Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 312: The God of War Fucks Up

Somewhere Else…

The camera shifts—metaphorically speaking—to a building complex, a sleek, modern apartment nestled in the city. Three bedrooms, one bathroom, a fully decked-out kitchen, and all the bougie amenities you'd expect from a nice place. Clean, well-designed, but nothing too flashy.

Inside one of those bedrooms? Not a bedroom at all.

Not anymore...

Instead, a dimly lit room packed with high-end computer rigs—screens glowing with lines of code, fans whirring, keyboards clicking. The setup was elite, the kind only professionals could handle, but the whole thing had an oddly simple look. No over-the-top gaming chairs or neon lights—just raw efficiency.

Sitting on the floor, panting like he'd run a marathon, was a teenage boy in a hoodie. Sweat clung to his skin. His hands trembled.

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Because he had seen some shit.

Not your everyday, "Oh no, Karen at Starbucks messed up my order" kind of shit. No, this was straight-up fantasy movie levels of insanity.

A fight that shouldn't exist.

He staggered to his feet, his breathing still ragged, but his mind was set. He had to upload this.

The world needed to see.

Sure, people had caught glimpses of superheroes before. Some had even been saved by them. But the truth? Most of humanity still lived in denial. Still clung to the idea that the world was normal. That gods and monsters weren't lurking in the shadows.

That ended today.

His fingers flew over the keyboard, connecting his phone, pulling up his footage. The screen lit up with grainy but undeniable proof of the impossible. His entire body shook, but not from fear anymore—from conviction. He clicked again a sending something seperate, a completely different video to someone but with a timer.

This was worth it.

Even if he had nearly died chasing that damn car, risking his life just to capture the truth. He didn't expect to witness this.

He had barely dodged the chaos—the flying weapons, the fire-breathing dragons. Hell, something should've killed him back there, but… it didn't.

Like he was being protected?

His fingers hesitated for half a second. Protected? By what? By who? No time for that now. He worked fast, editing, cutting, enhancing. He knew how to make this viral:

PROOF THAT GODS EXIST AMONG US AND SO DO SUPERNATURALS!

That was his title. Short. Punchy. Impossible to ignore.

Then—

A shiver crawled down his spine.

His hands froze. His breathing turned shallow.

That feeling…

He knew it.

It was the same one he had felt during the fight. The feeling of a scythe hovering over his neck. Like the Grim Reaper himself had tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, your time's up, kid.

But it was stronger.

Slowly, he turned.

And saw something he couldn't even begin to describe.

His body locked up. His muscles refused to obey.

But his mind? His will? That still worked.

With a final burst of defiance, his fingers moved—stealthy, silent.

Enter.

The upload began.

He exhaled shakily, but he wasn't done yet. One more button.

He pressed it.

"Sister… avenge me," he whispered.

Ares' axe cleaved through his neck.

He was dead before the blade even touched him.

But the video was out there now.

And there was no stopping it.

**

The air in the room was thick. Stagnant. It reeked of something raw—burnt wires, old coffee, and the unmistakable scent of fresh death and blood.

And in the middle of it all stood Ares.

Not a man. Not a soldier. Not a warrior. A God.

The God of War.

He was built like a damn war machine—tall, broad, all sharp angles and battle-forged muscle. His bronze skin shimmered, like a molten metal statue come to life. His presence alone was oppressive, the kind of weight that made weaker beings crumble just by looking at him.

His armor, dark golden and trimmed in gold, looked both ancient and absurdly modern at the same time—a relic of Olympus, but still something that would make even the most advanced military on Earth piss themselves.

His weapons—because of course he had multiple—hung from his body in a way that said they weren't just tools; they were an extension of him. The massive double-headed axe on his back? That thing had split titans in half. The sword strapped to his waist? It had been bathed in the blood of heroes long before humans even knew how to spell the word "war."

And yet, none of those weapons had actually killed the kid lying on the ground.

Because the boy was headless—but Ares' blade had never even touched him.

That should've made him feel better. It didn't.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His golden eyes burned, flickering like wildfire as he stared at the mess before him.

He'd fucked up.

Not the whole thing, no. He'd killed the witness like Hera told him to. But the mission? The real mission? The thing that actually mattered? The part where he was supposed to stop the video from uploading?

Yeah. That part was still up in the air.

Ares clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking like gunfire.

"At least I spilled some blood," he muttered. Because, in his mind, that counted for something. A win, kind of.

His gaze shifted, locking onto the computer screens, their dim glow still flickering across the room. There were multiple monitors, but only one had been used. The phone was there too, lying a few inches away from the dead kid's severed head. Wide-eyed. Frozen in shock.

Poor bastard. He probably thought he had more time.

Ares took a step forward—and his foot landed right on the corpse.

A sickening, wet squelch filled the room as the torso gave way beneath his weight.

The kid's insides? Yeah, they were outsides now.

Ares barely even glanced down. He just lifted his boot slightly, watching as the gore clung to the sole, stringing up like melted cheese before slapping back onto the floor.

He sighed. "Gross."

Leaning forward, he hovered his hand over the keyboard. His fingers twitched, his divine aura flickering as he synced himself to the technology.

Gods weren't supposed to need computers. Gods were supposed to be beyond this shit. But even divinity had limits, and Olympus had long since lost the war against human technology to some extent.

His eyes flared, golden light bleeding into the screen. He reached into the digital world with something beyond human comprehension, forcing the system to bend to his will. The screen flickered. The files shifted.

Then—

Deleted.

Gone. Wiped from existence.

For a moment, he let himself relax. Not that he'd ever admit that he was worried, but still. The mess was handled. He'd done what he could.

But something nagged at him.

Something felt off.

And, for the first time in a long, long time, Ares hesitated.

Because, despite being the ultimate warrior, despite being a god who had crushed empires, despite being the walking embodiment of battle itself—

He didn't know jack shit about computers.l apart from manipulating them with his divine will. And what he didn't realize—what his thick-skulled, muscle-brained ass had overlooked—was that the kid had pressed something else before he died.

Something that Ares hadn't stopped.

Something that was about to fuck everything up.

The war god had underestimated him.

Because when a person faces imminent death, they don't just sit there and accept it. They fight. They scramble. They press buttons that might just change the fate of the goddamn multiverse.

Ares exhaled. He could feel Olympus calling him back, pulling him away from the mortal world. Whatever. He had done his part.

With a final glance at the wreckage he'd left behind, he stepped back—then, in a blinding column of golden light, he disappeared.

And when it was all over, the only things left in that dark little room were a mangled corpse, a severed head, and a secret that had already started spreading.

Because, like most whistleblowers, the kid was dead.

But his message?

That shit was about to echo across the entire fucking multiverse!