Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System! - Chapter 411

Chapter 411: Pandora on Move
In the soft stillness of the morning, buried beneath layers of silence and filtered sunlight pouring through expensive glass, Pandora stirred.

It wasn’t a normal wake-up. It was abrupt—like her soul got yanked out of a deeper realm and slammed back into her body. Her eyes shot open, wide and glowing faintly, pupils dilated like something ancient had just whispered her name in a language older than gods. Her breath hitched. Her entire being trembled—not in fear, but in recognition.

She knew what had just happened. She didn’t have the words yet, but her bones remembered. Her power did.

She slipped out of bed, barefoot on the cold floor, heart drumming like a countdown clock had just started.

Outside, in the open-plan condo kitchen, Sarah and her younger sister were halfway through making breakfast. Soft chatter. The smell of coffee and eggs. Normal shit. Domestic peace.

But it shattered the second Pandora walked in.

She didn’t speak at first—just walked straight to Sarah and grabbed her arm. Not hard, not painful, but urgent. Real. The kind of grip that said move or get left behind.

Sarah blinked, confused. “What’s going on—?”

“Just follow me,” Pandora said, voice low, unsteady but serious as hell.

Sarah hesitated only a second before nodding. She knew better than to argue when that look was in Pandora’s eyes. That something’s coming look. They moved fast, stepping out of the kitchen and down the hallway of the condo, Sarah stealing glances at her.

Finally, a few steps later, Pandora turned and stopped. She looked over her shoulder, breath fogging slightly like the air had dropped a few degrees just around her.

“It’s time to go.”

“Go where?” Sarah asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Pandora replied honestly, eyes distant, skin buzzing. “But we have to go. Now. No questions.”

Before Sarah could even begin to wrap her head around that, Pandora was already gone—back in her room.

Her hand swept across the air like she was cutting through invisible threads, and boom—in a second, everything that mattered, everything that belonged to them—clothes, IDs—everything.

All of it, swallowed into some invisible storage, called to wherever she needed them next.

The condo stood still, warm, full of morning light like nothing had changed.

But for them?

Everything had.

It was time.

Above the Nyxlith Palace dome protecting the palace, Parker stood suspended in the sky like a rift stitched into existence, his presence humming across the atmosphere with divine weight. Light bent around him—not because of heat or gravity, but because reality itself didn’t know how to behave in his presence anymore. The clouds had long since parted. Winds didn’t dare touch him.

He was silent, still, but the air beneath his feet warped like glass pressed too hard, fracturing along invisible fault lines of suppressed power. And then—he vanished.

No sound. No trail. Just absence.

Not teleportation. Not voidstep. Not space-folding.

This was Nothingness.

The pure, incomprehensible power to erase your coordinates from time, space, and memory. One moment he was there—the next, he wasn’t. The sky didn’t even ripple to acknowledge it.

Inside the Rolls Royce limo rolling effortlessly through the golden morning streets just outside the palace, the interior was almost too calm for the kind of beings seated inside.

Every important figure that mattered was here, dressed like war and brunch had decided to share a room. Maya was reclined elegantly in her seat, sipping dark red wine with Helena like they’d been best friends since Atlantis fell. Both were calm. Regal. A little too calm for anyone not used to ancient divine monsters discussing family politics over drinks.

Nyxavere sat across from them, curled up comfortably, eyes glued to her phone like the world-ending aura leaking off her didn’t exist. Next to her, Seraphina leaned in close, voice low as she explained something about follower counts and algorithm exposure. The young goddess was absolutely captivated, especially when she successfully created a TikTok account and immediately blue-ticked it using authority permissions no mortal developer would ever detect.

“Nyxlithianism.” she declared with a proud smile.

Tessa raised an eyebrow, sipping her espresso. “Say… are you planning to start a cult or something?”

Ere, perched on the edge of the seat with a twitching tail and narrowed golden eyes, just stared. She didn’t even ask. She already knew the answer.

Nyxavere tapped her chin thoughtfully. “A cult?” She blinked slowly. “That’s actually… not a bad idea.” She turned the screen toward Tessa with a grin. “Thanks, Auntie.”

Within a breath, the name changed from a concept to a brand. Nyxlithianism. She tagged the Origin Families. Dropped a myth-grade aura signature into the metadata. The phone screen glowed like a divine tablet.

“How far’s she gonna go this time?” Helena asked softly, not even looking up from her glass.

Maya didn’t shrug so much as glide her shoulder lazily. “Now that she’s with her father? Hmph… Might as well convert half of Earth before the Awakening Era hits.”

Atalanta chuckled, arms crossed, legs kicked up. “Sounds about right. That’s something Parker’s kid would do. Just for shits and giggles.”

And in that exact moment—reality cracked.

The limo’s shadow trembled for half a second before Parker appeared inside.

Not stepped.

Not entered.

Appeared.

A silent, catastrophic bloom of Nothingness folded out from the seat beside Maya, and in its place, Parker materialized like the world itself had finally remembered he was supposed to be here. The air inside the limo went still, the ambient pressure dropping to near vacuum levels before stabilizing.

Everyone paused—just for a beat—but none flinched. This wasn’t new. Not anymore.

Because Parker didn’t travel through space.

He overwrote it.

And Nothingness bowed to him like a loyal dog.

The luxury limo cruised like a myth through the polished marble road just beyond the Nyxlith Palace, moving with the smooth confidence of royalty dipped in sin. Inside, silence didn’t mean boredom—it meant power was settling.

The interior was velvet black and gold-trimmed, a chamber designed for gods pretending to play mortal. In the center, a low glass table gleamed under ambient blue light, where glasses of wine sat perfectly balanced—wine older than the United States’ own damn independence.

Not just vintage, but legendary. Bottled before half the continents even had names.

Seated in that circular arrangement were beings who could shift the direction of the world with a bored sigh, all dressed like their calendars included meetings with both Wall Street and Olympus.

And at the front?

Driving, with one hand lazily resting on the wheel like she wasn’t the leader of the Shadow Army? Noctavine Vaelith Draven.

Black leather gloves, eyes glowing red beneath the sharp edge of her shades, and that signature aura of don’t fuck with me unless you want to be rewritten. Every three seconds, she flicked her eyes back through the rearview mirror to Parker. Silent. Calculating. Just waiting.

Parker, lounging like a king in exile, caught the look for the fourth time and finally scoffed. “Still no,” he muttered, voice low and dismissive, not even bothering to make eye contact.

She didn’t flinch.

She knew exactly what he was denying her. She’d been asking—begging—since yesterday, but he wasn’t budging. No matter how many times she circled the topic, no matter how hard she flexed. He wouldn’t… not yet.

And she hated that he knew she wanted it. That he could say no like it didn’t even weigh on him.

The limo drifted down the winding road, gliding past the gates of the secretive neighborhood. Behind them, the air shimmered as the wards sealed shut, closing off the Nyxlith sector from the rest of the world.

Then, just like that, they slid into the chaos of Los Angeles.

Glass towers. Neon signs. Horns. Shouts. Tourists. Hollywood hunger.

But this limo? It moved like the apocalypse dressed in satin. No convoys. No guards. Just this one stretch of divine elegance slipping through the noise of a city that had no idea who was riding through its streets.

Because they didn’t need protection.

The driver alone could flip the city inside out with a snap—start riots, black out the skies, flood the underworld with nothing but her shadow army and a cold smirk. Let anyone try.

And as for Parker?

He didn’t even blink. The monster himself sat there with hundreds of powers, bloodlines, and divine traits inside him—collected, fused, owned. He was walking magic, divine terror, and cosmic cheat code all stitched into one unbothered man. Anyone dumb enough to attack them on this ride?

Wouldn’t just die. They’d disappear from memory.

This wasn’t a limo ride.

It was a statement.