Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

Seoul's skyline glimmered under a veil of false peace.

From atop Namsan Tower, it looked like any other quiet evening. Neon soaked the streets below, rivers of taillights winding through Gangnam like blood veins in a glowing city-body. But the truth—what pulsed underneath all this beauty—was colder than truth had a right to be.

In a small living room near Mapo District, a television flickered. Static danced at the edges of the screen before giving way to a stern-faced anchorwoman.

The screen glowed like a shrine in the child's living room.

"—and again, experts are still baffled by the so-called 'Dark Winter' event, which began suddenly over Seoul and Gangnam, despite weather data confirming a clean, mild spring." The news anchor spoke fast, polished, immaculate. His teeth gleamed, his voice slid like silk, but there was tension behind his perfect posture. "The snowfall, jet-black in hue, lasted only seventeen minutes. No known meteorological patterns could explain its onset—or the fact that every flake vanished the moment it touched ground."

The camera cut to a timelapse: Gangnam's neon towers flickering under a snowless sky. Fast-forwarding footage showed the black stormclouds gathering like bruises above the city, then disappearing with a blink. No snow remained. No water. No trace. As if the sky had been weeping ink that evaporated before anyone could catch it.

"Coinciding, of course," the anchor continued, "with the unprecedented destruction in Manhattan, which is still undergoing massive reconstruction efforts, now officially backed by a staggering $100 trillion donation from one family mysteriously known as the Nyxliths." He raised a brow meaningfully. "And yes. That number is real. $100 trillion."

The child didn't blink. Just watched.

Images of Manhattan flashed: broken glass towers, streets flooded in silence, helping drones rebuilding mile by mile.

"But here in Seoul," Ji-hye continued, "the Dark Winter has left no such physical evidence. No snow remains. No chemical traces. No weather patterns could explain its arrival, let alone its complete disappearance by morning."

The screen cut to a panel of six anchors in a roundtable format—four men, two women—all sharply dressed, all ready to entertain.

"It was spring!" one barked, half-laughing. "I was wearing my favorite shorts at night! Then bam—black snow?! This isn't a Christmas special. It's nonsense."

Another leaned into his mic. "You wanna know what I think? Coordinated digital illusion. Someone hacked the satellites and weather balloons. Or maybe a new ad stunt. That new energy drink company? SinForce? It wouldn't surprise me."

"Except," the woman to his left said sharply, "half the neighborhood had their phones die instantly. No power failures. Just dead batteries. Even gas lighters wouldn't spark."

The conversation spiraled—rational theories, economic impact, doomsday cult jokes—until one of them finally brought up the viral clips.

"The shamans," one of the men smirked. "You saw those guys from Mount Taebaek, right? Chanting like it's 1450, blaming it all on some 'Corrupted Guardian.' I swear, they get internet access and immediately think we live in a fantasy drama."

Laughter spread like wildfire.

That's when she spoke.

A woman, mostly silent till now, shifted. Her face was hidden beneath layers of crimson silk, beads hanging from her hair like mourning chains. Her hanbok was the real thing—ancient, embroidered, the kind royalty once bowed before.

She spoke softly, but her words landed like a curse.

"He's awake."

The room fell silent.

She continued.

"The Corrupted Guardian. The Master of Sins. You mock now because you don't know what you forgot."

One of the men chuckled. "Right. And I suppose you're going to tell us a bedtime story?"

She didn't blink. Didn't flinch.

"Right, right," another one said with a laugh. "Next thing you know, they'll blame it on BTS not releasing an album this year."

The screen shifted again back to her. At the far end of the panel sat a figure draped in layered crimson robes, face half-veiled in a silver-stitched cloth. A woman. Still. Unmoving. Her hands rested on the table like roots. Her voice, when it came, was soft. Yet it made the laughter stop.

"It wasn't the devil," she said. "It was Daegon."

A beat of silence. Then a scoff.

"Daegon?" one host sneered. "You mean the new artist trending for his beauty, new unique voice and how his sings have captured souls and hearts of K-Pop lovers? The one with the dragon logo?"

"No," she said. "The Corrupted Guardian. The Master of Sins. And he has already returned."

The older man chuckled. "Or maybe she watched one too many K-dramas. Mixed up her artist's lore with a little mythology and heartbreak."

"Maybe she wrote it herself," the blonde teased. "Kind of poetic, honestly."

The veiled woman didn't flinch. She simply began to speak—and the studio's lights dimmed, not physically, but spiritually. As if the room knew the story didn't belong to it.

"There are stories the world forgets on purpose..."She told them of Daegon.

Of how, before kings ruled and temples claimed land in the name of gods, there was Earth. Wild. Unbroken. And Daegon was its dragon-blooded sentinel. Born not from sky or star, but the breath of stone.

"A guardian without pride. A balance without cruelty.He punished divine arrogance with extinction.He burned vanity into memory.

Then came the comet.Crashing into Mount Taebaek.Cracking the sky open with a sound older than language.

From that wreckage walked Hwanung—no blade, no crown, only seeds and dreams. He taught humanity harmony. He earned Daegon's respect. And in the slow ache of centuries, Daegon learned hope.

Until Seoryeon."

He was no longer Daegon.

He was exile. He was plague. He was rot.

And when an older force whispered through the scars of the world, he crumbled without protest. His shattered heart scattered into the land, buried in silence.

"But even corruption sleeps. And some say—he stirs."

The panel didn't speak for a moment.

Then the blonde burst out laughing. "Okay. I'll admit—that was amazing. Five stars. Do you do weddings?"

Three people laughed. One waved a hand as if swatting a fly. Another took a sip of water and smirked at the camera. The influencer leaned forward dramatically.

"Sweetheart, is this an audition? Did you get paid by Sophisticated Space? You know Seoryeon—the CEO—her name sounds awfully like your dragon's love interest."

The older man clapped mockingly. "What a bedtime story. Honestly, where was this during the Netflix pitch season?"

***

I didn't add in the full story if Daegon since we already told that. Wouldn't want to tell you the whole thing again. Were close to bring the story together then we push through. I'm planning to update the story again, reedit it, I mean.