Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 388: Nevertheless, He’s Karma Itself!

Tessa smiled quietly, her fingers folded at her waist. It wasn’t joy. Not really. It was relief. Gratitude laced with bitterness. Her man—her storm-wrapped, soul-torn man—was finally about to get what he’d waited for. Not justice. That was too clean. This was something else. This was debt collection with interest. And watching him now, eyes distant as memories warred behind them, she couldn’t help but wonder.

What was he going to do to them?

Elena and Naomi were watching too, silent and sharp, the way only women who had worked under him long enough to know when not to speak could. Their boss, their sovereign, their walking contradiction of trauma and steel, sat on that throne like he wasn’t part of the room—but the reason it existed.

Then his voice cut through the silence like a blade dragged over stone.

"Are you going to say something... or should I just kill you all now?"

It wasn’t a shout. It didn’t need to be. It came with a growl curled beneath it, the kind that didn’t come from his throat—but from his bloodline.

And then the force dropped.

Not metaphorical. Not theatrical.

A real, tangible weight slammed into the hall like gravity had decided to make an example out of everyone present.

The air snapped. Knees hit marble like gunshots.

Every Origin Family leader, every bloodline smug heir, folded. Eyes bulged. Hands trembled. Some screamed without sound, their vocal cords caught in their throats like they didn’t know how to function under the pressure. Noctavine. Scarlett. The twins. The rest.

All of them pressed to the floor as if the universe suddenly remembered they weren’t divine.

Tessa didn’t flinch.

Neither did Naomi.

Or Elena.

Or Maya.

Or Evelyn.

Or Atalanta.

The Zhangs.

The Shadowmires.

Untouched.

Even Ere—curled Atalanta, tail swaying lazily, ears twitching with interest—sat comfortably outside the pressure zone, her glowing eyes fixed on her human with something that looked dangerously close to pride.

But Helena?

Even she staggered, coughing as she dropped to one knee.

This wasn’t something Parker should’ve been able to do. Not yet. Not with the power they thought he had.

Unless—

[Ding! Master has unlocked: Original Authority!]

[As the creator of all the Origin Bloodlines, your authority reigns supreme! With a thought, they will kneel. With a thought, you can—]

Parker didn’t wait.

He lifted his hand with the same grace a king might use to wave off an unworthy servant—casual, dismissive, final.

The hall reacted first.

Light shattered. Candles flickered into blue. The marble beneath Robert’s knees cracked like it had offended the throne. An unseen force yanked the Voidhowl Patriarch from the ground—not just into the air, but out of sync with reality. Time itself stuttered around him, his body caught in a web of Parker’s will, limbs frozen mid-motion, like he’d been extracted from the world and held in a higher layer of existence.

One second, he was kneeling.

The next, he was hovering—midair, arms splayed, his suit flailing like wind whispered through dimensions only Parker could see. An aura of pure chaotic pressure surged from Parker’s throne, glowing not with light, but with command. Gold laced with black. Creator’s fire—boundless and absolute slicing Robert’s very being.

And Parker?

Still seated.

Still calm.

His fingers hadn’t even curled.

But Robert’s throat was crushed, not physically—but by truth. By Parker’s voice, now lined with a god’s fury.

"I asked why." fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

The words weren’t spoken in the air. They were pressed into existence. Every syllable stitched itself into the bones of everyone present, vibrating down their spines, twisting into their blood. The Origin Families couldn’t just hear him.

They experienced him.

Every creature in the room collapsed harder.

Those already kneeling? Flattened. Their hands trembled. Their minds refused to move forward in time. The force rolling from Parker wasn’t power—it was Authority. Original. Binding. Infinite.

Robert trembled in the air, his skin paling, his soul already pulsing under the surface, reacting like it knew it had been weighed and found lacking.

He tried to speak. Tried to lift his head.

"My Prince, I—"

And Parker stood.

Just that.

The hall fractured.

The ceiling cracked, shuddering under the pressure of his ascension. The throne behind him melted into radiant dust. His right hand came down with no hesitation, no mercy.

The world responded.

Robert didn’t fall. He was driven—into the marble, into the platform, through stone and magic and everything sacred they once called protection. A sound like a collapsing star rang through the chamber as a crater tore open where he struck, black flame spiraling from the edges.

Reality shivered.

Robert gasped, crumpled in debris, skin cracked, blood in his throat. His soul glowed faintly, visible now—wrapped in a strange black membrane that warped and twisted as if trying to contain something. But it was cracking. Breaking with every pulse of Parker’s wrath.

And through the cracks, dark gold leaked out.

Not bright gold. Not holy.

Dark gold. Violent. Old.

As if something inside Robert had always been more than what they thought. As if something was trying to wake.

But Parker didn’t care.

Couldn’t see.

"You dare."

The man who once ruled the Blackwoods was now part of the fucking floor.

Parker stood at the crater’s edge, his silhouette blurred by the settling dust, his face unreadable.

"You asshole," he said—flat. Final.

"I could’ve forgiven the rest. The years. The silence. The way you let your bastard son turn me into a chew toy. Hell, I might’ve let you walk if you’d just been a coward and licked the floor asking for forgiveness."

He stepped forward. Slowly. Marble crunched beneath his boots like bones.

"But you didn’t stop at cruelty."

His voice dropped. Not louder. Just heavier.

"You tried to kill me."

Behind him, the force still pressed on the kneeling wolves and lords and heiresses of the Origin Families gasped at the revelation. Robert attempted to kill an Original? None of them dared lift their eyes. Because the longer they stayed down, the more they began to realize something truly terrifying:

This wasn’t Parker losing control.

This was him finally deciding to use it.

On Atalanta, Ere watched quietly. Her tail flicked once, the only sign she remembered. And oh, she remembered.

The day they escaped the Blackwood estate, Parker’s aura was bleeding and wild, unstable and young—but Robert’s had been sharpened to kill. Ere had felt it—killing intent so clean and precise it could only come from someone who’d planned it for years. If she hadn’t bent the shadows that night, if she hadn’t folded reality and slipped them out—

Parker Black would’ve died.

But now?

Now, the man who tried to erase him couldn’t even beg properly.