Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 392: The Lie That Lived Too Long

One minute

later, the throne hall looked like it hadn't just been the scene of a cosmic-level exorcism and a soul-cracking revelation. The marble was spotless.

The shattered platform—where Parker had once sent Robert's body into the stone with the kind of rage that rewrites family trees—had been rebuilt, restored in full regal elegance with nothing more than a lazy flick of Helena's hand. That was the thing about being powerful—you didn't clean up messes, you erased them from history.

The only thing that hadn't reset was the weight in the air.

Because thanks to Nyxavere—his nearly omniscient, casually overpowered daughter who made miracles look like parlor tricks—the truth was out.

Everyone knew now. Knew that Robert Blackwood had never truly been Robert Blackwood. That someone—or something—had taken over him, puppeted his body like a damn costume for almost two decades, lurking, watching, pretending to love, pretending to lead… all while waiting for the perfect window to kill the boy who was never supposed to survive.

The first attempt was at the hospital, barely hours after Parker had entered this world. The attack hadn't landed—not because someone stopped it, but because it just… couldn't. No one knew why. Not yet. But something had denied the kill.

The second time had been more brutal. The day Parker almost didn't make it out of the estate. The day Ere did the impossible. Or, more accurately—Vivian cheated fate with one hand behind her back and no witnesses.

And the third?

Today.

And that one had almost worked. Powered by something beyond Robert's body. Something ancient. Something monstrous. The speed had defied Omnipotents. Even Parker's infinity stats had barely kept up. The sword had already begun scrambling his form—and then Nyxavere arrived.

Because of course she did. Of course his daughter didn't let the lie win.

She didn't just save her father.

She tore the mask off the past.

Now, Robert—the real Robert—was kneeling.

Not out of weakness. Not out of shame.

Out of the sheer gravity of the moment. His hands were wrapped around those of Julian and Annabelle. His children. Not the versions who bullied and mocked and let power turn them into shadows of something worse—but the kids who had just learned that their entire relationship with their father had been a trick of the cruelest kind.

Julian had at least known his father—the real one. A few childhood years, a handful of memories not dipped in poison. He could look back and say, "That was him. That was real."

Annabelle couldn't.

Seventeen years.

Her entire life… lived beside a ghost.

She'd never known her father's love—not truly. The man she'd called "Dad" had been nothing more than a perfectly stitched mask worn by something else. Something that had made sure she was born… and then locked the real Robert away the moment she took her first breath.

Every word of advice, every cold glance, every proud nod—it wasn't real. It hadn't been him.

And now?

Now it all felt like a cosmic prank played on her soul. Her whole identity fractured in the span of minutes. The person who'd shaped her values, approved her cruelty, let her mock Parker, let her look down on everyone—wasn't even there.

She'd made choices. All of them hers. But they had been under the shadow of a lie.

She'd lived by rules because the world permitted it. Because her father allowed it. Because he set the bar. And now she realized… he never did.

He hadn't raised her.

Something else had.

And the strings she'd thought were hers to pull?

They were wrapped around her wrists by a monster she never saw coming.

Parker watched them from the throne, elbow on the armrest, chin resting against his knuckles. He wasn't speaking. Wasn't judging. He just… sat. Eyes hooded, breath calm, the weight of seventeen years pressing down behind that stillness. Nyxavere leaned against the edge of the throne, softly patting his shoulder like she was soothing a sleeping volcano.

Everyone else in the room didn't know what to feel.

Shock. Awe. Confusion. Guilt. Some were still staring at Robert, their minds racing to piece together timelines they thought they understood. Others kept sneaking glances at Parker, like he might still unleash something, like the silence was just the calm before a different kind of storm.

Because this wasn't just about Robert.

It was about the thing that had used him.

A parasite that had puppeted an Eternal-level powerhouse—and no one noticed. That alone was horrifying enough. But what really scared them… was the thought that if it could do that to Robert, what the hell else had it already done?

A few in the room still believed ignorance was bliss.

But not Helena.

Not Vivian.

Not Maya. Or Nyxavere. Or Parker.

They knew.

They knew exactly what that thing was.

And worse?

They knew it wasn't finished.

Atalanta had seen a lot in her time—gods dragging continents just to make a point, High Council members rewriting laws of physics mid-sentence because they didn't like how a war was going, creatures older than sunlight whispering in the cracks of forbidden temples.

But nothing—nothing—had ever left her gut cold the way Parker's silence did now.

The throne room buzzed with tension. Not fear. Not yet. But something worse: understanding. The kind of stillness that comes when power doesn't need to speak because everyone already got the memo.

Parker wasn't joking anymore.

And that was the terrifying part—because Parker didn't take shit seriously. Not even the gods. The Olympians, the Councils, all those self-proclaimed cosmic chess players—he saw them the way most people saw bad weather. Annoying. Loud. Something to laugh at until it gets in your way, and even then, you just keep walking.

That was Parker.

The man who saw pantheons as entertainment.

So for him to be sitting in that throne now, silent, thinking, eyes heavy like the weight on his chest wasn't physical but metaphysical—that meant whatever this thing was, the one that hijacked Robert, the one strong enough to impersonate an Eternal and almost kill Parker three times—it wasn't just big.

It was worthy of fear.

And that? That flipped something in Atalanta.

Because until now, she hadn't known what kind of world she'd stepped into. She thought the universe had a ceiling. That the gods were the peak, the High Council the sky above it.

Then she met Parker.

Spent twenty-four hours in his gravity and realized the sky was a lie. That there were beings beneath the surface, tucked into bloodlines and shadows, who ruled over the things everyone else worshipped.

Vivian was one. Maya was another. Helena, terrifying in her own quiet, surgically composed way. And Nyxavere? That child made starlight nervous.

Parker stood above them all.

And yet, here he was. Jaw set. Fingers still. No twitch. No smirk.

He wasn't angry.

He wasn't amused.

He was calculating.

And in her gut, Atalanta felt it.

Shit was about to escalate.

Not to a fight.

Not to a war.

To something else entirely.

Something ancient.

And the worst part?

Parker hadn't even stood up yet.