Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 406: Cloaks of the Shadows

Now only the leaders remained. The air had shifted—quieter, heavier, the kind of silence that knew shit was about to get serious. Parker's first original circle wasn't even here—Naomi was probably still handling her business, had dipped back into the shadows somewhere, and Elena hadn't come back yet after taking Bella.

Tessa was here, she was a queen too...

Strangely though, Atalanta was still here.

He hadn't told her to leave.

And yeah, that raised some eyebrows, but he didn't say shit about it. Not even when he glanced her way. Maybe it was intentional. Maybe it was instinct. Either way, she stood among the leaders, jaw clenched, arms crossed, face storming with the kind of pissed-off expression that could rip through divine marble.

He had told them everything.

Well—not everything everything.

Just the necessary shit. The parts they needed to know. The kind of truths that couldn't be sugarcoated anymore. Earth was on the brink. Not just Earth, but her whole-ass multiverse. And the ones who were supposed to protect it? The Olympus Pantheon?

They fumbled.

No, they sabotaged.

Out of fear. Out of guilt. Out of pure cowardice and an allergy to accountability, those gods—those glorified bitches in robes—went and poked something they should've never touched. THEY. And now the whole planet was paying for it.

Atalanta didn't say a word.

But her face said plenty.

Disgust. Fury. Shame.

And a little heartbreak.

She wasn't dumb. She could see it clearly now. How pathetic they were. How quick they were to beg for help from nightmares instead of fixing what they broke.

Parker caught the shift in her gaze, and without saying much, just offered a calm little smile. "Artemis wasn't part of this."

That hit.

Atalanta paused. Then nodded once.

Yeah. She knew. Artemis might've had her flaws, sure, but doom? Selling out the world for convenience? That wasn't her. She had her own fucked-up sense of pride, but it was warrior pride. She wouldn't have asked for help to cover up her sins—she'd rather die fighting the mess herself.

Still, it didn't stop the guilt clawing at her.

She was one of them. A champion of Olympus. And now she was standing in a palace—Parker's palace—surrounded by people being forced to fix the shitstorm her gods started.

She looked down, ashamed.

[She's cute.] Levi said outta nowhere, like he was sipping gossip tea inside Parker's brain.

Parker sighed and rolled his eyes. "Is she now?"

Back to the room.

He turned to the remaining leaders, now standing in a wide arc before him, and tilted his head. "Let's not waste time. I need to know your roles—where your power's based, what sectors you're locked into in the mundane world. No more secrets."

Shadowmire moved first.

Of course it was the deamons.

The Deamon stepped forward, dark robes swaying like smoke, voice cool and precise. "Our influence resides beneath. The underworld of the mundane world. Crime syndicates, information flow, black-market trading, shadow finance—we run it all."

Parker raised a brow. "Isn't that Morello turf?"

He wasn't wrong. The Morellos were one of the Big Five Families—humans who ran the actual underworld. Mafias. Drug rings. Political blackmail. All of it.

But now?

Shadowmire gave a slow nod, like he was waiting for the confusion. "They run it on the surface, the underworld of the mundanes." he said. "But everything beneath—the real darkness? The structure? It belongs to us."

Parker leaned back slightly, a grin tugging at his lips.

Of course it did.

French mafia meets demonic aristocracy?

Magnifique.

Azrakar Shadowmire stepped forward like he owned the damn floor—which, to be fair, he kinda did. The guy moved like a walking eclipse, all quiet menace and elegant darkness. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth but heavy, the kind that made rooms listen.

"Although the Morellos run the mundane underworld," he said, pausing like he already knew Parker's eyebrow was halfway raised, "they're just kings of street-level chaos. Mafias. Bribes. Politicians with fragile egos. Cute stuff. But the real power? The part that bends reality, the ones they go crying to when shit gets supernatural?"

He tilted his head slightly. "That's us. The Shadowmires."

Tessa's brows shot up just slightly.

"When the Morellos need something impossible—something that can't be done by mortals or bullets—they come crawling to us. They bring offerings, they lower their heads, porque they know. They know we control the supernatural muscle."

Azrakar glanced around.

"Every supernatural being operating in the mundane world—bodyguards, enforcers, silencers—they fall under our network. Presidents, prime ministers, even your precious Big Five families? The ones they think are protecting them?"

He smirked.

"They're guarded by our people. They just don't know it."

He wasn't just throwing shade—he was dropping facts. And Parker caught it. Because if what Azrakar was saying was true, then all those mystical bodyguards protecting presidents, celebs, big five family heirs? Every one of them answered to the Deamons. And if they didn't? They just didn't know they were on a leash yet.

Tessa flinched, just a flick of tension in her shoulders. Because yeah… with one word from Azrakar, those same supernatural agents could probably kill a Morello, a president—or any other elite—before anyone had time to say adiós.

"Is Bishop my grandfather's bodyguard also a supernatural?" She wondered.

"And it's not just this country," Azrakar continued, not even blinking. "Just like the Ether community exists across dimensions, we—the Shadowmires—rule the shadows in every part of this world. One word, and the darkness answers."

Let that weight settle, Bro! Let it settle in you!

Even Parker had to admit—that was heavy.

Robert, who'd finally gotten back on his feet, chuckled low under his breath. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

"Show-off," he muttered, smirking. But he wasn't hating—just amused. Because let's be real, if it wasn't for Noctavine Vaelith Draven, Azrakar might've been the one holding the most cards in the game.

And Parker was starting to piece it together now.

Every ounce of darkness—every whisper in the underground—was monitored by the Shadowmires.

But then... what about her?

What about Vaelith?

If Azrakar ran the underworld, then what exactly did she do?

He asked, tone casual but genuinely curious.

Noctavine stepped forward like a thundercloud in silk, eyes glowing just enough to remind people she wasn't someone you played cute with. She gave a small, graceful bow—and smiled.

"I do something simple," she said lightly, almost teasing. "I am the leader of the Prince's Shadow Army."

Simple, she said.

Azrakar's eyes went wide like she'd just called nuclear warfare "mild conflict."

"Simple?" he sputtered, like the word physically offended him. "¡Dios mío!"

The room burst into laughter, some trying to hide it, others fully enjoying the sight of Azrakar looking personally insulted by her understatement.

Noctavine barely blinked as if she'd remembered something crucial...

"Oh, I also control the Shadowmires," she added coolly, like she was saying she ran a bakery instead of the entire Deamon underworld.

Azrakar looked so damn wronged, Parker had to bite his tongue to keep from grinning. The man looked like he'd just been demoted by his little sister in front of the entire class.

He turned to her, more amused than confused now. "You what, exactly?"

And yeah, she smiled again.

Because this was just getting started.