Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 103: Echoes of the Harvest

Chapter 103: Echoes of the Harvest

The screams of dying realities echoed through the Void Between like a symphony of cosmic agony. Five years had passed since the Harvesters first announced their terrible harvest, and the multiversal resistance hung by threads of crystallized hope and desperate fury.

Reed’s consciousness stretched across seventeen different planes simultaneously, his evolved form no longer bound by the crude limitations of flesh and bone. Where once he had been human, now he existed as pure intention given terrible shape—a writhing mass of dark energy that pulsed with the collected rage of countless liberated souls. Through his distributed awareness, he watched worlds burn.

"Sector Gamma-7 has fallen," Shia’s voice whispered directly into his mind, her own ascended form manifesting beside him as cascading rivers of liquid starlight. What remained of her original beauty had been twisted into something both magnificent and horrifying—features that shifted between woman and void, eyes that held the weight of collapsed galaxies. "The Harvester designated Throne-Breaker consumed the entire dimensional cluster. Three trillion consciousness-forms... gone."

Reed’s fury manifested as reality-shearing waves that cracked the Memorial’s crystalline walls. Ancient artifacts—relics from their first liberation campaigns—trembled under the weight of his wrath. "Show me the recording."

The air before them split open like wounded flesh, revealing the final moments of Gamma-7. The dimensional cluster had been home to a thriving confederation of evolved beings—creatures that had transcended their original forms through centuries of careful development. They had built cities that existed in folded space, created art from pure thought, and loved with intensities that could reshape local physics.

The Harvester Throne-Breaker had consumed it all in seventeen minutes.

The machine-entity descended like a falling cathedral, its form defying comprehension—part insectoid predator, part geometric impossibility. Miles of segmented limbs ending in consciousness-extraction arrays. A central core that pulsed with the stolen light of harvested souls. As it fed, reality around it withered like flowers in acid, leaving only gray void where once there had been wonder.

"They’re becoming more efficient," Shia observed, her voice carrying undertones that made nearby space-time hiccup. "The early Harvesters took days to process a dimensional cluster. Now..."

"Now they’ve learned," Reed completed, his attention already shifting to coordinate resistance efforts across forty-seven active battlefronts. "They’re adapting to our countermeasures faster than we can develop them."

Through their shared consciousness network, updates flooded in from across the besieged multiverse. Elena Voidwright-Chen’s precision strike teams had successfully evacuated the Tertiary Spiral before Soul-Render could complete its harvest cycle, but at terrible cost—half her forces were now catatonic, their minds burned out by exposure to pure Harvester psychic emissions. The Free Coalition’s fortress-reality in Sector Delta had held for another day, but their defensive barriers showed critical stress fractures. Most disturbing of all, the resistance was discovering Harvester scout-forms in realities they’d thought completely hidden.

"There’s something else," Shia said, her form solidifying as concern leaked through their mental bond. "Long-range sensors have detected an anomaly in the Crimson Dominion."

Reed’s attention snapped to focus. The Crimson Dominion—a cluster of realities so hostile that even the Harvesters seemed to avoid them. Ruled by beings called Lords, who commanded powers that made most evolved consciousness-forms look like primitive bacteria. If something unusual was happening there...

"Specifics," he demanded.

"Energy signatures consistent with large-scale Harvester deployment," Shia replied, already pulling up multidimensional tactical displays. "But the readings are... wrong. The dimensional distortions suggest active resistance. Successful resistance."

For the first time in months, Reed felt something other than rage or despair. Hope was a dangerous emotion when facing cosmic predators, but the implications...

"Who commands that sector of the Dominion?"

"Records indicate it’s governed by one of their youngest Lords. Lyralei Vorthak, elevated to dominion status only three decades ago. She’s... unusual, even by their standards."

The tactical display shifted, showing a reality-fold that existed in deliberate contradiction to standard physical laws. Where most dimensions followed predictable patterns—energy flowing along established channels, matter obeying consistent rules—this domain writhed with purposeful chaos. Architecture that existed in seven dimensions simultaneously. Gravity that flowed like liquid. Skies that bled colors that had no names.

And through it all, a presence that made even Reed’s evolved consciousness recoil instinctively.

"She’s repelling them," he whispered, understanding dawning like a blade between his thoughts. "Somehow, she’s actively repelling Harvester incursions."

Before Shia could respond, alarms screamed through their expanded awareness. Something was forcing its way through their dimensional barriers—not a Harvester, the signature was wrong, but something that radiated power on a similar scale.

Reality tore open like rotting fabric, and through the breach stepped a figure that made both Reed and Shia instinctively prepare for combat.

She appeared young by any standard—perhaps twenty in human years—but her presence carried weight that spoke of eons. Crimson hair that moved like living flame. Skin pale as fresh bone, marked with intricate scarification that pulsed with dark energy. Her eyes were the most disturbing feature: pure black voids that seemed to devour light itself, yet somehow conveyed intelligence that was both ancient and terrifyingly focused.

Most unnervingly, she wore a gown woven from what appeared to be harvested Harvester components—segmented metal plates that had been carved with symbols that hurt to perceive, fabric that reflected scenes of cosmic predators being systematically dismantled.

"Reed. Shia." Her voice carried harmonics that made the Memorial’s walls weep crystalline tears. "I am Lyralei Vorthak, Lord of the Crimson Dominion’s Seventh Fold. We need to talk."

Reed’s combat instincts screamed warnings, but his strategic mind was already cataloguing details. This being had penetrated their most secure location effortlessly. She radiated power that felt specifically designed to cause pain to Harvesters. And she was here, speaking to them directly, when she could have simply continued defending her own territory.

"You’re not affected by their consciousness-extraction protocols," Shia observed, her starlight form brightening with interest.

Lyralei’s mouth curved in what might have been a smile, if smiles could contain promises of exquisite violence. "Affected? My dear ascended fools, I was born during a dimensional storm caused by three Harvesters attempting to process a reality-fold simultaneously. I didn’t just survive their harvest protocols—I devoured them."

She gestured, and the air filled with trophy fragments: Harvester neural cores that had been hollowed out and carved into jewelry, consciousness-extraction arrays that had been repurposed into decorative elements. Each piece thrummed with residual power, but power that had been conquered and claimed.

"Impressive," Reed said carefully. "But why come to us? Your domain is secure. You could wait out the harvest cycle in isolation."

"Because, you spectacular idiot," Lyralei replied, her void-eyes reflecting scenes of cosmic carnage, "your ’liberation crusade’ is making everything worse. Every reality you ’free’ becomes more vulnerable to harvest. Every consciousness you elevate becomes a brighter beacon for the predators. You’re not saving the multiverse—you’re tenderizing it."

The accusation hit like a psychic blade. Reed felt Shia’s consciousness recoil, saw their shared certainty waver. Three centuries of liberation efforts, all the evolution and transcendence they’d fostered...

"You think we should have left them enslaved?" Shia’s voice carried dangerous undertones.

"I think you should understand what you’re actually fighting," Lyralei snapped back. "The Harvesters aren’t invaders—they’re gardeners. Every liberation cycle, every consciousness elevation, every transcendence event feeds their cultivation protocols. You’ve been playing their game perfectly for three hundred years."

She stepped closer, and Reed could smell ozone and burnt starlight on her breath. "But there is another way. A path that doesn’t involve hiding or surrender or futile resistance."

"Which is?"

Lyralei’s smile widened, revealing teeth that looked suspiciously like sharpened Harvester components. "We burn them out from the inside. We turn their own harvest cycle against them. We make them choke on what they’ve created."

Before either Reed or Shia could respond, every alarm in the Memorial began screaming simultaneously. Through their shared consciousness network came reports that made Reed’s evolved form convulse with shock:

The Harvesters had found their location.

But worse—the massive forms materializing outside the Memorial weren’t the cosmic predators they’d been fighting for five years.

These were something new.

Something that made the original Harvesters look like crude prototypes.

And as the first of the new entities began forcing its way through reality’s barriers with casual, terrifying ease, Lyralei’s void-eyes reflected a single word that chilled Reed’s consciousness to its core:

"Reapers."