Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 383: Blessing or Curse? 1

The first sign wasn't a voice. It was silence.

That wrong kind of silence—the one where even the flies didn't dare buzz around the corpses anymore. Where the world paused, holding its breath, like it already knew something ancient was about to shatter loose.

Corporal Jae-Min crouched behind the overturned humvee, soaked in blood that wasn't all his. Bodies littered the sand. Too many wearing his uniform. His squad—his fucking brothers—gone. Gunned down in seconds like they were extras in a script no one cared to finish reading. The enemy was still coming, still shooting.

Not like warriors, but like butchers double-checking their work.

He'd called for backup. Twice. Maybe three times. No answer.

His thigh had a bullet in it, hot pain chewing at the bone. But he didn't scream. Not yet. Not until he looked left and saw her. Mia. Dead eyes still open. Blood down her chin. She'd been smiling at him just hours ago. Now—

No. He wasn't ready for this.

And the enemy? They weren't just winning. They were mocking.

One of them walked over and kicked Lee's corpse in the ribs, laughing. Another one squatted near Kim's body and used it like a fucking table, setting his rifle on his back while lighting a cigarette.

"Where're you hero now?" one of them sneered, stepping on Jae-Min's fallen flag patch. "Maybe next time you come ready to fights back."

Another one unzipped his pants and pissed on the corpses, swaying side to side like he was at a bar after too many beers. The puddle splashed onto Mia's boots. Her laces were still tied. Perfectly.

Jae-Min's breath hitched. He couldn't even scream. His throat locked.

He grabbed a shard of glass. Useless, sure. But it was that or sit and rot. Maybe he could cut one. Maybe he could die trying.

That's when the sky trembled.

Not with sound—but with weight.

Something slammed into his chest. Not a bullet. Not an explosion. It was ancient. Like a god had thrown a chunk of its heart straight into his ribs. The orb phased into his body—warm, then molten, then burning like celestial venom.

And Jae-Min screamed.

Not from pain.

From everything.

Bones cracked. Veins lit up silver. His back arched as something inhuman unfurled beneath his flesh—muscle tearing, reforming. His skin shimmered like it was made of starlight and fire. His fingers cracked backwards and then snapped forward again—only now, there were claws. Dark as shadow. Alive.

The enemy froze. One of them dropped his cigarette.

"What the—"

They opened fire—hesitation gone, fear taking the reins. Bullets roared out of trembling rifles, a symphony of panic and desperation.

Muzzle flashes bloomed like artificial lightning, chewing into clear night as lead tore through the air and into flesh. The first shot caught Jae-Min clean in the shoulder, spinning him slightly like he'd been tagged by a drunk god.

The second cracked through his side, close to the ribs, and the third drilled into the meat of his thigh. He stumbled back two steps, more in surprise than in pain, as his body reacted—veins throbbing under torn skin, muscles flexing like they were trying to hold back a tidal wave from the inside.

Pointless.

"What fuck!" One screamed with a broken curse!

But the man didn't fall. He didn't even grunt.

He just... stood there.

Taking it.

They kept shooting, emptying magazines, changing clips with hands that shook too much, swearing through gritted teeth as the rounds slammed into him over and over again. Blood exploded from new wounds like tiny red geysers. Bones cracked. Flesh split. And still—he didn't drop. He twitched, yeah. His body jerked under the impact.

His jaw clenched so tight it could've cracked diamond. But the pain? The fucking agony? It wasn't killing him. It was cooking him.

He straightened. Eyes wide now, glowing faintly with something that wasn't rage but something older. His lips parted into a slow, gleaming grin. Not a heroic one. No. This was something broken—something delighted. He was smiling like a boy seeing fire for the first time and realizing it burned beautifully but the pain brought him ecstatic feeling of strength!

Pure and raw strength!

Then something wild happened—his skin began to pulse, subtly at first. A shimmer under the blood, a heat that hummed with energy like distant thunder inside his veins. And one by one, his wounds began to seal. Sloppily. Brutally. Like his body didn't give a damn about aesthetics—just about not dying.

A hole in his neck fizzed closed like melting wax. A bullet punched into his abdomen, and the skin around it clenched, squeezed, spat it out like an insult. Blood oozed from his pores, evaporated into light. His body was rewiring itself mid-battle.

They didn't understand it, but they all felt it—some instinct deep in the marrow of their bones screamed at them to run. Not because he was healing, but because something inside him had unlocked. Pain wasn't weakening him. It was feeding him. Like each ounce of suffering translated into strength, carved into his muscles like runes of vengeance.

His breath fogged in the air, even though the morning wasn't cold. His fingers twitched. Then clenched into fists that made the air crack.

He took a step.

And another.

And then all hell followed.

The first soldier tried to raise his rifle again, but Jae-Min was already there—no flash movement, no blur. Just presence. One hand clamped the weapon, the other drove straight through the man's gut, fingers curling around the spine like he was grabbing a microphone. He ripped, and the scream that came out of the man ended halfway through a gurgle, blood exploding from both ends. Jae-Min didn't stop.

He flung the corpse aside like trash, already pivoting.

Another man fired point blank into Jae-Min's chest.

It did nothing.

The bullets went in.

The wounds healed before the guy even finished blinking. freewebnøvel.com

Jae-Min stepped in, grabbed the rifle, and broke it in half over his knee like a baseball bat. Then he drove the jagged edge into the soldier's mouth, twisting until the scream became something no human throat should make. Blood sprayed. Teeth cracked. The man dropped.

The third tried to run—always one trying to run—but Jae-Min moved faster. Not like a blur. Not like lightning.

Like gravity.

Inevitable.

He grabbed the back of the man's vest and yanked—lifting him into the air like a wet coat. He spun, hurled him into a tree, and the snap of the spine was loud enough to make the birds scatter from the canopy.

And still more came.

They had to.

Orders or madness or just plain pride kept them coming, but it was hopeless. One by one, he took them apart—hands through chests, boots through faces, eyes gouged with thumbs, throats slashed with the splintered bones of their own comrades.

His laughter started low—barely audible over the chaos. But it grew.

And grew.

Until it filled the space like a demon exhaling ecstasy.

He wasn't fast.

He wasn't a blur or a whisper in the wind.

He was raw. Heavy. Loud.

A mountain falling through glass.

He was agony personified. A human that stopped being human the moment bullets became kisses to his skin.

And somewhere, through the haze of blood and broken bodies—he smiled again. Wider this time. Because this was his fuel. This was his awakening.

The pain didn't kill him.

It made him perfect.