Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System! - Chapter 345

Chapter 345: Father’s Pride… Hiding Nyxavere

Nyxavere stared at the ring, but her gaze wasn’t wide with fear or wonder. Not like Parker’s. To her, it was familiar. Like a stuffed animal or an old lullaby. The shifting runes didn’t overwhelm her; they glowed like harmless scribbles, cute even, like ancient symbols that danced and twirled just to keep her company.

She reached out without hesitation and picked it up.

The weight was real, yes—but it was hers. She’d worn rings like this all her life. Her entire existence, she’d been laced in concealments—crafted not by magic, but by Parker’s own hands. He wasn’t just her father. He was the most powerful Rune Master to ever breathe across timelines. These weren’t just enchanted trinkets.

These rings were written from the Language of Existence itself.

The First Tongue.

The Oldest Code.

Runes etched from the marrow of reality.

To even translate even a single rune stroke on this ring… a being would need to be Omnipotent Tier or higher. A god wouldn’t understand it. A thousand gods wouldn’t.

And this ring?

It held millions of runes.

Parker watched in silence as she slid the ring onto her finger.

No glow. No flash. Just… connection. Quiet. Absolute. The way things were always meant to be. A soft hum vibrated through the space.

He blinked once, slowly.

“…You’ve really grown up,” he said, voice warm, a faint smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “I’m proud of you.”

Nyxavere turned to him and lit up, her smile bright enough to melt through entire storms. She giggled—just like that—pure, chaotic energy all over again. And then she jumped at him.

“I’m Daddy’s girl!” she squealed, latching onto him like she was still seven and he was the only person who made the universe feel like a home.

He laughed softly, catching her with ease, arms tightening around her little form as she curled into his chest like a puzzle piece that finally made sense.

He stroked her hair with a gentle rhythm, his fingers remembering the strands even if his past lives didn’t. She was warm. She was real. And for once, she wasn’t crying.

It was the first time in forever she wore the ring without being told.

The past? It had always been a struggle. She’d hated them. Always pulling them off. Always vanishing into danger because she wanted freedom, not to be hidden away. She couldn’t understand why a child like her had to carry the weight of erasure.

But now?

She understood.

And that crushed him in a beautiful, unbearable way. He looked down at her, gently brushing her bangs away from her eyes. She looked up, big violet galaxies still flickering with childlike love.

“I don’t wanna be hidden anymore,” she said quietly, seriously. “I don’t want to only see you in white spaces like this one. I wanna be with you… all the time.”

Parker’s throat tightened, but he nodded once, slow and certain. “You will.”

He shifted her gently into his arms, one sweep lifting her into a princess carry like she weighed nothing. Her arms looped around his neck again, but this time, she was calm. The space hummed softly—accepting the moment.

And then—they vanished.

No sound. No ripple. Just silence and peace.

The white realm dimmed.

If Parker had simply willed it—if even a flicker of curiosity had nudged his mind—then the white space they were standing in would’ve bloomed.

Panels would’ve unfolded from the whiteness like ancient scrolls peeling back the pages of silence. No clicks. No mechanical movement. Just reality reshaping itself because Parker Black thought about it.

Dozens. Then hundreds.

All of them glowing faintly—some radiant white, others pitch black like obsidian swallowing stars, and others cloaked in shades of grey and violet so rich they bled power. Each panel held a ring. No two were the same, yet all of them felt connected. Like chapters of one story.

Each ring was a relic, built from the Language of Existence, rune-forged by Parker’s own hands across lifetimes. Rings meant to conceal, to protect, to bless, to curse—designed for her. For Nyxavere.

But she only needed one for now.

And she’d got it.

So he didn’t summon the rest.

*

The two of them reappeared in a different white space—but this one wasn’t empty. It wasn’t blank or still or lifeless like the first. No, this place breathed.

It hummed with quiet warmth, like a sanctuary made of memory. The very air felt softer here, like it had been folded, not shaped. It was still white, yes, but not sterile. This wasn’t just a void. This was a chamber crafted from care—a space carved from Parker’s intention, from his longing, from all the unspoken hours of fatherhood buried beneath centuries.

The place itself was massive—circular, with no visible ceiling or floor edges, just boundless continuity. It gave the impression of being inside a pearl that had swallowed time, a palace sculpted from silence where the walls glowed faintly, as if lit from within by something divine. The air shimmered with subtle texture, not from heat, but from something gentler.

Presence. Emotion. Like memory and love were drifting through it like invisible dust motes, suspended between breath and light.

And all around them—clothes floated.

Not resting on hangers. Not folded in closets.

They hovered, perfect and poised, as if the room itself cradled them. Hundreds of them. Each one still, suspended in frozen grace, untouched by gravity or wind. They didn’t sway or tremble. They simply were. Time had bowed to keep them perfect.

Each garment was unique. Some were woven in flowing, translucent layers that resembled silk soaked in moonlight, elegant and soft.

Others leaned modern, tailored to the curves of alternate futures—dresses with open backs laced in enchanted thread, sleek bodysuits with mirrored trim, coats that shimmered like thunderclouds, battlewear that looked like it had survived stardust wars and still came out smooth. There were outfits that could belong to princesses, assassins, warriors, scholars, legends—each design reflecting different moods, different futures, different phases of a girl meant to be seen in every light.

But they all shared one detail.

Every single one of them bore the Nyxlith Family Crest—stitched into the fabric with such subtlety that only those with eyes trained in true power would notice it. Not decorative. Not ornamental. It was the oldest language, etched in harmony—Runes from the First Tongue, ancient and indestructible.

To anyone else, it would seem like elegant calligraphy, maybe even beautiful nonsense. But the truth was deeper—those runes weren’t just letters. They were laws. Lines of command woven into reality itself.

Each crest was a miracle of engineering masked as a symbol.

Self-cleaning. Sweat-absorbent. Flame-resistant. Weather-proof. Immune to divine tracking. Capable of adapting to temperature, density, even emotional frequency. And beneath it all, hidden in depths even Parker barely remembered etching—warding scripts, layers of protection older than most planets.

These weren’t clothes.

They were artifacts disguised as fabric. Inventions born of desperation and love. Relics of a father’s will—created in silence, stored across lifetimes, waiting for the only person who could wear them. She may have been hidden, even forgotten by history, but his hands never stopped preparing for her return.

Every single outfit fit her. Every stitch was her size. Because even in the lives where he couldn’t remember her face… some part of him always did.

Parker stood quietly in the center of the chamber, still holding her in his arms. He looked down at his daughter—her violet eyes wide, pupils reflecting the floating wardrobe around them. There was no fear in her gaze. Just wonder. A soft “ooh…” escaped her lips, pure and small and glowing with awe.

Like she’d stepped into a place meant just for her.

Because she had.

These were her clothes.

And as Parker watched her blink up at them, a warmth stirred in his chest—not fiery, not overwhelming. Just steady. Solid.

For the first time in so many lives—maybe ever—

Her future was finally beginning to catch up to her past.