Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

The grand hall of the mansion felt smaller with so many divine champions gathered within its walls.

Heroes from across pantheons had assembled—Perseus and Chione representing the Greeks, Rama and Hanuman from the Indian pantheon, Thoth and Anubis from Egypt, alongside Gilgamesh, the ancient king of Uruk whose strength rivaled the gods themselves, Cú Chulainn with his legendary Gáe Bolga spear strapped to his back, Beowulf whose bear-like frame dominated one corner, Sun Wukong perched irreverently on a windowsill with his golden staff, Susanoo carrying the storm-scent of Japanese tempests, Quetzalcoatl whose feathered serpent form coiled around a marble pillar.

Achilles still radiating the invulnerability that had made him legend, and dozens of others who had once been worshipped as gods themselves, now reduced to discussing their survival in hushed, desperate tones.

At the center of their circle lay Hercules, his divine form broken in ways that shouldn't have been possible. His legendary strength meant nothing now; his body was a map of impossible injuries that refused to heal properly.

Each breath came with visible effort, and his eyes held the hollow stare of someone who had looked into the face of absolute power and found himself utterly wanting.

Chione stood with regal authority, her ice-white hair reflecting the tension in the room. Beside her, Perseus gripped his shield tighter than necessary, the polished bronze surface showing the worried faces of assembled champions.

"Enough," Chione declared, her voice carrying the chill of winter itself. "This has gone too far. Parker Black attacked our brother without provocation, nearly caused a massacre in Manhattan, and murdered Ma'at in cold blood." Her eyes swept across the gathering. "We cannot allow this to continue."

Icarus stood near the back, his wings folded tightly behind him as he observed the heated discussion. Unlike the others, he remained silent, his expression troubled. He'd watched the footage dozens of times, analyzed every frame, but something about it felt... wrong.

Not the events themselves, but the ease with which Parker had dismantled their strongest champions.

When Perseus gestured for support, Icarus finally spoke. "I stand with facing this threat," he said quietly, though his voice carried doubt. "But the footage... I cannot explain what we witnessed. The only logical conclusion is manipulation—some form of illusion or technological deception."

"You see?" Perseus seized on his words. "Even Icarus recognizes the impossibility of what we supposedly witnessed."

"Before what?" Cassandra's voice cut through the room like a blade. The Trojan princess sat apart from the others, her prophetic eyes holding the weight of futures only she could see. "Before you all march to your deaths like fools?"

Perseus's jaw tightened. "Cassandra, we know you mean well, but—"

"But you refuse to listen, as always." She stood, moving to a table where a tablet displayed frozen footage from Nyxavere's livestream. "You've all seen this. You watched it happen in real time, yet you choose to believe Hermes's version over the evidence of your own eyes."

The screen showed Parker materializing between the combatants, the way reality itself had bent around his presence. It showed Hercules and the Street Rat freezing mid-battle, not from any attack, but because the concept of violence had simply ceased to exist in Parker's vicinity.

"He didn't attack Hercules," Cassandra said, her voice carrying the bitter certainty of ignored prophecy. "He dismissed him. Like brushing away an insect."

Hector, his bronze armor gleaming in the mansion's light, nodded grimly. "The footage doesn't lie, brothers. We saw him save thousands of civilians while we—" He gestured toward Hercules's broken form. "While we played at being warriors in the streets of his city."

Cleopatra, adorned in gold and bearing the combined authority of pharaoh and goddess, spoke with regal disdain. "Hermes spins tales to preserve Olympic pride, but I have eyes. That being we witnessed was no mere enhanced mortal. He moved with the authority of something that transcends our understanding."

"Exactly!" Isis agreed, her voice carrying the wisdom of ages. "I felt his power even through the stream. It was... cosmic. Fundamental. Like watching the universe itself take physical form."

Perseus slammed his fist against the table, his voice rising above the growing war cries. "You see them. Even our wisest brothers recognize the threat! The stream could have been altered, the footage doctored, but Theseus's death was real. We all felt it across the divine realms."

Thoth, the ibis-headed god of wisdom and scribe of the Egyptian pantheon, spoke with scholarly precision. "The jackal-headed Anubis and I have consulted the scrolls of fate. This Parker must be stopped before his power grows beyond all containment."

Anubis, guardian of the dead and guide to the afterlife, nodded gravely. "The one who weighs souls upon the scales speaks truth. Ma'at's death has upset the cosmic balance. Justice demands vengeance."

Cassandra laughed, but there was no humor in it—only the bitter amusement of someone who had spent lifetimes being ignored. "Because I tried to warn you all a week ago, didn't I? I told you what would happen if you continued this path. I told you Parker Black was beyond your ability to challenge."

She turned to face the assembled champions, her prophetic sight blazing with terrible certainty. "And now I'm telling you again—if you move against him, you will die. Not defeated. Not captured. You will be erased from existence as casually as one might erase a mistake from parchment."

The room fell silent except for Hercules's labored breathing.

"I've seen your deaths," Cassandra continued, her voice growing hollow. "Each of you. Icarus, your wings will be torn from your body before you realize he's moved. Perseus, your shield will shatter like glass against his will. Chione, you..." She didn't open that box.

Didn't dare to!

Hector stepped beside his sister, his hand resting on his sword hilt. "I believe her. I always have." He looked around the room with the steady gaze of a true warrior. "Cleopatra, Isis, and I will take no part in this suicide mission."

Chione's expression darkened as she glanced toward the four dissenters. "Perhaps their reluctance stems from... other motivations," she said, her voice carrying a cutting edge. "It's become quite apparent that certain champions have developed... personal attachments to our enemy."

The accusation hung in the air like a blade. Everyone knew the rumors—how Cleopatra's eyes softened when Parker's name was mentioned, how Cassandra's prophecies about him carried a protective undertone that her other visions lacked.

And then there was Atalanta, who had openly pleaded for Hercules's life and whose 'defection' from their cause was seen by many as the ultimate betrayal.

"Love makes fools of even the wisest," Anubis observed, his jackal-headed form radiating disapproval. "Perhaps their judgment is clouded by emotions unbecoming of champions."

Cleopatra's eyes flashed with dangerous fire. "My motivations are irrelevant to the truth of what we witnessed. Unlike the rest of you, I recognize power when I see it—and I know better than to throw my existence away in futile gestures."

Cassandra's laugh was bitter. "Yes, let's discuss love and foolishness. I love truth above all else, and the truth is that you're all about to die for your pride."