All Chapters of Single Life Survival Level Up: Anti-Skinny Revenge: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Bima gave no room for doubt. "Jump!" he yelled, his voice rasping through the electric hum of the air. He pulled Lia and Riska, slamming his feet against the edge of the melting concrete crevice. The world before their eyes looked like a burning painting. Golden binary flames licked the air, releasing the suffocating scent of ozone. Just as they were suspended in mid-air, a giant mechanical hand slammed into the floor behind them, turning the underground passage into a pile of rubble in an instant. Bima felt the searing heat on his back as they managed to reach the other side. He tumbled, rolling and pulling Lia and Riska into his arms to cushion the impact. "We made it," Riska whispered, her breath hitching as she tried to scan the surroundings with her tablet, which was now emitting thin wisps of smoke. "Don't celeb

Bima did not look back as his footprints on the soil turned into lines of blue pixels that slowly faded away. Two steps. Three steps. The scent in the air shifted. From the smell of damp earth to an intensely rich aroma of fried shallots, so pure and potent it made his throat sting. This is a trap, he thought, yet his feet continued to step firmly toward the crystal tree trunk that now towered like a skyscraper. "Wait, Bima!" Riska pulled at the back of his jacket, gasping for air. "If you enter that network now, your identity will be fragmented before you even touch its neural center!" Bima stopped. He turned to look at Riska and Lia, whose faces were now illuminated by the bioluminescent glow of millions of seasoning sachets floating in the air, dancing like electric fireflies. "I won't let my fragments be lost, Riska," Bima replied, his voice calm, almost like the hiss of the

Bima didn't wait. He grabbed Lia and Riska's hands, dragging them with all his might away from the hole that was now emitting steam with a piercing smell. The aroma of burnt, served meat. "That's not the smell of cooking, Bima!" Riska screamed amidst the roar of crystal structures shattering into sharp shards. "That's the smell of those who failed to remain human!" At the end of the dark corridor, the massive black shadow drew nearer, coating the crystal walls in a kind of corrosive black liquid. Bima glanced back briefly, watching as the floor they had just stepped on softened, turning into pulsing, living flesh that swallowed the bloody cookbooks into the void. "Run toward the emergency exit we passed earlier!" Bima commanded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. They ran as hard as they could, while the shadow behind them emitted a sound

Bima's knuckles were white, gripping the worn wooden table so hard his joints creaked. The air in the small, bustling eatery was thick with the comforting aroma of fried shallots and sambal, a scent that had once been his beacon. Now, it felt like a taunt."It's happening again," Riska’s voice was a low murmur, barely audible above the clatter of plates and the murmur of happy diners. Her eyes, usually sharp and analytical, held a flicker of unease."What is?" Bima asked, his gaze fixed on the steaming bowl of Indomie Goreng in front of him. It looked perfect, glistening with sauce, topped with a fried egg. Everything he'd fought for. Yet, a gnawing emptiness persisted."The hum," Riska replied, her fingers tapping a rapid, almost imperceptible rhythm on the table. "It’s louder. And… it's pulling me towards the noodles."Bima didn't need her to elaborate. He felt it too. A subtle, insistent tug in the back of his mind, a whisper promising more. More flavor, more satisfaction, a perfect

Kevin’s hand trembled as it closed around the fork, his knuckles white. The glistening noodles of the Indomie Goreng Spesial seemed to pulse with an unnatural light, beckoning him. His eyes, once sharp with skepticism, were now glazed with an almost religious devotion."Kevin, no!" Lia cried, her voice cracking. She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm, but he flinched away as if burned."It… it feels so good," Kevin whispered, his voice thick with a pleasure that Bima recognized as utterly, terrifyingly manufactured. "The hum… it’s telling me… this is perfection."Bima’s own body felt like a battlefield. His gut churned with a hunger that felt both primal and artificial. The aroma of the Indomie was overwhelming, a siren song promising oblivion from the oppressive hum that had returned with a vengeance. He could feel the phantom protocol clawing at his mind, whispering sweet nothings about al dente noodles and perfectly charred shallots.Riska watched Kevin with a mixture of horr