Ardan watched, a sneer twisting his lips, as the light drained from Citra’s face. “You want to harvest? Go ahead, farmer. Harvest dirt. You have nothing left. No connection, no Guildmaster to save your crops, no Spire to call home.” He gestured to the crumpled figure amidst the tomato vines. “Even your little protector is just… fertilizer now.” Bayu didn't hear him. The cold fury that had settled in his gut wasn’t loud, but it was absolute. His gaze remained fixed on Citra, on the way her ribs rose and fell in jagged, uneven twitches. The Soul-Shearer’s Blade had done its work, leaving a gaping wound in her spiritual core. “The heart of the Spire itself,” Mbah Suro repeated, his voice gentle as he took another bite of the durian. “The true core. It’s what powers the whole thing. Been under that little pillar this entire time, hidden in plain sight. Always available, never taken.” Bayu’s head snapped towards Mbah Suro, then to the ornate stone pillar standing innocently in the center of the glasshouse, usually adorned with a rotating display of Bayu’s prize-winning hybrid gourds. Beneath the surface, there was a faint, almost imperceptible pulsation. Ardan scoffed, oblivious. “He’s messing with you, farmer. There’s no ‘heart.’ The Spire is a mana conduit, nothing more. And now that conduit is severed from you. You’re just a man with a trowel.” He started to laugh, a high, grating sound. Bayu ignored him. His focus narrowed to the plinth. It wasn’t a conduit, not truly. It was a living thing, an ancient mechanism that pulsed with an energy far older than the Bhairava Spire itself. He reached out a hand, not to touch, but to feel. The air around the plinth thrummed with a subtle vibration, a deep hum matching the heavy tempo in Bayu’s chest. He felt a connection, not through the managerial privileges he’d accidentally claimed, but a raw, primal link. This wasn’t about gardening techniques or efficiency protocols. This was about life, about death, about the essence that had been stolen from Citra. With a grunt, Bayu gripped the edge of the carved stone. His muscles strained, not from weakness, but from the sheer archaic stubbornness of the ancient stone. Mana surged through his arms, responding to his intent, the same intent that made his zucchini swell to monstrous sizes and his radishes thrum with vitality. Ardan’s laughter died in his throat. Ardan recoiled as fractures spiderwebbed across the ancient stone, radiating from where Bayu’s fingers dug in. A blinding, pure azure light erupted from within, pushing back the shadows, bathing the glasshouse in an ethereal glow. “What are you doing?!” Ardan shrieked, stumbling back. “That can't happen!” With a final roar that surprised even himself, Bayu ripped the entire slab free. A deafening crunch echoed through the conservatory. Where the plinth had stood, suspended in the air by invisible forces, now floated a single, radiant mineral sphere. It pulsed with an inner light, like a trapped nebula, its facets shifting through every shade of blue and green, radiating an almost painful warmth. [WARNING: CORE EXTRACTION DETECTED. ADMINISTRATIVE INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. ZENITH CANOPY GEOMETRY DE-STABILIZED. EXPECT STRUCTURAL COLLAPSE IN T-MINUS 180 SECONDS. HAVE A NICE DAY.] The Dharma Interface’s calm announcement was punctuated by a low, grinding rumble that vibrated through the floor. Dust rained from the ceiling. Cracks, wider than Bayu’s arm, snaked across the transparent ceiling above, revealing the black void beyond. Ardan stared at the glowing heart, his pupils dilated with manic greed. “The core! That’s it! The source of everything! Give it to me, farmer! With that, I’ll be the God-Admin!” He lunged forward, not for Bayu, but for the vacant stand, as if hoping to claim the title by mere proximity. Bayu paid him no mind. He cradled the Spire’s heart in his hands. It burned scalding hot, pulsing with a steady, rhythmic beat that synchronized with his own frantic pulse. He looked at Citra, her skin pale, her breathing shallow. Her life force, once so vibrant, was fading fast. There was no time. He brought the shining orb to his mouth. It was solid, unyielding. But he didn’t need it to yield. He needed it to give. The cold fury returned, sharper now, focused. He remembered every weed he’d ever pulled, every stubborn root he’d snapped, every unyielding clod of earth he’d broken apart for the sake of his plants. With a guttural cry, Bayu squeezed. Mana surged from his hands, not gently coaxing, but brutally demanding. The mineral structure shrieked, a sound unheard by mortal ears, as it began to liquefy. The radiant orb compressed, warped, and then burst into a stream of thick, effervescent, pure azure fluid that shimmered with contained starlight. He knelt beside Citra, ignoring the tremors that rocked the structure. Her eyes were unfocused, barely open. He tilted her head gently, and poured the glowing essence into her mouth. The liquid was warm, sweet, and tasted of sun-drenched earth and forgotten stars. As it slid down her throat, Citra gasped. A burst of searing light flared from her ribs, washing over the rows of dirt and making Ardan shriek. The curse that had clung to her like a shroud shattered, disintegrating into motes of shadow that vanished into the void. Citra’s eyelids flew back, showing iris rings clear as polished glass. A vibrant flush returned to her cheeks. Her body twitched, not in spasms, but with an overflow of raw power. She sat up, her movements fluid and impossibly swift, her gaze locking onto Bayu with an intensity that pinned him to the soil. [ADMINISTRATOR 'CITRA' DETECTED. SOUL INTEGRITY RESTORED. NEW ADMINISTRATIVE STATS GRANTED: 'SPHERE GUARDIAN - LEVEL Ω', 'ARCHITECT'S DISCIPLE - LEVEL Ξ', 'ESSENCE OF CANOPY - LEVEL ∞'. ADDITIONAL PERKS UNLOCKED: 'STRUCTURAL MANIPULATION', 'MANA CONFLUENCE', 'OMEGA HARMONY'. CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR UNEXPECTED GODHOOD. PLEASE ENJOY YOUR STAY.] Citra blinked, then a slow, utterly stunned smile spread across her face. “Bayu…” Her voice was a whisper, but it resonated with a newfound power. “What… what did you do?” Ardan, meanwhile, had reached the sheared plinth. He scrambled onto it, his arms outstretched, his face contorted in a desperate plea. “I claim it! I claim the Spire! I am the new God-Admin! Hear me, Interface! Hear your rightful master!” [SCANNING BIO-SIGNATURE 'ARDAN'. CORE ABSENT. ADMINISTRATOR PRIVILEGES UNAVAILABLE. BIO-SIGNATURE DEEMED 'UNWORTHY FERTILIZER'. INITIATING PRIMARY FUNCTION: REPURPOSE. THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.] Ardan’s triumphant cry choked off into a strangled gurgle. His skin began to harden, turning bark-like. His limbs stretched and twisted, reforming into stiff, wooden branches. His irises, frantic and darting, solidified into painted-on buttons. A tattered, oversized straw hat materialized on his head. Within moments, where the CEO of the Guild Conglomerate had stood, now swayed a crudely fashioned wooden scarecrow, arms perpetually outstretched, a silent, painted scream on its face. It stood sentinel over Bayu’s beloved tomato vines, utterly immobile. Mbah Suro clapped slowly, the sound echoing through the shuddering glasshouse. “Well, that was rather efficient. Not quite how I envisioned the Core’s reintegration, but sometimes a brute-force solution is… elegant in its own way.” He gave Bayu a knowing smile. “You see, Bayu, the Spire was never meant to be a tower. It was meant to be a vessel. Its heart, its deepest marrow, was always meant to be internalized. To bind with one strong enough, stubborn enough, to anchor it against the void.” The Zenith Canopy groaned again, more violently this time. Large sections of the floor tore away, revealing the swirling darkness below. The cracks in the ceiling expanded, showering them with debris. But amidst the chaos, a strange sensation settled over the 100th floor. A lightness. A detachment. “Now that its heart is within you, and your farm has become its new core,” Mbah Suro continued, his voice perfectly calm as another segment of the floor vanished, “the rest of it is… extraneous. An empty shell.” Below them, through the growing gaps in the floor, Bayu saw it. The lower ninety-nine floors of the Bhairava Spire, a monolithic column of stone stretching into the hazy distance, shuddered. Then, with a sound like a thousand tearing mountains, they detached. The colossal tower, no longer anchored by its heart, no longer bound to the newly independent Zenith Canopy, began to fall. A slow, agonizing descent, directly towards the unsuspecting continent of Nusantara, destined to wipe out everything in its path.

Lethal Harvesting