Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 399: Prime Worlds

They all nodded.

Because if it was THEY—

If even only three of those void-sucking, reality-chewing, logic-ignoring freaks managed to squeeze into Earth?

It'd be game over in three days. Tops.

Not because Earth was weak—though, let's be honest, it kinda was—but because THEY didn't play fair. THEY didn't invade. THEY descended. And when THEY descended? It won't be just three. It would hundreds. Thousands. All dropping at once like divine nukes set to annihilate a Prime World in literal minutes.

And the Olympians? They didn't know what the fuck they were dealing with.

They thought THEY were some ancient gods, some cosmic consultants for when shit hit the fan. But nah. THEY were extinction incarnate. THEY didn't fix worlds. THEY ended them. Efficiently.

El turned, stepped toward her brother, and pulled him in again—this time tighter, like she was holding onto the last good thing before the universe decided to self-destruct.

"I know," she whispered, her voice low and heavy against his ear, "you don't wanna play hero. You never did."

He stayed still, his jaw tight.

"But if THEY descend… and they get their hands on the Prime Core of this world? It's over. For Earth. For every Earth. And not just in this dimension. All the infinity Earths go down with it."

Parker didn't say anything.

He didn't have to.

He knew.

This wasn't just some random apocalypse quest. This was why Prime Worlds existed. This was the exact reason they were guarded, shielded, coded in myth and buried under system-level protections. Prime Worlds weren't just "important." They were anchors. The First and Last save-points of a Multiverse.

Destroy the anchor—and everything connected to it?

Gone.

Just… deleted.

This—this right here—was why Prime Worlds were such a big fucking deal.

Why entire civilizations, god-blooded empires, and system-forged guardians would go full scorched-earth just to keep one safe.

Because Prime Worlds weren't just planets with cool names and overpowered bloodlines. They were the first thread and the last stitch in the multiverse's design. The beginning and the end. Alpha and Omega. Destroy one? You don't just burn a world. You unravel everything connected to it like yanking the wrong cord out of a tangled web of realities.

Take Earth, for example.

Not the "humans-still-fighting-over-toasters" version. The Prime Earth. This world? It's the anchor—the foundation block of the entire Earth Multiverse. Every alternate Earth, every Earth where dinosaurs became CEOs or where AI rules supreme or where some lame teen named Parker never got a system—all of them branch out from this one like mirrored code.

If this Earth dies? frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

They all die.

Not with a bang, not with war. They just... blink out. Deleted. Erased like corrupted files because their root directory got nuked.

And this isn't unique to Earth. Every multiverse out there—no matter how stacked, how ancient, how advanced—has its own Prime World. And every single one of those Prime Worlds carries what's called the Cores. A pure metaphysical nucleus that keeps its entire multiverse breathing.

We're talking thousands or more of multiverses across existence, and each one's got thousands of worlds.

Now stack that.

That's the scale we're talking about.

That's why Prime Worlds don't just get protected—they get guarded like divine nuclear codes. Layered in systems, sealed by laws older than gods, and watched by beings who could erase galaxies on a lazy afternoon.

And yet… even among Prime Worlds, there's levels.

Tiers.

Some are Lower tier, like Earth. Fragile. Barely able to handle avatars or divine descent without the sky breaking and oceans boiling.

Then you got the Mortal tier—where cultivation starts mutating planets into sentient beings.

Then Immortal—where time stops playing fair.

And then there's Divine.

The ones that create rules instead of following them.

So yeah—Earth? It's sitting in the kiddie pool right now. That's why El—who literally steps through dimensions like curtain beads—can barely maintain her avatar here without reality twitching like it's having a seizure.

This world ain't ready.

Which is exactly why they can't afford to lose it.

You could feel it the second she showed up.

Not just seen it—nah, the whole vibe had shifted so hard it was like someone grabbed the world and shook it like a fucked-up snow globe.

The sky had dimmed, not 'cause the sun dipped, but because the very idea of light had stepped back. The clouds hadn't moved—they curled. Birds? Gone. Vanished like they didn't even wanna be on the same layer of existence. The air had turned thick, heavy, like wet wool clinging to your lungs. And the ground? It cracked from just the weight of her presence—and that wasn't even her real body.

Just an avatar. A damn voicemail version of her being.

And the world hadn't been able to handle that.

The trees had bent away like they didn't wanna breathe what she breathed. Space had folded around her like a shy-ass kid avoiding eye contact. Even the oceans, probably chilling far as hell away, had trembled.

And Parker—he'd sworn the system itself had flickered like a glitchy phone screen whenever she walked past.

And this is Earth. Prime Earth. But compared to her? It might as well have been made of cardboard and prayer.

Prime Earth was ane of the few anchor-points in the whole damn Multiverse—holding up hundreds of thousands of realities like a cosmic scaffolding system—and she still made it flinch like a guilty man in church.

Because this Earth? It was a Lower Tier Prime World. Important? Hell yeah. Essential? No doubt. But durable? Fuck no. Earth was a glass chandelier hanging by dental floss, and she was a wrecking ball that didn't know how to whisper. Just by existing here, El was basically stretching the world's code like a bootleg game mod.

Glitches in the air. Static in the system. Dimensional edges peeling like old paint. That's how you knew she was way above this world's league.

And the wild part?

This wasn't even close to what she could really do.

If she actually stepped into this world with her true form—like, her full, Existential being, unfiltered "fuck your physics" body—this Earth would be dust. Not metaphorically. Like poof. Gone. Just vaporized, then overwritten by the cosmic equivalent of a 404 error.

But in Divine Tier Prime Worlds? Pshhh. She'd be chilling. Loitering in the park. Eating churros. No collapsing skies. No cracked timelines. Divine Prime Worlds were built different. They weren't just holding one hundred multiverses—they were housing many at the same damn time, like reality Airbnb'd infinity and handed them the keys. And not "infinite" like that cute math teacher used to say. We're talking ∞ of ∞, on repeat. Endless.

And they were basically indestructible.

You could launch a trillion suns at them and all you'd get is a polite notification saying "Nice try, loser."

But Earth? Nah. This bitch was built on expired duct tape and ancestral trauma. So when El showed up, the world felt it. Like it was screaming into a pillow hoping she'd leave soon. Reality twitched every time she blinked. Space had to re-stitch itself just to hold her silhouette.

Parker could see it. He felt it. The world was glitching like a drunk Roomba just trying to stay stable. Even the air around him started humming, like it was running on borrowed time.

And she hadn't even raised her voice yet.

That's how fucked this world was.

That's how fragile Prime Earth truly was.

And that's why THEY coming here? It wasn't just risky. It was the endgame.

*****

This chapter would perhaps be my last in going into so much details. I just wanted you to get a picture of her power and details about Prime Worlds.