Hitman With A Badass System

Chapter 1346  A Gift from Don

When Michael finally let go, all that remained of Thorfinn was a mangled, limbless torso, its one remaining eye staring up at the artificial sky with a vacant horror that would haunt the few remaining Skyhall soldiers for the rest of their short, miserable lives.

A hush fell over the battlefield. Even Lenora, usually immune to anything resembling empathy, seemed subdued, her usual bloodlust replaced by a primal unease that spoke volumes.

Her hands still dripping with the blood of a dozen Skyhall angels, she stared at Michael with her brow furrowed. She'd seen him angry before, sure. She'd witnessed firsthand the casual brutality he was capable of unleashing on those who crossed him.

But this… this was different.

This wasn't just about winning a battle, or even a war. This was… personal. And it scared the ever-living shit out of her.

"Damn, boss," she muttered under her breath, wiping a stray splatter of blood from her cheek. "Gaya's gonna be pissed she missed this."

Everyone knew that Gaya had always enjoyed a good, long torture session. It was practically her trademark. The God of Darkness, on the other hand, had always been… efficient. Ruthless, sure, but quick about it. He ended threats before they even had a chance to beg for mercy, let alone suffer.

But this? This display of calculated brutality, of cold, methodical dismemberment…

It made Gaya look like an amateur.

And it seemed she wasn't the only one who'd noticed Michael's… shift.

The seven-headed serpent, its earlier confidence shaken by the raw, primal fury emanating from the God of Darkness, had been circling at the edge of the battlefield, its seven heads weaving back and forth as if trying to decide whether to flee or press the attack.

Now, sensing an opportunity in Michael's distraction, the monstrous creature surged forward. As Michael stood there, his back turned, his focus consumed by the mangled remains of Thorfinn Borgersson, the monstrous creature lunged.

"NOW!" The Ancestors, their voices a unified chorus of rage and desperation, roared in unison. They channeled their combined power, their celestial energy converging into a single, pulsating orb of pure, corrosive venom. It dripped from the serpent's central maw, a globule of liquid moonlight that shimmered with an oily, otherworldly sheen.

 A nearby Skyhall warship, caught in the periphery of the venomous blast, dissolved as if it were made of sugar, the metal hull bubbling and melting into a slag of molten metal and vaporized screams.

Skyhall angels, their silver armor no protection against the corrosive power of the venom, shrieked as their flesh dissolved, leaving behind only skeletal remains that quickly crumbled into dust. Even the demon army, their regenerative abilities pushed to their limits, recoiled in horror as the venom ate away at their flesh.

"Holy shit!" a dark army soldier bellowed, scrambling back from the expanding pool of corrosive goo. "What the fuck is that stuff?"

"It's… it's eating them alive!" another soldier shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at a group of Skyhall angels who were dissolving before their very eyes, their screams turning into gurgling moans as the venom ate away at their vocal cords.

Even Thorfinn, his mangled body already a testament to Michael's rage, wasn't spared. The venom splashed across his exposed flesh, and the dwarf, already on the verge of death, let out a weak, pathetic whimper. The sickly green glow of the venom seemed to intensify as it ate away at him, the smell of burning flesh mingling with the stench of decay. Within seconds, he was gone, his body dissolving into nothingness, leaving only a faint, acrid smell hanging in the air.

"Well, shit," Lenora muttered, watching the carnage unfold with a morbid fascination. "That's gotta hurt."

But the serpent's primary target, the God of Darkness himself, was no longer there.

The venom, aimed with deadly precision at the spot where Michael had been standing only a moment before, splashed harmlessly against the cold, metallic deck.

He was gone. Vanished. As if he'd never been there at all.

"Where… where the fuck did he go?" one of the remaining Skyhall soldiers stammered, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"He… used that damn skill again," another soldier said, his voice barely a whisper. The serpent, its seven heads swaying in confusion, hissed in frustration. The Ancestors, their combined power focused into that single, devastating attack, had missed.

"Shadow teleportation!" a Skyhall angel spat, his voice laced with venom and fear. "That goddamn cheating skill!"

"It's not cheating, you idiot, it's a fucking strategic advantage!" another angel retorted. "And one we should have been prepared for!"

Meanwhile, Devdan watched the spot where Michael had vanished with a mixture of frustration and grudging respect. He'd studied the Dark Lord extensively, pouring over texts and battlefield reports, memorizing every known tactic, every documented ability. He'd known, going into this fight, that shadow teleportation was something he should pay attention to.

Skyhall had even developed countermeasures, ways to use light and celestial energy to disrupt the shadows, to limit the Dark Lord's ability to teleport at will. But…

"Damn it all," Devdan muttered under his breath. Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Noah's death hadn't just plunged the mortal realm into eternal darkness. It had weakened Skyhall's own power, their reliance on light-based magic now a crippling liability. They could no longer use their most potent weapons since Noah's death reduced the power of light significantly. But Devdan knew this was not the time to bitch about their disadvantages. Thus, he turned his gaze over to the skyhall mages who specializes in casting support spells.

"Support mages! Form a defensive perimeter around the Ancestors! Now!"

A group of Skyhall angels, their robes emblazoned with the intricate runes of protective magic, stepped forward. They raised their hands in unison, their movements synchronized with a precision that spoke of years of rigorous training. They began to slowly cast the spell together, combining all their half celestial stage power. Soon, a shimmering dome of energy, translucent and humming with barely contained power, began to coalesce around the monstrous creature, forming a protective barrier.

"No light, no fire," Devdan hissed, his eyes scanning the battlefield, searching for any flicker of movement, any telltale sign of the Dark Lord's return. "We can't risk giving him more shadows to play with."

Then, a tense silence descended upon the battlefield. The clash of steel, the roar of cannons, the screams of the dying – all faded into an unsettling hush.

Every eye, every shadow, every flicker of movement was scrutinized, every breath held in anticipation of the Dark Lord's next move.

Skyhall angels, their armor gleaming dully under the dim starlight, scanned the battlefield with a mixture of fear and desperation. Even their own shadows freaked them out as they expected the Dark Lord to materialize from their shadows any moment.

"Where the fuck is he?" a Skyhall knight muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heart.

"He's out there," another soldier hissed, his grip tightening on his spear. "Waiting. Like a goddamn spider in its web,"

The seven-headed serpent, its monstrous form encased in the shimmering barrier of the support mages' spell, remained motionless, its seven heads swaying slightly as if trying to catch a scent on the wind. The Ancestors, trapped within their monstrous form, were caught in a dilemma. Should they move, risk breaking the protective barrier and exposing themselves to the Dark Lord's wrath? Or should they remain stationary, sitting ducks in a game of cat and mouse with a predator who clearly held all the cards?

Then, without warning, the silence was shattered.

Michael materialized out of thin air, not in the heart of the battlefield, not amidst the shadows where they expected him, but right next to a massive Man-o-War warship, its hull gleaming with runes and bristling with cannons.

Before anyone on board could even register his presence, he moved. With a casualness that bordered on the absurd, Michael reached out and grabbed the ship's hull, his fingers digging into the reinforced steel as if it were made of clay. Then, with a grunt of effort that seemed wholly out of place given the sheer size of the vessel, he lifted the damn thing.

"Holy shit…" Lenora breathed, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"What the fuck…?" a Skyhall soldier stammered, his eyes wide with terror.

The Man-o-War, a symbol of Skyhall's naval might, sailed through the air like a projectile, its cannons still firing blindly, its crew screaming in terror as they were tossed about like ragdolls within its steel belly. It slammed into the seven-headed serpent with a thunderous roar that echoed across the pocket dimension, the force of the impact shattering the protective barrier like a fragile eggshell.

The impact of the warship against the seven-headed serpent sent shockwaves through the battlefield. The monstrous creature, its scales cracked and its seven heads reeling, thrashed wildly, its roars of pain echoing across the ravaged landscape. On the other hand, the Man-o-War, its hull shattered and its crew either dead or dying, spiraled away into the void, a testament to the sheer destructive power of the God of Darkness.

But Michael wasn't finished. Not even close.

He vanished from his spot beside the mangled wreckage of the warship, reappearing in a blink of an eye directly in front of the serpent. This wasn't the playful, taunting Michael of moments before. This was the God of Darkness, pissed off to the point that he stopped playing and began killing.

He then raised his dark sword, coating it with dark flames before swinging. The arc of his sword was a blur and the moment his sword connected with one of the serpent's heads that bearing the likeness of Lady Selene, erupted in a spray of blood and celestial energy. The scream, a horrifying amalgamation of seven voices twisted into a single, agonizing wail, died abruptly as the head, severed clean from its serpentine body, tumbled through the air, its eyes staring vacantly at the battlefield around.

The remaining Ancestors, their minds still reeling from the sudden loss of one of their own, roared in fury and despair. But Michael was already moving again. He lunged forward as he activated the Soul Eater skill and began to consume her soul. [Ding! Congratulations to the host—]

The system notification died before it even fully formed because something else had caught Michael's attention. The retractable shield he wore, a gift from a Don, was buzzing intensely with a strange energy.

He glanced down, his eyes widening as he noticed a small, ornate key floating in the air where Lady Selene's soul was a few moments ago. It was a delicate thing, crafted from some unknown metal that shimmered with a faint, ethereal glow.

The remaining six heads of the serpent, their movements now frantic, their roars laced with a new kind of fear, turned towards Michael as he reached for the key.

"Don't let him get it!" Eldrin's voice, raspy and strained, echoed from the remaining heads. "That key… it unlocks…!"

His warning was cut short as the serpent lunged again, its six heads snapping at Michael with renewed ferocity.

The key. It was clearly more than just a decorative trinket. It unlocked something… something powerful. Something the Ancestors were willing to die to protect.

And Michael, his curiosity piqued, was damn well going to find out what it was.