Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

The man grinned and tossed Naomi on the ground and he faced Parker!

The second Naomi's limp body hit the ground like discarded trash, Parker's heart seized. She crumpled into the dirt with all the grace of a shattered doll, the bastard tossing her aside like she meant nothing. He ran to Parker at unimaginable speed.

No. No.

The guy was fast—too fast. But Parker? He wasn't going to let that stop him. Not now. Not when Naomi needed him.

Move.

Shadows snapped around him like a living pulse, dragging his body forward. Telekinesis burned through his veins, raw and volatile, his weapon now. For the first time, it wasn't about running from death—it was about chasing it down and ripping it apart.

His mind sharpened. Focused. Strike first, hit hard.

The man barely had a second to react before Parker lashed out. Shadows surged from the ground—whip-fast—wrapping around the bastard's ankles with vicious precision. At the same time, Parker flung out his hand, telekinesis screaming through the air like a coiled storm, yanking with brutal force.

The hit landed—hard.

The bastard's body stumbled, knees buckling as shadows dragged him down like gravity itself wanted him crushed. But Parker wasn't done. Not even close.

White flames.

The energy roared inside him like a beast unchained, clawing for release. His arm snapped forward, and from his palm exploded a blaze of pale fire—pure, raw, and hungry. It wasn't just heat—it was annihilation, searing reality itself. Enjoy new tales from My Virtual Library Empire

Boom!

The blast struck square in the chest. The man was lifted off the ground, flung backward like a ragdoll. Dirt and debris exploded outward, scattering into the air like ash. But Parker didn't wait. His legs moved before thought could catch up—running, sprinting, faster, shadows pushing him forward. He reached Naomi's side in seconds, heart hammering in his throat.

But then—

"Pathetic."

The voice slithered out from the smoke, cold and sharp as broken glass.

Parker turned.

The bastard was already rising—like nothing had happened. His body cracked back into place with a sickening ease, like power dripped off him in waves. His face finally came into view—dark eyes, twisted with something feral. And recognition.

"Oh," the man sneered, brushing ash off his shoulder like Parker's attack was a mild inconvenience. "You? The useless Blackwood seed?" His smirk widened, sharp enough to cut through steel.

"When did the family disgrace get himself some shiny new tricks?"

Parker didn't answer. He didn't need to.

The guy lunged—fast. Too fast for Parker to fully react.

Boom!

The punch hit like a freight train, slamming into Parker's ribs and launching him back. Air ripped from his lungs in a violent rush, his body smashing against the dirt hard enough to blur the world into shards. Pain screamed through him. But Parker didn't stop moving. Couldn't..Shadows surged—sloppy this time, wild and desperate—but they caught him, dragging him back to his feet before the next blow could land.

"You're weak," the man spat, stalking forward like a predator closing in on a wounded animal. "Awakened or not, you're nothing." Another punch—this one cracked across Parker's jaw, snapping his head sideways. Blood filled his mouth.

"And if you're nothing, how could you ever protect her? Leave her to me, a real man— actually a vampire, Bwahahaha!"

Naomi.

The name hit harder than the fists ever could. Parker's vision cleared—just enough to see her fragile body lying on the ground behind him. She needed him. Now. No hesitation. Shadows erupted again, whip-fast, but this time—telekinesis followed, layered together in perfect sync. It was instinct now—like his body was starting to learn, even through the pain.

The bastard dodged left, but Parker's telekinesis caught him mid-air, yanking him straight into the searing blast of white flames that erupted from Parker's palm.

The fire hit—harder this time. The man stumbled again, arms up in defense.

"Lucky hit," the man snarled, voice dripping with venom. "But luck won't save you." He charged—raw strength behind every step. A brutal, unstoppable force.

Parker met him head-on. He wasn't winning. He knew that. But this wasn't about winning. It was about fighting. About not giving up, not this time. Every movement hurt. Every breath was a battle. But for Naomi? For her—he would fight until there was nothing left to give. The man threw another brutal punch—this one meant to end it.

But Parker moved first.

Shadows lashed out in a chaotic storm, telekinesis ripping through the air with raw desperation. The strike hit—this time slamming the man into the ground with enough force to shake the earth.

For the first time, the bastard looked angry.

Parker wiped the blood from his mouth, eyes cold, steady, unbroken.

No words. No threats. Just silence.

And the fight wasn't over.

Before Parker could even stabilize himself, the wind turned on him—hard. It slammed into his face like a pissed-off ghost carrying every ounce of fury it could scrape from hell itself. His body barely registered the hit before the real pain followed—a punch straight to the gut, sharp and brutal.

Crack.

His body flew back like a ragdoll, smacking into a tree with such force it made the trunk shudder. Not even a mundane human, not even close—but right now? He felt breakable. Real breakable. His lungs spasmed for air, blood painting his lips in thick, coppery streaks.

Fuck.

Pain screamed through him, but instincts screamed louder.

Move, dammit.

He ducked—barely. Another fist shot through the air like a wrecking ball on steroids, missing his head by inches. The wind off that strike alone felt like a slap from the grim reaper. His brain didn't have time to process fear—it was all reaction now.

No choice. He had to hit back.

Packing his fist with every shred of Omni energy he could pull together, Parker swung. A hard punch aimed dead-on.

Missed.

It clipped the bastard's side, and honestly? It wasn't even close to satisfying. The guy barely flinched, like Parker had just thrown a pebble at a tank. "You're dying here today, Blackwoods scam" the man sneered—voice low, calm, like this was a promise carved in stone.

Boom.

A savage kick slammed into Parker's chest, throwing him like a busted toy. He crashed face-first into the ground, dirt scraping against his skin, sharp and cold and humiliating. His body wasn't responding fast enough—every muscle felt heavy, like dragging dead weight.

No time to think. No room for mistakes.

He hadn't even gotten a chance to use his Appraisal. That little window of calm, of calculation—gone. The heat of the fight didn't allow space for anything but survival. One mistake? Game over.

And damn—he knew. He knew he couldn't win this fight alone. Not like this. Not against someone who hadn't even tried using their powers yet. This was all raw strength, and Parker was already a punching bag.

What the hell would happen if this guy actually used an ability?

Nope. Not sticking around to find out.

The pain was sharp and constant, but Parker forced himself to move, eyes darting around—Naomi.

There. A few yards away, her body stirred—barely—but she was regaining consciousness. A small, pained groan left her lips.

"Shit. I gotta get us out of here." Parker knew better than anyone—sometimes strength isn't about hitting harder. It's about knowing when the odds are stacked against you and making the damn call to run.

And right now? The odds were flipping him off.

Gritting his teeth, Parker pushed himself to his feet, blood dripping down his face. His hand shot out instinctively. The Phoenix Sword materialized in his grip—elegant, sharp, dangerous—and instantly erupted in white flames. Pure power, burning like vengeance given form.

The man's eyes narrowed. His sneer twitched into something uglier. "That fucking fire."

Ah. Weakness detected. The man had been carefree but Parker knew the Phoenix flames had effects.

"I figured." Parker wiped blood from his lip, dragging his sleeve across his sweat-slicked forehead. A weak grin cracked across his face. "What's the matter? Not a fan of a little heat?" Good. Make him mad. Make him sloppy.

His shoes were gone—fuck if he knew when that happened—but that didn't matter. His head was still clear, cold, even with every nerve screaming at him to give up.

Think, Parker. Think.

Quick glance—distance between him, Naomi, and this psycho. Naomi was closer to him than the kidnapper now thanks to that last attack, but there were obstacles—fallen branches, rocks, debris. Not ideal, but doable. The guy's body language said it all: hate. Not just a random attack—this bastard wanted Parker broken. Dead, maybe.

Good. That meant Parker could use that hate. Weaponize it.

If he played this smart, odds of escape sat at... what? 49%? Not great, but better than being beaten into a coma. Add in a wild trump card? 51%. Not a winning hand, but it was better than waiting for death.

"Ere! Get ready" Parker's voice was sharp, slicing through the chaos of his mind. His loyal shadow—she was far, but all he needed was a few seconds.

The guy lunged forward again—another punch aimed to end him.