Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

The Nexus Omni Realm wasn't silent anymore—it was screaming.

The sky fractured with every pulse of raw, violent energy ripping off Parker's body like the universe itself couldn't decide whether to worship him or run the hell away. The ground below didn't just shake—it quaked like it was begging for mercy. Trees in the distance snapped like twigs, the forest bending and breaking under the weight of something it had never seen before—and probably never wanted to see again.

[Ding! Host has lost all Superpowers, abilities and skills!]

The system's cold voice echoed in the void—but it didn't mean shit to him.

Parker floated there—suspended in midair, completely untouched by the chaos swallowing everything around him. Omni Energy exploded around him in violent ripples, tearing into the realm like a hungry void, shredding through space itself. And yet… he was calm. Unbothered. The space around him wasn't just dangerous—it was untouchable. It was like reality knew better than to get too close.

Anything that dared even brush up against that terrifying aura? Gone. Devoured by the void.

But him?

He just floated there—stormy gray eyes wide open, cold and detached. Those weren't just eyes anymore—they were like the fucking universe staring back at itself. The kind of gaze that didn't look at things—it knew them. Saw through every secret, every fear, every lie you'd ever told yourself.

Like the eyes of an all-seeing ruler, the kind of power that didn't need to try to intimidate you. It just existed—and that was enough.

And then—he looked at Ere below.

That smile. It wasn't warm. It wasn't friendly. It was like the barest curl of his lips—more like an acknowledgment than anything else. A reminder that he was still there. Still him. But then, just as fast, he turned his face away—like she didn't even matter in that moment.

[Ding! Does host wish to continue?]

His voice cut through the chaos, low and indifferent. "Yeah... whatever. Let's finish this."

That's all it took.

BOOM.

Power detonated from him like a damn nuke, sweeping through the forest with the force of a god's temper tantrum. Mixed colors of light—violent reds, eerie blues, venomous greens, burning golds—twisted together in a storm of pure energy, crashing through the air with zero fucks given.

The whole realm trembled like it was about to split apart. The ground cracked. The sky bled light.

His body changed. Again. And again. His muscles stretched, bones shifting under his skin as if reality couldn't figure out what the hell he was supposed to look like anymore. One second, he looked human. The next? Something more. Limbs lengthened. His aura expanded—huge, terrifying, endless. The air shimmered around him, bending under the sheer pressure of something the universe didn't know how to handle.

Higher and higher, Parker floated—arms wide open, like he was embracing every ounce of chaos clawing around him. And then—

CRACK!

More power erupted from him, shooting through the realm like a cosmic rupture. The blast was blinding, so bright it burned shadows into the ground. It wasn't light—it was dominion, a declaration that whatever Parker had become… wasn't meant to be bound by anything.

[Ding! Welcome back, Master Nyxilith!]

And in that moment, the universe didn't just recognize him.

It remembered him.

****

What he didn't know… outside that fragile shell of sleep, the world was already losing its damn mind. Chaos wasn't waiting for permission. It was already here.

In the master bedroom, it was dead silent except for the shaky breaths of three girls who didn't know whether to cry, scream, or just stand there and pray. Naomi, still in her school uniform, sat on the edge of the bed, eyes glued to Parker's back. His body lay sprawled on his stomach, the brutal, gaping wound on his back still raw—ugly enough to make her stomach twist like she was gonna hurl.

Every damn second, that nightmare scene kept replaying in her head like a broken record—getting kidnapped, the fear that gripped her like ice, and then Parker, showing up like some dark savior, fighting like hell itself had his back. And saving her… even though the price looked like this.

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Her throat burned. Tears slipped down before she could stop them. Hell, how could she? He'd saved her.

Elena and Tessa flanked her, all three just staring at him. His back was ripped open, the wound looking like some nightmare clawed out of a horror movie—raw, jagged, and ugly as hell.

But what really shook them wasn't the blood or the torn flesh. No, it was the feeling.

Like the room wasn't safe anymore. Like they were standing in front of something ancient—and wrong.

The tension thickened until, under their terrified gazes, something impossible happened. The wound… started to close. Flesh knit back together like time itself was rewinding, the raw mess of Parker's body slowly healing without any help.

But that wasn't even the craziest part.

The air shifted, and suddenly his body was bathed in this explosion of color—violets, blues, molten golds, fiery reds and more—twisting and dancing around him in this weird, hypnotic pulse. It didn't feel like light. It felt… otherworldly. Ethereal. Like it wasn't just touching the room—it was rewriting it.

They should've backed away. Every instinct screamed at them to run, but the moment aura of those colors brushed against them, they froze. Not because they couldn't move—but because they didn't want to.

The feeling hit like a drug—intoxicating and pure, sinking into their skin and wrapping around their senses. Their bodies relaxed before they even realized it, tension bleeding out of their muscles like it had never existed. The heat spread through them—warm and terrifyingly good.

They weren't trapped by force. No chains. No walls. Just… that feeling. Pure euphoria. It was intoxicating, like being wrapped in silk and warm sunlight, only ten times stronger. Every fear, every thought—gone

Soft, breathless moans slipped from their lips before they even realized what was happening. Logic? Gone. Common sense? Shattered. They didn't care. All that mattered was letting those colors consume them, drench them in something that felt too good to be real.

Eyes fluttered shut. Weightlessness swept them up like they weren't even made of flesh and bone anymore. Just air, drifting higher and higher, caught in that beautiful, terrifying spell.

Then—they started floating—eyes fluttered shut, their bodies weightless, drifting in the air like they were part of the light show itself. And for a second… it was bliss.

But then—

Swaaaaaaahhhhh!!! BAAAAMMMMM!!!

The peaceful moment shattered. The world snapped back violently as pure, terrifying force ripped through the room, warping reality around them.

A terrifying force—raw, violent, and unholy—ripped through the room like the universe itself had snapped. The light twisted into sharp, vicious cocoons, wrapping the girls up before the blast hurled them through the bedroom walls like they weighed nothing.

But even as chaos tore through everything, their bodies were protected. Some unseen force—Parker—even in his unconscious state, shielded them like a guardian wrapped in fury. Not a scratch, not a bruise.

They were flung across the room, yes—but they landed safe in the ruins of shattered walls and broken furniture.

Unconscious.

The air rippled—silent, invisible, deadly. A force no normal eyes could see broke free from the mansion, soaring out and stretching far, far beyond the limits of human understanding.

****

Blackwood Mansion.

Peace. That was the only word that described the vibe—at least until the chaos rolled in.

In the living room, Vivian lounged with that usual bored-as-hell expression, scrolling through her phone like life was just another meme page she didn't give a damn about. She was dressed simple—casual, teenage vibes, nothing fancy but still with that effortless, icy coolness only someone like her could pull off, rocking a loose hoodie and ripped jeans, nails freshly painted black—yeah, classic teenage apathy in full force.

Past the living room, the kitchen smelled like straight-up heaven. The air smelled different, though—sweet, rich, homey. The kitchen was alive with warmth, the sizzle of something cooking filling the space like a familiar hug. And there she was—Helena—

Helena moved through the kitchen like grace itself, wearing this short, loose, flowery dress that screamed housewife perfection—but with that dangerous, drop-dead beauty that didn't belong in any cliché.

She was all smiles, soft and calm, flipping something on the stove like the world wasn't on the brink of falling apart.

The whole scene? Domestic. Normal.

But that didn't last.

All at once—both of them froze.

Vivian's phone slipped from her fingers, crashing silently onto the couch. Helena stopped mid-step, wooden spoon clattering onto the countertop. Their heads turned at the exact same time—eyes sharp, darting toward something distant. Something… impossible.

And then they said it. Together. One voice, two mouths.

"The Original."

The words didn't sound like fear.

They sounded like recognition.

And dread.