were a stark, oily black.

A group of people without cloaks stood in the center of the plaza. Their SAN values fluctuated between 0 and -100. Their attire matched the Follower he had beaten senseless—they were of the same breed.

Seeing them, Mu Sichen’s eyes gleamed. He was facing a SAN-drain crisis; if he could take down a few more Followers, he could farm more Ego Stickers to stop his mental decay.

Too bad I left the radio in the room, he thought. I can’t “Undermine” for Qin Zhou right now. I wonder if just chanting his name in a Follower’s ear would work?

Even if the name didn’t work, there had to be “Degenerates” from Xiangping Town hiding nearby—the sources of the radio and flashlight. He just needed to find where they were lurking.

His train of thought was derailed by a blindingly bright SAN value.

One cloaked figure was walking around with a +528 SAN value. Their white attribute bar was literally emitting a soft, holy light.

Mu Sichen: “…”

What a reassuringly high number. He began to move stealthily, drifting through the crowd to get behind the “+528.”

Meanwhile, several players seemed to have recognized each other. They gathered in a tight circle, whispering with a level of excitement that suggested they still thought they were in a high-fidelity VR simulation.

Mu Sichen paused his approach to “+528.” He wanted to warn the players not to be so reckless.

But at that moment, a figure with white wings emerged from the mist and descended into the center of the square.

The chattering players went silent, staring at the newcomer with wide-eyed wonder. Mu Sichen was also shocked—not because of the wings, but because of the SAN value over the creature’s head: -1,067.

SAN wasn’t a measure of combat power; “+528” wasn’t necessarily weaker than “-1,067.” It was a measure of mental state. A high value indicated absolute logic and an iron will, though often bordering on coldness. A low value indicated madness. But when the value dropped below zero, it reached a “Negative Stability”—a state that appeared calm and rational on the surface but was built on a foundation of pure insanity.

The creature before them was the embodiment of this. His face was serene, peaceful, almost saintly.

The Followers immediately bowed their heads. “Apostle Feather-Eye,” they whispered in unison.

The residents (SAN 50-60) dropped to one knee, touched their left palms to their eyes, and echoed the greeting.

Mu Sichen, ever the pragmatist, mimicked the residents perfectly. He dropped to one knee, performed the eye-touch gesture, and hid his face. To his surprise, “+528” did the exact same thing.

Only the “players” remained standing. Even after three of them finally knelt out of peer pressure, four remained upright, fascinated by the “NPC.”

Mu Sichen even overheard one mutter, “Why are they kneeling? It’s just a game. What’s there to be afraid of?”

Apostle Feather-Eye turned his gaze toward them.

His face was handsome, his eyes appeared normal, and his lashes weren’t the worms Mu Sichen had seen earlier. His expression was indifferent as he watched the players.

“Bring them here,” the Apostle said softly.

Dozens of Followers swarmed the four players. One player laughed, pulled out a handgun, and shouted, “Let’s party up! These mobs are just free XP!”

He pulled the trigger. His aim was true; the bullet thudded into a Follower’s chest.

The Follower went down, and the other three players, emboldened, pulled out their own starting items—ropes, a sledgehammer, and a pair of shears—to fight back.

The gunman was incredibly fast. Clearly, his chosen tool had granted him a significant agility buff. He darted through the crowd, shouting, “These mobs are weak! Go, go, go!”

The Followers didn’t even try to dodge. They let the players hack and beat at them, absorbing the wounds. Within a minute, the four players had cleared the grunts and stood before Apostle Feather-Eye.

The gunman raised his weapon to the Apostle’s forehead. “I saved my last bullet just for you!”

As he pulled the trigger, the Apostle smiled. He opened his mouth and whispered a single word:

“Degenerate.“

As he spoke, the wings on his back unfurled. Every single feather was tipped with a lidless, staring eye.

Mu Sichen squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his cloak. He could not, under any circumstances, allow himself to be caught in that gaze.

Despite his closed eyes, a mental image of the slaughter flickered in his mind.

The gunman’s bullet struck the Apostle’s brow, leaving a smoking hole. The player blew on his gun, triumphant.

The Apostle didn’t fall. The rope player charged in. “He’s tagged! I’ll bind him, Hammer, back me up!”

But the “wound” on the Apostle’s forehead suddenly split wide. An eyeball manifested from nothingness within the bullet hole, pushing the spent casing out until it clattered to the floor.

Behind them, the fallen Followers stood back up. An eye sprouted from every wound they had taken. Hundreds of gazes locked onto the four players.

“Degenerate. Degenerate. Degenerate!” the Followers chanted in a horrifying unison.

The players’ faces twisted in panic. Their SAN values, which had been around 90, began to plummet: -2, -3, -5… “What is this?! This game is too scary! How did this pass censorship?!” the shears player screamed.

“Purify,” the Apostle commanded.

The eyes on his wings erupted with beams of blood-red light. The Followers’ eyes flared with a matching crimson glow.

Bathed in the light, the players’ SAN dropped in chunks of -10. When they hit zero, they let out blood-curdling shrieks.

Their skin began to rupture. Countless eyeballs bubbled up from beneath their flesh, multiplying and bursting through their pores. Within heartbeats, their bodies collapsed into heaps of twitching ocular tissue before dissolving into white mist, merging with the fog.

The Apostle’s wings then emitted a soft white light. The wounded Followers bathed in it, their gashes knitting back together as the extra eyes closed and vanished.

“We thank Apostle Feather-Eye for his blessing,” the Followers droned.

The Apostle folded his wings, his saintly smile returning. “The Degenerates have been purified. We remain forever under the gaze of the Sky-Pupil.”

Author’s Note:

Qin Zhou: There’s a guy who thinks of me every day, chants my name, but doesn’t believe in me. Does he have a crush on me?

Mu Sichen: Big Eye is way too scary. Qin Zhou is much easier to exploit.