Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

Parker materialized between Hercules and the Street Rat mid-battle, and reality simply... stopped.

Not time. Not space. But the very concept of conflict ceased to exist in his presence. Hercules's fist, mid-swing toward the Street Rat's face, simply hung in the air as if the idea of violence had been deleted from the universe.

The Street Rat's shadows, moments before lashing out like living whips, went still as death.

Both combatants stared at him—not with recognition, but with the bone-deep terror of prey animals realizing they were in the presence of an apex predator beyond their comprehension. If Parker's beauty was beyond what the world could explain, to them he was the most terrifying thing in existence. Perfect features that belonged to renaissance paintings carved from starlight and shadow, but eyes that held the weight of infinite lifetimes and the casual authority to unmake gods.

Hercules's throat worked soundlessly before he managed to speak. "You... you're the man in the photograph. Perseus sent—"

"Your brother has excellent timing," Parker said, his voice carrying the quiet fury of someone who'd returned home to find his house burned down. "Tell me, *hero*, how many innocents died while you were playing warrior in my city?"

"I was trying to—"

"Trying to clean up the mess your pantheon created." Parker's eyes burned with cold fire. "How many children are buried under the rubble of your righteous battle? How many families will never see each other again because you and your friends decided Manhattan was a suitable battlefield? Fighting what you gods created?"

Hercules stepped back involuntarily, divine strength meaning nothing in the face of that gaze. "We didn't choose this. The corruption—"

"Your gods chose this the moment they blessed mortals without understanding what THEY were whispering in their ears."

Parker raised his hand, and Hercules's eyes widened with the realization that gods could die—and this being before him had killed them before.

"Parker, please!"

Atalanta's voice rang out from below, desperate and commanding. She stood among the wreckage of Times Square, looking up at them with a mixture of authority and genuine plea.

Parker paused, sighed like a parent dealing with an unruly child, then waved his hand dismissively.

Hercules simply... wasn't. Not destroyed, not banished—just gone, as if his existence had been gently edited out of reality.

Atalanta sagged with relief, though whether it was for Hercules's survival or the city's salvation, she couldn't say.

Parker turned to the Street Rat, who was backing away with shadows coiling around him like protective snakes. The man's corruption was visible now—veins of darkness running beneath his skin, eyes that reflected something vast and hungry lurking behind them.

"You'll make an excellent slave," Parker said conversationally. "Such useful powers. A Shadow Bearer is always valuable." His voice carried casual interest, like someone appraising livestock. "Plunder."

The word hit reality like a divine commandment.

Something *screamed* as it was ripped from the Street Rat's body—not the man himself, but the thing wearing his soul like a glove.

A writhing mass of absolute darkness flew from his chest and materialized in the space above them, taking shape as a gateway that hurt to look at directly. It was wrong in ways that made geometry weep—angles that folded in on themselves, surfaces that reflected not light but the absence of hope.

Parker regarded it with the mild annoyance of someone dealing with a particularly persistent pest. He'd destroyed hundreds of these before. Thousands, maybe. The gateways and puppets of THEY were only dangerous in their earliest stages, before they fully manifested.

*Snap.*

The gateway shattered like glass made of screams, its pieces dissolving before they could hit the ground.

Another wave of his hand, and the Street Rat simply wasn't there anymore.

Parker paused, reconsidering. Did he need the Street Rat?

No.

"Actually... on second thought, it would be far more entertaining to let the gods face what they'd created. Yes, that would be delicious irony." He'd collect them all and let Olympus deal with their own mistakes.

He appeared beside Ma'at and the Painter mid-combat, their cosmic battle freezing the moment his presence registered.

The Painter didn't even get the chance to be afraid. Parker simply looked at him and *decided* he didn't need wannabe reality-shapers cluttering up his city. The man and his gateway were destroyed simultaneously, not even leaving ash behind.

Ma'at stared in shock, her teenage form backing away rapidly as divine instincts screamed at her to flee. She launched herself into the air, trying to put distance between herself and this terrifying being.

Parker smiled—the expression of someone about to correct a fundamental error in reality's bookkeeping.

*Snap.*

Ma'at's body exploded in a spray of golden blood and divine essence, her teenage form torn apart by forces that treated godhood like tissue paper. Ichor splattered across the ruins of Manhattan, each drop hissing where it struck concrete. Her limbs separated with wet, tearing sounds as her divine form couldn't maintain cohesion against the Prince's casual dismissal of her existence.

Yet, he left her soul intact and perfect! Only her useless body was gone!

But before her soul could begin its journey to whatever afterlife awaited reborn Egyptian deities, Parker was there, catching the dark golden essence in his palm like a firefly.

"Where do you think you're going, Judgment?" he asked the struggling soul with mild amusement.

The essence pulsed weakly in his grip, still retaining enough consciousness to feel terror.

Parker's smile widened. This was a fragment of Judgment—the missing piece from the statue on his palace! Of the two separate souls that comprised true Judgment, he now had one. Well, not exactly one, but not bad!

Just like that, the beings responsible for New York's current devastation were no more. One minute of the Prince of Existence's attention, and the crisis was resolved.

But deep within the damaged city, something else was stirring. An energy that had been building beneath the surface, unnoticed by mundane humans and weaker supernaturals alike, was finally ready to emerge.

Parker descended back to where his family had taken shelter during the battles.

Thousands of civilians clustered in the protected zones Seraphina and her rescue teams had established, their faces a mixture of relief and lingering terror from the cosmic warfare that had just ended above their heads.

Bella saw him first. Her current form—youthful, vibrant with life magic—bounded toward him with obvious intent, arms outstretched as if to embrace and kiss him in celebration of their victory.

Parker held up a single finger, pressing it gently against her lips before she could reach him, and pushed her away with the same casual dismissal he'd shown the fallen gods.

She pouted, but he was already walking past her without a second glance.

"Nyxavere," he called to his daughter, who was still maintaining her livestream for the millions watching this cosmic drama unfold. "We're finishing the mission today and tomorrow. All the Gateways need to be corrected."

His tone carried the weight of absolute certainty. "I need you."

Then his gaze fell on Atalanta, who stood among the wreckage with the careful stillness of someone who'd just watched their worldview get casually shredded.

"Get your head straight," he told her, voice carrying the finality of a closing door. "From here on, whatever fate falls on your Champions is the fate your gods chose when they decided to play with forces they didn't understand. Should you get in my way again, you're free to go back to your champions."

He paused, considering her with the mild interest of someone deciding whether to step on an ant.

"I'll even give you a parting gift."

The dismissal in his tone was absolute—not cruel, but utterly indifferent. She was no longer relevant to his calculations.

Without waiting for her response, Parker moved to where Maya remained frozen, her beautiful features locked in temporal stasis from witnessing something her current incarnation couldn't comprehend.

He lifted her carefully in his arms, cradling her against his chest with infinite tenderness that contrasted sharply with the cosmic authority he'd just displayed.

"It's time to go," he said to his family.

The Awakening Era was here.