Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System! - Chapter 568

Chapter 568: Two of One

The soul took form as it materialized as a manifestation of a woman: a woman of impossible beauty with the head of an ostrich feather—the traditional symbol of truth and justice, though if you asked anyone there, they’d say it was the most beautiful feather they’d ever seen.

Her skin glowed with the warm gold of desert sunlight, and her eyes held the kind of perfect balance that could weigh the hearts of mortals against the weight of a single feather and somehow make that seem like the most reasonable thing in the world.

Cassandra’s precognitive abilities suddenly clicked into place like puzzle pieces falling into a picture she’d been staring at upside down.

Visions flooded her mind—Manhattan burning; something she didn’t witness but saw, a battle between this glowing figure, a champion like her too, or used to be, and beings made of shadow and paint that could turn reality into their personal art project. She saw the moment of Ma’at’s apparent death at the hands of Parker, Parker’s graceful rush to collect something precious before it could be lost forever into another reincarnation cycle.

And just like that, the truth hit her like a brick to the face.

Parker didn’t kill Ma’at. He was collecting her soul, a soul that was somehow connected to this massive winged blindfolded woman looming over them: Judgment.

“You didn’t kill her,” Cassandra breathed, understanding flooding through her like cold water washing away confusion. “You were saving her.”

“Ma’at,” Parker said, his voice soft with the kind of genuine fondness that usually came with centuries of accumulated affection. Ma’at was the Egyptian Goddess of Truth, Justice, Order, and Cosmic Balance. She was the one who weighed the hearts of the dead against her feather of truth, determining who deserved paradise and who deserved to get their soul eaten by a crocodile-headed monster.

The soul of Ma’at pulsed with golden light, like she was pleased with the description and maybe a little proud of her resume.

“Most times,” Parker explained, his voice carrying the weight of lifetimes of experience and probably a few headaches from dealing with cosmic bureaucracy, “my beasts and companions reincarnate into two souls that occupy different bodies. It’s not something I planned—it’s just how their essence splits when they’re reborn into new lives. Like cosmic mitosis, but with more personality disorders.”

He gestured toward the golden soul hovering near them, then up at the towering statue that made everyone feel like they were about to be graded on their life choices.

“In this lifetime, Judgment reincarnated into two. One half became that came faster than the latter is Ma’at.” His voice grew warm with genuine pride, the kind parents got when their kids did something amazing.

She’d became the divine judge who weighed the hearts of the dead against her feather of truth. If your heart was lighter than the feather—if you had lived a just and honest life—you were granted passage to the afterlife. If it was heavier with sin and lies, you got devoured by Ammit, the soul eater. Which, honestly, seems like a pretty fair system.”

The soul of Ma’at pulsed brighter, as if she was remembering all the times she’d gotten to feed terrible people to cosmic crocodiles and was still pretty pleased about it.

“She created the fundamental concept of moral law in this lifetime on Earth,” Parker continued, his voice picking up that storyteller rhythm that suggested this was a story he’d told before and enjoyed telling. It didn’t exist before.

“The idea that actions have consequences, that truth matters more than power, that justice should be blind to status and wealth. She taught entire civilizations the difference between right and wrong, established courts of law, and became the standard by which all other concepts of justice were measured.”

Cleopatra and Isis would know better.

He gestured broadly, like he was presenting Ma’at’s entire cosmic resume.

“She created systems of justice that lasted for millennia, established the concept of moral balance when most gods were still figuring out how to exist without tripping over their own power, taught entire civilizations how not to be complete assholes to each other.”

Parker’s smile grew softer, more personal, carrying the weight of cosmic time and infinite affection.

“She’s gonna be really pleased with what she accomplished.”

The others nodded in understanding, but then a small voice cut through the moment like a knife through cosmic silk.

“Uh, Parker…”

Everyone turned to see Ere, her golden cat eyes wide with something that looked suspiciously like an existential crisis brewing behind those feline features.

She was curled up in Annabelle’s arms, but her usual confident “I’m better than everyone and I know it” demeanor had completely evaporated, replaced by the kind of panic that came from having your entire sense of self suddenly called into question.

Parker looked down at her, and his expression softened with the kind of gentle patience that came from having navigated countless identity crises across multiple lifetimes and probably several therapy sessions.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying both affection and the inevitable resignation of someone who knew exactly where this conversation was going. “You’re only part of what you’re supposed to be, Erebus. You’re more than just my Primordial beast.”

He’d expected confusion, maybe. Perhaps some curiosity about her other half, or even excitement at learning about her true nature and the cosmic significance of her existence.

What he definitely hadn’t expected was the long, dramatic groan that emerged from his supposedly dignified Primordial companion. The kind of groan that suggested the universe had personally offended her.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ere muttered, burying her face deeper into Annabelle’s shoulder like she could somehow hide from this revelation through sheer force of will and aggressive denial. “Just perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect, Parker Black.”

Her tail lashed with the kind of agitation usually reserved for cats who’d just discovered their food bowl was half empty, and when she lifted her head, her golden eyes held the kind of existential dread usually reserved for mortals contemplating the heat death of the universe.

“Here I thought I was this unique, powerful cosmic entity,” she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm thick enough to drown in. “This magnificent Primordial beast with my own identity and everything. Turns out I’m basically half of someone’s cosmic personality disorder.

“What’s next? Am I gonna find out I share a brain with some other interdimensional cat somewhere who probably has better taste in humans?”

Parker sighed, recognizing the tone of someone working through their own identity crisis in the most dramatic way possible. He’d heard this song before, usually from beings who’d just learned they weren’t as special as they thought they were. But Erebus was even more than speacila yet she was complaining.

“Ere—”

“No, no, don’t ‘Ere’ me,” she interrupted, waving a paw dismissively like she was shooing away his attempt at comfort. “Let me just process the fact that everything I thought I knew about myself is apparently complete bullshit. I’m not Erebus the magnificent Primordial beast with attachment issues and a superiority complex. I’m Erebus the cosmic split personality with attachment issues and half a superiority complex.”

Annabelle couldn’t help but snort with laughter, which earned her a withering glare from the golden-eyed cat that could have frozen hellfire.

“This isn’t funny!” Ere protested, her voice reaching that particular pitch that suggested she was about five seconds away from a full cosmic meltdown. “Do you know how hard it is to maintain a proper sense of superiority when you find out you’re only half a person? It’s like being told you’re not the main character of your own life—you’re just a supporting character in someone else’s cosmic drama!”

“So, what about the other half?” Bella asked gently, probably trying to redirect the conversation before Ere could spiral into a full existential crisis that might accidentally unmake a small dimension or two. “Who’s the other part of Judgment?”

Parker’s smile became something softer, more personal. The kind of expression that carried memories of quiet moments and shared understanding across lifetimes, the kind of look that suggested whoever he was thinking about meant something deeper than cosmic partnership.

He looked up at the massive statue of Judgment, her stone wings catching the light of distant stars like they were gathering illumination for some divine purpose, and spoke a single name that carried the weight of eternal partnership and probably a few really good inside jokes:

“Come here, dear.”

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!