Hitman With A Badass System-Novel



As the two black-armored soldiers dragged the unconscious squadron soldiers toward the door leading to the hall where the bodies still burned, they exchanged grim remarks about their unfortunate fate.

"These poor souls had the misfortune of catching Elder Deathhead's attention," remarked the first soldier, his voice laced with a mix of pity and indifference.

With a creak, the first soldier swung open the door, unleashing a wave of searing heat that washed over them. Ignoring the intense heat emanating from within, he callously tossed the lifeless body he was dragging into the fiery abyss.

Inside the hall of burning corpses, soldiers battling the flames shouted angrily at the black-armored soldier who had disturbed their efforts. "You! Get over here and lend us a hand with the runes! We need assistance!"

The first soldier turned to his companion, a cold determination in his eyes. "Keep dragging them and throwing them into the fire," he commanded, his voice devoid of sympathy. "I'll go and see what's wrong with the runes."

Without hesitation, the second soldier continued his grim task, each unconscious soldier meeting the same fiery fate. Meanwhile, the first soldier ventured into the chaotic hall, making his way towards the malfunctioning runes as the smell of the burning corpses permeated through the air.

As the second soldier made his way back toward the unconscious squadron soldiers, Michael's sly smile grew wider. He had formulated a cunning plan to delve deeper into the secrets of the Skyhall.

With impeccable timing, as the soldier descended directly beneath him, Michael swiftly descended from the ceiling, landing with a precise and powerful punch that knocked the soldier unconscious. It was a calculated strike, carefully suppressing his strength to avoid killing the soldier.

Moving swiftly, Michael wasted no time. He immediately removed the silver armor he had been wearing and put it away in his system storage. Disguising himself was second nature to him, and he deftly donned the black armored soldier's attire, blending seamlessly into the role.

Like a chameleon changing its colors, Michael transitioned from disguise to disguise, utilizing his adaptability to navigate the intricate web of the Skyhall undetected.

As Michael lifted the unconscious black armored soldier, who was now stripped down to shorts, he propelled the body upward with a forceful throw. The soldier soared through the air, propelled by the strength of Michael's throw, until he reached the lofty heights of the ceiling.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Michael produced a small vial containing a shimmering, silvery potion. With calculated precision, he hurled the vial towards the suspended soldier. As the vial made contact, it shattered upon impact, releasing its contents in a burst of energy.

In an instant, a translucent web-like substance enveloped the soldier, encasing him in a cocoon of magical threads. The cocoon adhered to the ceiling, clinging tightly to the surface, remaining hidden from prying eyes.

The web cocoon, now plastered to the ceiling, concealed the soldier's presence, effectively removing him from sight. It was a clever maneuver, ensuring that no one would stumble upon the unconscious soldier as Michael continued his covert exploration of the Skyhall.

Disguised in the black armor, Michael lowered his helmet, concealing his face from view. With a cold and determined gaze, he surveyed the unconscious soldiers lying before him. Playfully, he muttered to himself, "I must look and act the part," his voice devoid of any mercy or compassion for the Skyhall soldiers. In his mind, they were his enemies, and he felt no sympathy for their fate.Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on N(o)vᴇl(F)ire

Without hesitation, Michael began to drag the limp bodies, one by one, towards the hall where the corpses continued to burn. As he approached the door, a searing wave of intense heat washed over him, signaling the inferno raging within the hall. Undeterred, he pushed the door open, bracing himself against the scorching air that greeted him.

With precise aim, Michael hurled the body he had been dragging into the raging fire. It was a ruthless act, symbolizing his complete disregard for the fallen soldier's fate. The flames greedily consumed the body, adding it to the macabre pyre of burning corpses.

In that moment, Michael's determination remained resolute, his purpose unwavering. He was willing to go to any lengths to achieve his mission and bring justice to the Skyhall, even if it meant killing everyone in his way.

As Michael continued to toss the unconscious soldiers into the engulfing flames, a scene of horror unfolded. The intense heat and searing pain jolted the soldiers awake, their screams piercing the air. Desperate to escape the merciless inferno, they stumbled and tried to crawl away, their bodies engulfed in panic and agony. Yet, the black armored soldiers remained unmoved, their indifference echoing in the face of such suffering.

With a flick of their hands, the black armored soldiers unleashed powerful spells upon the struggling soldiers. Arch energy crackled through the air, striking the victims with brutal force. Thunderous blasts sent shockwaves through the hall, further fueling the already raging flames. Each spell intensified the heat, making the fire burn hotter, as if the very air had turned into a scorching furnace.

The soldiers' attempts to escape were swiftly thwarted by the merciless spells, rendering them unconscious once again. They fell to the ground, their bodies singed and battered, their futile struggle against the merciless fate extinguished.

Amidst the chaos, Michael observed with a mixture of curiosity and grim determination. He noticed the runes that adorned his own armor and that of the other black armored soldiers. The runes shimmered and glowed with an otherworldly light, serving as a shield against the deadly flames. It became clear to him that these enchantments protected them from the fire's wrath, leaving them untouched while the rest suffered the merciless fate of the inferno.

As the black-armored soldier returned to Michael's side, unaware of his true identity as the Dark Lord, he suggested that they should inform Elder Gravesinger about the events that had transpired. "We should go to Elder Gravesinger and report what happened here," the soldier said, his voice muffled by the helmet.

Michael nodded silently, falling into step behind the soldier without uttering a word. They made their way through the labyrinthine corridors of the Skyhall, their footsteps echoing in the desolate halls. The soldier mentioned that the elders would be furious, particularly because Noah had managed to escape the Skyhall.

Finally, they arrived at a relatively small hall, its atmosphere heavy with anticipation. In the center of the hall, a glowing array resembling a complex chakra pattern adorned the floor. Without hesitation, the soldier and Michael stepped onto the array, triggering a surge of bright light that enveloped them.

In the blink of an eye, Michael and the soldier found themselves transported to the top side of the Skyhall. They emerged into a familiar corridor, the aftermath of Noah's fierce battle evident in the chaos that surrounded them. The walls lay in ruins, crumbled and scorched, while soldiers hurriedly worked to clean and repair the devastated area.

Amidst the scene of destruction, the soldier continued to speak. "It's going to take a while to restore order here. Noah wreaked havoc on the Skyhall. The elders won't be pleased." His voice carried a mixture of exhaustion and frustration.

Michael remained silent, taking in the sight before him. He knew that his true intentions were far from aligning with the Skyhall's interests.

As Michael and the black-armored soldier made their way through the chaotic corridor, the silver-armored soldiers stationed along the path saluted them, acknowledging their authority within the Skyhall's hierarchy. It became apparent to Michael that the black-armored soldiers held a position of high esteem among their ranks.

Among the soldiers in the corridor, he witnessed many of them nursing wounds and injuries sustained during the confrontation with Noah. Some soldiers were seen drinking healing potions to expedite their recovery. Mixed in with their attempts to heal, Michael overheard a few injured soldiers cursing Noah with venomous words, expressing their frustration and anger.

  "Damn that bastard! He tore us apart! I hope he rots in the deepest pits of hell!"

"What a bastard! He caught me off guard!"

"Mark my words. God or not, I am going to get that son of a bitch!"

Michael listened to their bitter words and couldn't help but feel disappointed in Noah's actions. While he didn't share their sentiments, he understood their pain. However, he knew that their lives were not worth preserving, for they served the Skyhall, an institution rife with darkness and malevolence.

"How could he be my brother?" Michael muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Does he truly believe these soldiers deserve to live? They're just pawns in the hands of monsters."

The thought of elders like Deathhead and Gravesinger being the farthest thing from heroes amused him in a dark way. Their very names oozed with malevolence and evil.

"Deathhead and Gravesinger... Truly fitting names for these villains," Michael murmured with a sardonic smirk, recognizing the irony in their chosen titles.

As Michael and the black-armored soldier maneuvered through the labyrinthine corridors and halls, a thought lingered in Michael's mind. Despite his personal disdain for Noah, he couldn't deny the effectiveness of Noah's assault on the Skyhall. It made him wonder about the extent of power that the Grace bestowed upon Noah, allowing him to wreak such havoc.

Finally, they emerged from the dilapidated structure, stepping out into a sprawling graveyard. The scene before them was haunting, as countless headstones adorned the landscape, their names worn away by time and neglect. The graveyard seemed to stretch endlessly, shrouded in an eerie stillness.

The air felt heavy with a somber atmosphere, and Michael wrinkled his brow as a sense of death permeated the surroundings. The trees that lined the graveyard stood tall, their leaves gray and lifeless, contrasting with their black, gnarled bark. It was as if even nature mourned within this desolate place.

Michael took a moment to absorb the sight before him, his senses heightened by the lingering scent of death that seemed to cling to the air. A mix of emotions filled him – a tinge of unease but also a resolute determination to see his mission through.

As they approached the front of the graveyard, the black-armored soldier led the way, guiding Michael through the eerie silence. Suddenly, their attention was drawn to a figure standing near a grand tombstone adorned in flowing crimson red robes. Intricate skull designs embellished the fabric, hinting at a sinister presence.

The figure turned slowly, revealing a towering Orc with a commanding presence. Elder Gravesinger, his gaze piercing and his countenance calm, surveyed the surroundings with a stoic demeanor. His massive physique exuded strength and power, muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his robes.

Elder Gravesinger's green skin carried the scars of battles fought and won, a testament to his formidable nature. His eyes, deep and intense, held a keen intelligence within them. The weight of his authority and the dark energy that radiated from him were palpable.

As Michael stood before Elder Gravesinger, memories of his subordinate Dular surfaced in his mind.  It was during one of their conversations that Dular had mentioned a book called the "Book of Death," which he had studied meticulously to become proficient in the dark arts of raising the dead.

In their discussions, Dular had revealed that the knowledge within the ancient book had been passed down through generations of their family. It was said that an ancestor of theirs, a powerful necromancer, had compiled the book, recording forbidden rituals and incantations that delved into the realm of life and death.

As Michael contemplated the connection between Dular, the Book of Death, and Elder Gravesinger, a chilling thought crossed his mind. Could it be possible that Elder Gravesinger, as an Orc elder of great influence, had access to this same knowledge? Did he have some connection to the book of death and Dular?

The idea sent a shiver down Michael's spine, for if Elder Gravesinger indeed had a link to the Book of Death, it meant that he wielded dark and ancient powers that could potentially pose a significant threat. Michael vowed to remain cautious, aware that his encounter with the elder would require a careful approach, as he could be facing an opponent with knowledge and abilities far beyond his own expectations.