Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

Hidden in the void between dimensions—because of course Annabelle had mastered stealth-voyeurism magic—she crouched low, lips curled, eyes locked onto the energy screen like it owed her money.

"I knew it. This bitch wanted Parker for herself!" she hissed, practically foaming with outrage. "Oh, look at her—look! Hand on the cheek? Really? What next, a dramatic faint into his arms while choirs sing in the background?"

Beside her, Ere sighed with the long-suffering patience of someone who had not signed up for this soap opera. She sat with her paws pulled on the floor, expression flat and soul halfway out the door.

"I don't get it," Ere muttered. "What is it with all these women? He's not a perfume ad. He's jusy my annoyingly handsome master."

Annabelle spun on her like she'd just suggested marrying a potato. "Oh my god, Ere, are you blind? She's trying to seduce him with fate-hands! She touched his face. That's like... ancient flirting level nine. It's basically a proposal!"

Ere raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe she's just being nice?"

Annabelle shrieked. Not screamed—shrieked. Like a betrayed Victorian duchess watching her rival kiss her fiancé at the royal banquet.

"Nice?! That's the same woman who once warned a planet they had seven days before a meteor hit just to see what they'd do under pressure! She's not nice, she's fate's personal chaos intern with a crush!"

"That is an exaggeration,"

Robert, ever the picture of parental resignation, folded his arms and leaned against the void-wall with a sigh. He'd been here before—many times. His daughter throwing a divine tantrum over Parker's interactions with literally anyone. He knew better than to intervene.

He nodded slowly, eyes still on the scene. "Just let her tire herself out," he murmured to Ere.

Annabelle kept going.

"She's doing the neck tilt. You saw that, right? That's the 'I'd let you rewrite my timeline' look. And Parker! Just standing there like a carved god-statue while she practically licks his soul."

Ere deadpanned, "Maybe he's just being polite."

Annabelle slapped her hand over her own mouth, dramatically gasping through her fingers. "He is polite. That's the problem! He'll accidentally flirt with the concept of death and then wonder why she's planning a wedding."

Robert's shoulders shook slightly. A suppressed laugh. Dangerous move.

Annabelle whirled. "You think this is funny, Father? You think this is entertaining?! She is scheming. I know that 'silent prophecy stare.' I invented it."

Ere stood, dusted off her nonexistent skirt, and floated backwards. "I'm leaving before you reach an extent of cast a petty curse."

"Too late!" Annabelle snapped, eyes glowing briefly. "I've already hexed her lip balm. May her lips crack during every romantic moment for a thousand years."

Robert closed his eyes. "Annabelle."

"What? It's a soft curse."

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Annabelle turned back to the screen, muttering furiously. "She's not even his type. He likes complicated. Wounded. Cosmic and cuddly with god-tier trauma. Not... pretty prophets with good posture."

Then she paused, watching Cassandra tilt her head again, eyes glowing faintly.

"…Okay, maybe she is his type."

Ere was already gone.

Robert sighed louder. "We need better hobbies."

Annabelle growled under her breath, eyes still glued to the screen like a rabid fan waiting for a scandal.

"If she kisses him, I swear—I swear on every ounce of chaos in my blood—I will drag her out of linear time and trap her in a soap opera arc with a clingy demigod."

Robert nodded without looking at her. "Just don't involve me."

Annabelle grinned.

"No promises."

*

Cassandra's fingers—delicate, trembling. But it wasn't fear. No, this wasn't someone hesitating. This was someone feeling the weight of the moment like a priestess before a storm, trying to steady the truth in her bones.

She touched his face.

Both hands. Soft. Careful. Like he might shatter if she wasn't gentle.

And for some reason—one he'd probably never figure out, even with nine lifetimes and a private archive of cosmic metaphysics—Parker leaned into her touch. Just a little. Just enough for her thumbs to brush his cheekbones and send warmth flowing into his skin like sunlight that remembered his name.

He didn't know what she was doing. She didn't fully understand it either. But something passed between them—real, raw, and maddeningly human. It wasn't power. Wasn't prophecy. It was the soft ache of understanding. Of a woman who saw the burdens carved into his soul and whispered, without sound: I know.

And he felt it.

God help him, he felt it.

All around them, silence stretched tight and holy.

Even the gods didn't breathe.

No one moved. Not Zhang Ruoyun, not Atalanta, not Isis, not even Cleopatra—who looked like her entire worldview had just sprained an ankle. Hector's jaw clenched, fingers twitching like he wanted to step forward but couldn't—wouldn't. Not here. Not now.

Because it wasn't romantic. Not quite.

It was deeper. A recognition. One soul blinking across the chasm of existence and realizing the other was real.

Then, with maddening ease, Parker smiled. That lazy, lopsided grin that could seduce kingdoms or shatter them.

He reached up, caught her hand against his face.

"My lady~" he murmured, voice all velvet drawl and teasing nobility.

Somewhere, in the forbidden bleachers of the void—

Ere groaned, dramatically flopping back onto nothing.

"Oh my god," she muttered. "That cheesy bastard of a master."

She rolled her golden cat eyes so hard the fabric of reality threatened to wrinkle. Then she turned away from the scene like it had physically offended her.

"What next, he's going to recite poetry? I swear to the stars, if he pulls out that shit, I'm hexing everyone in this room with eternal awkward silences."

From behind her, Annabelle whispered, "Shh. Let them have their moment. Then I'll kill her."

Ere didn't flinch. "I hate this job."

Parker still held Cassandra's hand to his cheek, unaware of the interdimensional soap opera commentary—but vaguely aware that something in him had shifted.

Something… he didn't quite hate.

She rolled her golden cat eyes with the exaggerated flair of someone personally victimized by emotional vulnerability and turned away from the scene like it had physically offended her.

Absolutely disgusting.

Two ancient souls sharing unspoken feelings in high-definition soul-connection vision? Gross. She didn't sign up for this sentimental romcom energy.

"I came here to spy, not feel things," Ere muttered, arms crossed, as she stared aggressively into the void like it might offer her a distraction.

It didn't.