The Laziest God: A Masterclass in Procrastination

Chapter 10: The Slumbering Calamity Awakes

Ratna watched his retreating back, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Jaka! If you walk through those gates, you are not just a target—you are the catalyst for the end of everything!"

Jaka did not stop, nor did he look over his shoulder. Each step he took felt like a seismic shift, the ground beneath his boots groaning in protest. "Everything is already ending, Ratna. They just haven't realized it yet because they’re too busy pretending to be important."

As he stepped beyond the perimeter of the ruined shrine, the air grew unnaturally cold. The sky above the capital city, once a brilliant, aggressive gold, began to curdle. Dark clouds, thick and suffocating, drifted in from the horizon, swirling into a vortex that looked suspiciously like a closing eyelid.

By the time he reached the great iron-wrought gates of the capital, the scene was one of staged, militaristic brutality. Ten thousand Holy Soldiers stood in perfect formation, their armor gleaming with the reflected light of the 'Leaching Pylons' that hummed rhythmically in the corners of the square. At the center of this grim stage, tied to a wooden stake of ornate design, was Karta. The old man looked frail, his clothes tattered, but his eyes remained clear.

King Dharma stood upon the balcony overlooking the square, his crown looking slightly askew as if the weight of his own anxiety was causing it to slide. Beside him, the Rank SSS God of the Pantheon flickered like a dying candle, its form translucent and trembling.

"There he is!" King Dharma’s voice boomed, amplified by a thousand mana-crystals. "The source of our stagnation! The heretic who dares to turn his back on the grace of productivity! Seize him, and let his lethargy be purged in the fires of our collective purpose!"

Jaka stopped twenty paces from the gate. He didn't raise his hands, he didn't summon a weapon, and he didn't prepare a counter-spell. He simply stopped, let his shoulders slump, and sighed. The sound was audible across the entire square, a weary, rattling exhale that seemed to drain the color from the nearby stone walls.

"You really brought everyone out for this?" Jaka asked, his voice calm, cutting through the tense silence of the ten thousand soldiers. "I told you, I just want to take my father home. I have a very long nap scheduled, and I’m already running behind."

King Dharma sneered, gesturing frantically. "Activate the Great Seal of Activity! Drain him! Strip him of his divinity until he is nothing but a hollow shell of his own sloth!"

The ten thousand soldiers slammed their spears against the ground in perfect unison. A blinding, golden light erupted from the pavement, shooting upward to form a cage of pure, searing energy around Jaka. It was a ritual designed to force every being within the field to convert their latent life force into raw, kinetic output.

Usually, the effect was invigorating, turning a weak man into a powerhouse. But here, the intensity was lethal. The soldiers began to gasp, their skin flushing a dangerous, frantic red. They were burning their own life force at an unsustainable rate to fuel the trap.

"He's not falling!" a captain shouted, his voice cracking as he clawed at his own throat. "The energy... it’s not draining him! He’s... he’s pulling it in!"

Jaka stood in the center of the golden cage, his eyes slowly drooping. He wasn't resisting; he was accepting. He was doing exactly what he had always done—taking the exhaustion, the strain, and the desperate, frantic effort of ten thousand men and pulling it into his own frame.

"You want me to work?" Jaka murmured, his voice heavy with a lethargy so profound it felt like gravity itself had increased tenfold. "Fine. I’ll do the one thing I’m best at."

He closed his eyes.

"I’m going to bed."

The effect was instantaneous and horrific. The golden cage of energy didn't shatter; it collapsed, folding into Jaka like a black hole absorbing starlight. The ten thousand soldiers, who a moment ago were straining with the effort of their divine mandate, suddenly went limp. Their spears clattered to the ground, followed by the heavy thud of bodies hitting the cobblestones. They weren't dying—they were simply, suddenly, too tired to remain standing. They were too tired to fight, too tired to breathe in anything but the slowest, most restorative rhythm.

King Dharma staggered backward on his balcony, his eyes wide with disbelief as his SSS-rank God began to yawn, its divine form stretching out and dissolving into a soft, glowing mist. "What... what have you done? You’ve turned them into... into dreamers?"

"They’re resting," Jaka said, his eyes still closed, his body swaying slightly as if he were already drifting into a dream. "Everyone is just so tired, Dharma. You spent centuries telling them that rest was a sin. You made them work until their souls were brittle. I’m just giving them the recovery they’re owed."

The entire city began to change. The sharp, aggressive geometry of the capital’s architecture started to soften, the stone rounding off like river pebbles worn smooth by time. A mist of deep, royal purple began to spill from the cracks in the street, rising up to wrap around the buildings.

"Stop it!" King Dharma screamed, drawing his sword, but his hand shook so violently he dropped the blade. He tried to take a step toward Jaka, but his legs gave out. He fell to his knees, his jaw slackening, his eyes glazing over with an overwhelming, irresistible heaviness. "I am... the King... I must... maintain... order..."

"Order is just a lie we tell ourselves to avoid admitting we’re exhausted," Jaka replied, finally opening his eyes.

They were no longer human. The irises were gone, replaced by the swirling, infinite expanse of the void—a dark, purple cosmos where galaxies drifted like dust motes in a shaft of moonlight. Above the city, the sky tore open. It wasn't a storm; it was a realization. The clouds parted to reveal the true eyes of Sang Hyang Turu, immense and ancient, staring down not with malice, but with a crushing, absolute boredom.

The entire capital, with its spires, its pylons, its gold-plated temples, and its thousands of soldiers, began to flicker. The world was being overwritten by a dream, a dimension of eternal, silent slumber that Jaka had carried within his own soul since the beginning of time.

Jaka walked forward, passing the slumped, dreaming form of the King. He reached the stake and with a single, lazy gesture, the bonds holding his father simply unraveled into smoke. Karta slumped into his arms, fast asleep, his face finally devoid of the lines of worry he had worn for decades.

"Jaka?" Karta whispered, his eyes fluttering but unable to stay open. "Is it... time for bed?"

"Yeah, Dad," Jaka said, holding him close as the ground beneath them began to dissolve into starlight and mist. "It’s been time for a long, long time."

He looked up at the King, who lay face-down on the balcony, his fingers twitching as he drifted into a permanent, blissful void. Jaka’s shadow, once a small, localized blot on the ground, now stretched for miles, swallowing the city whole.

"I told you," Jaka whispered to the silent, slumbering monarch. "Besok aja."

There was no sound of a struggle. No explosion. No cry of victory. In the span of a single heartbeat, the bustling, arrogant Capital of Juva Dwipa simply vanished. The towers, the walls, the soldiers, and the King were swept away, pulled into the dream dimension of the First God.

The golden square, once the heart of a kingdom, was gone.

Jaka stood alone in the center of a vast, desolate wasteland. The wind whistled through the empty space where a million people had lived just moments before. He adjusted his father’s weight, adjusted his own cloak, and began the long, silent walk away from the nothingness he had created. He didn't look back; he didn't need to. He had finally found his silence, and as he began to drift into his own slumber, the last thing he heard was the peaceful, rhythmic breathing of a world that had finally stopped trying to work.