Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

In the heart of the Ravencroft estate—though the world knew them as the polished, painfully perfect known as the Winslow family—Maya's parents sat at that ridiculously long dining table that screamed, We're rich and you're not. The afternoon sun spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting these warm-ass golden beams across polished wood and sparkling crystal, all that cliché, expensive aesthetic.

The house staff moved quietly in the background, all professional and robotic, like they were programmed not to breathe too loud.

The kids? Off at school, doing their normal rich kid routine. But that peace? Yeah, that didn't last.

IT hit like a goddamn freight train—cold as death, sharp enough to slice through the air itself. The kind of chill that didn't just raise goosebumps but clawed right into your bones like, Hey, remember me? Existential dread! Their bodies just froze—and not the Oh, I heard something creepy kind of freeze. No, this was primal, ancient, like their souls just got slapped awake.

Their eyes shot wide, snapping toward something. Not someone. Just... a direction.

Like their instincts knew better than their minds did. No hesitation. No should we? Just pure, raw instinct pulling them down to their knees. Two absolute powerhouses, kneeling like loyal dogs before someone who wasn't even there.

But here's the thing—they didn't give a single damn about dignity or pride. No shame, no awkward "Oh, this is embarrassing" vibe. They just bowed—hell, they sang it out like it was the best goddamn concert of their lives.

"Welcome back, Original!"

Their voices dripped with something terrifying—joy laced with fear, like worship mixed with just enough dread to make your stomach drop. And Maya's mom? She wasn't hiding that smile—no, she was beaming like Christmas just came early and brought world domination with it.

"The union's not far from happening," she whispered, almost like a damn promise. And that smile? Yeah, it wasn't the we-love-family-time kind. It was destiny's knocking on the door, and hell yeah, we're ready.

Not too far from the Ravencrofts' fancy fortress, the Shadowmire mansion sat like a forgotten ghost—big, dark, and dead silent, like even echoes didn't wanna stick around. No staff here. No maids bustling around or chefs whipping up five-star meals. Just the low hum of a TV in the background, playing some trashy entertainment show—Celebrity Chaos or whatever nonsense was trending this week.

In the middle of it all? A woman lounged on a velvet couch, glass of deep red wine in hand, swirling it lazily like she had all the time in the damn world. She was dangerous in that casual, effortless way—like one wrong word and she wouldn't just ruin your life, she'd enjoy doing it.

But then it hit her too.

No time for sass or snark. The chill slammed through her like a goddamn hurricane—spine straightening, glass trembling just a bit before clinking softly against the marble table. Without thinking, without hesitation, she slid off the couch, bowing down low, like gravity itself had ripped her off her throne.

"Original," she breathed out, voice soft but laced with something darker—like velvet wrapping around a blade. Dangerous, and oh, she knew it.

Meanwhile, in the Kingswell mansion, things couldn't have been more opposite. If the Ravencrofts were power wrapped in ice, the Kingswells were pure sunshine in human form. The air practically smelled like fresh-baked cookies and overpriced candles—warmth just oozed from every corner, like walking into a damn Pinterest dream.

Out back, the garden was in full bloom—roses, tulips, and that one plant nobody knew the name of but still looked expensive as hell. Beyond the garden, the pool shimmered under the sun's lazy afternoon rays, reflecting soft ripples across the marble tiles. In the middle of it, a man floated with his long white hair spread around him like some kind of ethereal god. Weird? Sure. But that smile? Damn, it could melt glaciers.

Under the shade of a giant umbrella, his wife—Evelyn's mother—watched with that soft, affectionate look that screamed "I married the human version of hot cocoa." She laughed as he playfully splashed at a kid nearby, the whole vibe dripping with so much wholesome energy it could make a cynic gag.

But then the wave rolled in.

It didn't knock them over—it didn't have to. Their smiles just stretched wider. Too wide. Like, "Hey, maybe stop smiling now—this is getting creepy" wide. And without a single word, they both turned toward the same invisible point, voices soft but carrying weight like thunder rumbling far off in the distance.

"The Original."

****

And beyond all of them—past the carefully curated luxury, the eerie emptiness, the smiles—stood the estate. Ancestral, old as sin, draped in shadows that didn't belong to this century. When the wave slammed into it, it didn't just react—it welcomed it. The walls shimmered, the windows pulsed with a glow that wasn't light but presence.

And then, just for kicks—at first, the chandelier in the grand hallway decided to have a dramatic-ass swing, like the house itself was flexing. Books flew off shelves in a messy tantrum. Some random old-ass painting blinked—blinked—and honestly, at that point, it felt like the whole mansion just said, "Buckle up, bitches, it's happening."

The old mansion was starting to change.

****
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Deep in the forest, where the air was thick with that earthy kinda vibe—damp moss, wet leaves, and the occasional what-the-fuck-was-that rustle—Maya, Evelyn, and Annabelle were just... there. You know, doing the whole forest aesthetic thing. Trees towering like ancient giants, sunlight slicing through gaps in thick branches like nature's own spotlight. It should've been peaceful. Should've felt like one of those deep, zen moments where everyone's thinking, "Wow, nature's healing."

Yeah. Should've.

But then it hit them too.

That same wave—cold and sharp, ancient as hell and powerful enough to punch through the trees like they were paper. It wasn't just air moving; it was like the universe itself was clearing its throat, saying, "Hey, I'm back."

Evelyn was the first to feel it. One second, she was mid-sentence—probably talking about some dumb drama at school, because why wouldn't she be?—and the next, her whole body locked up like someone had just yanked the batteries out of her soul. Her legs folded before her brain could even process the why, dropping her straight to her knees like gravity just got personal.

Her breath hitched, eyes wide as she whispered it without even thinking:

"Original."