Chapter 113: Echoes of Exploitation
The golden light of the Locus shimmered across Philip's vision, subtle at first then deepening into brilliance. It wasn't mere illumination. It was memory. Ancient records unraveling. He stood at the very heart of the celestial construct, surrounded by concentric rings of reality's most sacred laws. Glyphs floated in the air like soft fireflies of wisdom, and the stone beneath his feet pulsed with recognition.
Administrator privileges had been granted.
The Locus the planetary engine, the stabilizing soul of Earth had opened its true self to him.
He could feel its pain. Not physical, not structural but ancestral. A lingering ache of something betrayed, something stolen.
"You feel it now," the Artifact Spirit said, materializing before him once more. Her form was calmer this time, less blazing with raw origin power, more focused like a priestess about to deliver a funeral hymn. Her voice was gentler, yet imbued with cosmic weight.
"This planet… Earth… was once a garden," she said. "But like many others… it was exploited by the Divine."
Philip's brow furrowed. "Exploited?"
She nodded, drifting slowly over the golden platform, her feet never touching the ground. "The Locus was not made to be a political chamber or a throne for demigods. It was a stabilizer. A final gift. A pulse regulator left behind after the Great Battle at the edge of the Origin Plane."
"The Emperor," Philip murmured.
"Yes," she confirmed. "The very one whose inheritance you now bear. In the chaos that followed the fragmentation of the Origin Plane, the Emperor gathered remnants of the broken foundation floating cores of essence, shattered dimensional islands and forged them into new planets. Earth was one."
He felt it then a deep pulse echoing from the planetary core, as if the Earth itself wept through time.
"With the help of survivors, he instructed the building of planetary stabilizers what you call pyramids. Placed at leyline nodes and harmonic intersections, they channeled Origin Mana into the planet's core, slowing its entropy, nurturing growth, and protecting it from dimensional collapse."
"But the Divine came," the spirit said, her tone dimming.
Philip's eyes narrowed.
"They saw the Locus not as a gift," she continued, "but as a battery. Something to harness. To feed their fledgling divine territories. They tapped into its channels, redirected the origin mana to empower themselves. What should have nurtured Earth was stolen bled upward into suspended Divine Realms orbiting dimensions above your own."
He clenched a fist.
"They fed off Earth like parasites," the spirit said, voice hardening. "Built their artifact cores with your world's breath. Evolved their realms while Earth starved."
Philip recalled the mana storms. The leyline flares. The chaotic surges that birthed unstable Awakened and burned out cities. It hadn't been Earth growing it had been Earth choking.
"Did the Emperor not know?" he asked.
"He vanished," she replied. "Hunting down the survivors of the invading realms.But during the silence that followed, the Divine crept in."
Philip felt the pulse of the Locus again this time like a heartbeat interrupted.
"But not all worlds suffered," the spirit added, shifting her tone. "Some planetary shards resisted. They cloaked themselves in realms adjacent to the origin fold. Hidden, shielded. These worlds became sanctuaries. They produced divine beasts, sacred metals, and rare evolution paths never corrupted by the Divine."
Philip's thoughts swirled. "And Earth?"
"Earth is recovering. Slowly. But the scars remain. Most of the original pyramids were destroyed some turned dormant. The few still active continue to function, but barely. Where they fail to replenish themselves, they leech the surrounding land. That is why deserts form. The pyramids absorb all essence when mana supply is starved."
Philip flinched. It made too much sense.
"And Africa?" he asked, a deeper edge to his voice.
The spirit turned to him, her eyes galaxies in motion.
"Africa is the last true territory of resistance," she said. "It is where the energy pulled most strongly from the origin. The resonance is strongest there. The surviving pyramids remain semi-active."
"Because Earth is defending itself," the spirit said. "The pyramids, once fully powered, created blessings. But now? Their hunger curses the land."
Philip went still.
"The Earth cannot touch the Divine directly. But it can impose penalties. Any being not of the land any awakened born outside the resonance has their mana drained the moment they step onto the continent. The stronger they are, the more they bleed."
A realization bloomed in his mind.
"That's why foreign Demigods don't stay long…"
"They can't," she replied. "A Demigod not aligned with Africa will be reduced to Mystic level. Their Domain will collapse. Their mana will feed the land. The Earth sees them as enemies."
His mind reeled. "And African Awakened?"
"They are subtly suppressed,". The Earth draws lightly from them to fuel its repair. That is why so many excel once they leave the continent the burden lifts."
It all fit. The pattern. The awakenings. The disappearances.
"And no Demigod has ever risen from the land," he muttered.
The spirit looked down. "Because they would be invincible. And so, before that can happen… they are killed."
Silence.
A heavy, smothering silence.
Then, golden symbols began forming around Philip's body new ones. More refined.
Administrator code.
The spirit looked at him.
"Earth no longer needs a ruler, Philip Egboluche. She needs a guardian. A voice. Someone who will keep the Divine from returning. Someone who can turn the Locus into what it was always meant to be."
A stabilizer. A protector. A planetary heart.
"You don't have to lead humanity," she added softly. "You just have to give the world a chance to grow again."