Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System! - Chapter 578

Chapter 578: The Tale of M and L

Nobody saw Parker or Scarlett for three days.

Which, in a mansion full of divine sensors, psychic empaths, and one guy who could hear a butterfly sneeze from twelve dimensions over, was saying something.

Well—almost nobody.

Naomi saw.

Or rather, witnessed.

Because “saw” implies a level of consent and detachment that simply didn’t exist anymore. Only Naomi—who’d made the moonlight shine even brighter during Parker and Scarlett’s first time together as equals instead of predator and prey—knew what had really happened.

The maid had followed them out of curiosity, only to discover that after their emotional breakthrough under the stars, the vampire and her creator had disappeared into Scarlett’s club like it was now their pleasure realm where they’d been going at it like two beings trying to fuck their trauma into submission.

She’d followed them out of mild curiosity—curiosity which she now regretted on a spiritual level—only to realize Parker and Scarlett had slipped into some interdimensional pocket where time was elastic, physics was more of a suggestion, and modesty got incinerated on entry.

Three. Whole. Days.

No breaks. No shame. No breathable air between sessions.

After their first time together as… well, as equals instead of predator and prey, the vampire and her creator; they’d gone at it like two beasts in heat straight without stopping. All kinds of sex positions that even Naomi, with her cosmic awareness, doubted had ever been invented before.

“This is… excessive,” she whispered on the first day.

By the second, she’d stopped whispering.

By the third, Ere had joined her, chewing a giant meat like she was spectating an arena death match.

“They’re not fucking,” Ere announced. “They’re unloading spiritual baggage through pelvic sorcery. This is sex therapy for cosmic trauma. It’s embarrassing.”

Naomi didn’t disagree. Her awareness and still couldn’t figure out if what she’d seen was illegal, sacred, or both.

At one point, Parker casually shifted Scarlett into the Omni Nexus Realm—the very realm he’d refused to enter for months because it reminded him of being powerless.

Ere had cackled so hard she dropped her meat. “So let me get this straight—he wouldn’t go there because of ‘trauma’ of his awakening, but now it’s his personal honeymoon hellscape? My guy’s got layers.”

And listen.

This?This was not the Parker anyone remembered.

This was not the calculating leader. Not the cold-eyed sovereign. Not the brilliant strategist.

No.

This was Parker, sex-cursed, trauma-drenched, emotionally cracked and completely dickmatized by his own vampire.

He showed up for food exactly twice in seventy-two hours, hair a mess, collar missing, glowing like someone who’d transcended three levels of existential grief and decided to stay in bed instead of ascending.

Scarlett showed up once. Floated, actually. Didn’t even touch the floor. Just levitated past the dining hall wearing Parker’s shirt and nothing else, looking like a goddess who’d tasted the divine and said “yes, more please.”

The rest of the household?

Not okay.

Annabelle was on her sixth fingernail by mid-morning. She chewed them like they were laced with anti-anxiety spells. Every time Parker didn’t show up, she got this glassy, unhinged look that screamed abandonment issues, party of one.

Bella, meanwhile, was seconds away from reenacting the Great Temple Orgies of Lust-Touched history. She paced the halls like a caged cat in heat, practically vibrating with pent-up energy. If someone so much as brushed against her, she’d probably combust.

And then there were the guests.

Cleopatra, seated like the world’s most amused monarch. Cassandra sat like she was silently updating her mental prophecies with who’s gonna snap first. Isis, sipping her tea with the calm of someone who’d already lived through six pantheons’ worth of drama. And Hector, God help him, just sitting in a corner trying not to make eye contact with any woman, man, or sentient emotion in the room.

They weren’t just watching a family fall apart.

They were watching a high-budget supernatural reality show unfold in real time. With lust triangles, divine angst, trauma-fueled power awakenings, and the world’s hottest absentee main character.

Honestly?

All it needed was a theme song.

Hector, surprisingly, was having the time of his immortal life. While the main family treated him like royalty dipped in reverence, outside the palace? Dude was a legend. Among Parker’s creations, the Prince of Troy had become the battlefield icon—joining skirmishes to protect Earth like it was his personal redemption arc.

And unlike the usual roster of champions—who were either fame-chasing morons or dramatic meatheads—Hector actually knew what he was doing. Strategic. Lethal. Humble. Hot. It was a problem.

His popularity among the female soldiers had gone borderline mythic. He’d lift his shirt to show off old scars from the Trojan War, lean in close, and casually drop lines like, “This one was from Achilles… but he never broke my spirit.” Instant cardiac arrest.

These women had long abandoned any fantasies of catching Parker’s attention—because let’s be honest, trying to seduce your creator was probably a fast-track to divine exile—but seducing a legendary prince? That was just excellent career advancement.

He rarely came back to the main palace unless Cassandra missed him, which, as fate would have it, was happening today.

The dining room was a glorious mess, per usual. Judgment had shifted back into her Evelyn form and was bouncing her little sister on her lap like the world was made of sparkles and apple juice. Nyxavere was parked beside her and Maya, looking like she’d just eaten happiness for breakfast.

Meanwhile, Seraphina was absolutely losing it over Tessa’s belly. Her twelve-year-old obsession with the twins had hit code-red levels—equal parts adorable and mildly terrifying.

“When are they gonna be here?” Seraphina asked for the fifth time in ten minutes, her voice practically vibrating with anticipation. “Can I teach them how to fly? Can I show them how to make blood tornadoes? Are they gonna be vampires too? Are they—”

“Breathe, sweetie,” Tessa laughed, gently catching Seraphina’s hands before she could poke her belly into labor. “They’ll be here when they’re ready. And yes, you can teach them things. Age-appropriate things.”

“What’s inappropriate for Existential beings like us Aunt Tess?” Nyxavere chimed in, deadpan and wide-eyed—the kind of innocent question that usually caused philosophers to have midlife crises.

Evelyn’s little sister was just vibing, eyes wide as she drank in the chaos like it was her new favorite animated series.

Annabelle sat stiff as a statue next to her father Robert and Naomi, stabbing her food with the kind of rage that made cutlery nervous. Every time Naomi caught her eye, the maid had to suppress a laugh—and every time she did, Annabelle’s glare leveled up like she was about to unlock her villain arc.

The tension in the room was so thick it could’ve applied for citizenship. And Maya—with that sweet, cherubic smile that meant someone was about to get psychologically nuked—decided this was the perfect moment for story time.

“You know,” she began, voice dipped in dangerous innocence—the kind that made smart people start looking for emergency exits—”I heard the most fascinating little tale recently. About two sisters… and a prince.”

Instant silence. Conversation died like it owed someone money. Survival instincts kicked in around the room like sirens in the soul. No one breathed. No one blinked.

“There was this older princess—let’s call her L,” Maya continued, voice warm and casual, like she was discussing rainfall totals instead of loading up an emotional warhead. “L was the kind of girl who loved quietly. Deeply. She’d watch this prince from another kingdom during diplomatic visits, memorizing every smile, every gesture. She wrote poetry about his eyes and dreamt of conversations they never had.”

Annabelle’s fork froze midair like it had entered a gravitational field.

“L wasn’t flashy,” Maya said, her voice softening into silk. “But she was the kind of beauty that took root. Gentle intelligence. Elegant kindness. She didn’t crash into your heart—she slipped in and redecorated. The kind of woman you don’t realize you love until your whole world starts shaping itself around her absence.”

The silence grew claws. The kind of hush that felt like the air itself had a front-row seat and didn’t want to miss a single syllable.

“Now, L had a younger sister,” Maya went on, her tone sliding into something sharper, colder. “Let’s call her M. M was… a different brand of royalty. Bold where L was soft. Sharp where L was serene. The kind of girl who could find your password just by watching your posture.”

Bella had gone sheet-white. Her wine glass trembled slightly in her hand. She didn’t blink either.

“One day, M noticed her sister acting strange. Love-struck. Floaty. Distracted. Naturally, M did what manipulative little sisters do—she investigated. And what do you know?” Maya’s smile was now less ‘sunshine and tea’ and more ‘dagger behind the back.’ “She found out exactly who had L’s heart.”

She paused, casually sipping her wine like it was plot fuel, letting that tension steep until the walls practically groaned.

“M looked at this prince—this man her sister had loved quietly for years—and she didn’t think, ‘how sweet.’ She didn’t think, ‘my sister deserves happiness.’ No.” Maya’s eyes flicked toward Bella, slow and deliberate. “She thought: I want him for myself.”

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