"Chapter 1: Beacon in the Abyss

[This is the Sea of the Black Abyss. From this moment forth, you will exist alongside an endless void.]

[Accept your fate and sink to the ocean floor, or battle your fears and overcome the transcendent horrors emerging from the Black Abyss.]

[The beacon is your sole sanctuary. Only under its light will unspeakable terrors reveal their true forms.]

[Warning: The Abyssal Tide grows fiercer. You must act before it consumes you entirely.]

Lin Feng jerked upright on a mildew-stained bed, gasping for air. His face was deathly pale, eyes darting nervously.

What in the world was that?

He sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing his temples as fragmented, grotesque visions flooded his mind.

Black waters surged violently, swallowing every inch of land as the world plunged into the deep.

Countless screams tore through the sky—until all were silenced beneath the waves.

Above, the sun vanished, replaced by an eternal, starless void.

This was apocalypse made real.

Is this the afterlife?

His mind reeled. Hallucinations? Or had he truly died?

Lin Feng had clawed his way from an exam-grinding wage slave to founding a modest company worth millions. Just as success seemed certain, his closest friend and girlfriend betrayed him, leaving him bankrupt.

Then came the terminal diagnosis.

He’d awaited death alone in a run-down rental—all within three brutal years.

Trust was now a luxury he couldn’t afford.

He rose, floorboards groaning beneath his weight.

The room defied expectation.

Slick seaweed coated the walls, glowing cobalt under dim light.

The air hung thick with brine and rot. Beyond the wailing wind, whispers echoed like ancient deep-sea murmurs.

On a table flickered an antique copper lantern—the only light source. Inside, no flame burned—only a radiant stone.

Lantern in hand, Lin Feng approached the nearest window. Rust-mottled glass framed a nightmare.

His pupils shrank.

starless sky. Waters blacker than oblivion.

Every detail mirrored his visions.

He stood atop a lighthouse drowning in an abyss, its spotlight carving a path of light across the restless sea. Beneath those waves, something slithered.

quick search revealed two items beside his bed: a leather-bound journal embossed with a skull, and an iridescent violet fishing rod.

[Keeper’s Log]

The fifth floor houses the control and lookout rooms. Direct the spotlight and monitor the sea from there.

The spotlight is indestructible and eternal. Do not fear its loss.

Terrors lurk beneath the Abyssal currents. Only intense light exposes them.

Countless treasures lie hidden within the Black Abyss—if you can haul them up.

Abyssal horrors may climb your beacon at any moment. Stay vigilant without pause.

This stationary ""ship"" requires peculiar ""crewmates"" to repel the encroaching tide. Without them, rest is impossible.

NEVER enter the Black Abyss. NEVER enter the Black Abyss. NEVER enter the Black Abyss!!!

Lin Feng grabbed the fishing rod. Instantly, details materialized:

[Name: Piscator]

[Grade: Purple]

[A reward from elite entities in highest-tier domains. Functionally identical to standard rods, yet infinite durability allows unrestricted harvesting from the Abyss.]

He examined it intently—until the log began shuddering.

Lin Feng leaped back, muscles tense.

The journal snapped open, emitting a blood-red glare. Scarlet script burned in the air:

[Weary of mediocrity? Revel in the gods’ grand theater.]

[Here, your body halts decay—but death still hunts you.]

[All begin with this log and one random artifact. Fairness was never promised.]

[A potent artifact? Congratulations—an Abyssal god now watches you.]

[Note: Key artifacts are graded: White, Green, Blue, Purple, Red.]

The book slammed shut.

luminous interface appeared:

[Inventory] [Equipment] [Channels] [Crafting] …

Lin Feng tapped [Channels]. Frenzied messages flooded in—not seeking answers, but boasting about artifacts:

""Blue-grade baseball bat. Sick weapon, right?""

""WTF?! Another Blue starter?! Mine's a White food crate—ten jars of fermented tofu. Edible? Seriously?!""

""I’ve got a Blue food crate: 20 cans—pork, chicken, lamb. Foreign stuff. At least it’s not tofu.""

Odd. They’re adapting fast—or treating this as a game?

Most starters were White. Green was scarce. Blue sparked envy.

And my Purple? Does this mean I’m already hunted by a god?

Barters dominated the channel: ""Need fishing lines!"" ""Trading for water!"" ""Food here!""

The [Crafting] panel revealed a basic rod required one [Fishing Line] + two [Sticks]. Durability: 50.

Each cast cost ≥1 durability.

Snagging worthless junk? Durability loss.

Hauling treasures? Loss scaled to value.

Catching monsters? Catastrophic wear.

Sticks were everywhere in the lighthouse. But [Fishing Line]? White-grade—luck-dependent.

No wonder a rod with no perks is Purple.

Lin Feng’s pulse quickened.

Unlike others, he had no ties—no family, no friends. Nothing to mourn.

His illness? Gone.

This isn’t an end. It’s freedom.

At the lighthouse’s fourth floor, he readied the rod. Then, with deliberate care, he twisted a bedsheet into a tether—fastening the rod to his bedframe.

One slip, and this game’s over.

Lin Feng cast his first line into the abyss."