Hitman with a Badass System

As Michael watched, the intensity of the battle escalated dramatically. The warships above and on the sea fired volleys of cannons, each projectile infused with arch energy that glowed with a strange purple hue. The impact of these enhanced cannonballs was devastating, each hit causing the floating mountain to shudder more violently under their force. Michael steadied himself against the tremors while his eyes narrowed at the display of Skyhall's augmented firepower.

Just then, Ricky returned, his face pale and his expression tense. He quickly approached Michael, urgency evident in his steps. "I just received news from Sadie," he reported in a low voice. "One of the Skyhall elders got drunk and started talking to one of her girls."

Sadie Kaplan had established herself as a prominent figure across all the continents, even after Skyhall dismantled all the sects, including her own Silvermoon sect. Being Michael's subordinate and with his support, Sadie had risen to head his spy network. Her approach was both simple and effective, glamourous women who could extract secrets from men loosened by drink and the company of beauty. This made Sadie an invaluable asset in Michael's intelligence operations.

"The elder was mumbling something about awakening a demon army," Ricky continued.

Michael's brow furrowed deeply as he processed this information. He remembered how the Skyhall angels had been excavating the bodies of demons in the Demon's Grave and another realm, suggesting that they might now be utilizing these remains for ssinister purpose.

Ricky looked at Michael with a worried expression as his voice carried a hint of fear. "What's that supposed to mean, boss?" he asked, seeking sunderstanding or reassurance in the face of this ominous development.

"It means," Michael said slowly, piecing together the puzzle. "That Skyhall might be planning something even bigger than this attack. They're not just fighting, they're preparing for war, the upcoming war with us on a scale we haven't seen yet,"

His eyes drifted upward as he said, drawn to a sleek warship hovering further in the sky, its design distinct and ominous. Shaped like a sword, it sliced through the clouds with its pointed bow and streamlined body, the dark metal of its hull gleaming menacingly against the stormy backdrop. The warship's presence loomed large, and Michael had a bad feeling as he watched it.

Inside, the warship's command center was a hive of activity. A bold elder with white robes and a noticeable scar running across his face stood at the large window, his gaze fixed on the floating mountain and the unfolding battle below. The tension in his eyes mirrored the storm outside.

Around him, the hall buzzed as Skyhall soldiers hurried back and forth. They checked glowing runes on consoles, barked orders, and coordinated attacks with other forces.

"Status on the southern flank!" one officer shouted, eyes darting across a rune-lit display.

"Artillery units in position, sir. Awaiting your command," another responded, her voice tense as she relayed the information.

At that moment, an elf wearing shimmering silver armor approached the elder with respect and urgency. "What are your orders, Elder Tarsus?" he asked, his voice carrying over the clamor of the command center.

"Zoom in on the Demon Butler and The Dark Lord," Elder Tarsus turned from the window and commanded with authority. The surrounding crew members quickly adjusted their instruments, and the window before him flickered before splitting into dual views.

On one side of the window, the calm, almost amused look of The Dark Lord appeared with his composure in stark contrast to the chaos around him. On the other hand, the rampage of Azazel was displayed in brutal detail. The demon butler was a whirlwind of destruction, his hands and teeth bared as he tore through another wave of Skyhall's angel units as his roars echoed even through the visual feed.

"That abomination is tearing through our units," the elf frowned, his concern evident as he watched the carnage wrought by Azazel. But Elder Tarsus watched the scene unfold with a dark amusement, then revealed an evil grin. "He is not the only one with an abomination," he murmured, his eyes glinting with malevolence. Hearing the Elder, the elf slowly grinned as a gleam of anticipation appeared in his eyes. "Is it time, Elder?" he asked, barely containing his excitement.

Elder Tarsus gave a nod, his eyes fixed on the chaotic battle unfolding before them. "There is no better tthan the present," he responded in a decisive tone, his gaze never wavering from the scenes of conflict displayed on the window.

Turning away from the main hub of activity, Elder Tarsus started to walk towards the rear of the ship. The elf quickly fell into step behind him, navigating through the busy corridor filled with rushing soldiers and flashing rune-lit panels. They moved purposefully past the operational chaos with the intention to bring out their ace in the sleeves.

Eventually, they arrived at the storage bay door, a massive barrier that was black and intricately engraved with various runes. These runes pulsed rhythmically, powered by the arch energy that flowed through them, casting eerie shadows along the corridor. Elder Tarsus paused briefly, then placed his hand firmly on the door. The runes hummed louder, responding to his touch, and then, with a heavy creak, the door began to swing open slowly.

Beyond the door lay a spacious hall, dimly lit by a faint, otherworldly light. Countless silhouettes of coffins were arranged neatly on the ground, each one dark and foreboding. The air was thick with the smell of death and decay, a palpable presence that made the elf wrinkle his nose in discomfort as he followed closely behind the elder.

On the other hand, Elder Tarsus moved confidently through the hall and every step he took echoed through the silent hall, giving the scene an ominous feeling. He knew the contents of each coffin well, they contained the bodies of demons unearthed from the Demon's Grave. These ancient corpses, once fearsbeings in their own right, were about to be reanimated, brought back to serve in a war they had not asked to fight.

Skyhall had achieved remarkable success in their dark experiments, managing to reanimate the demon corpses to nearly 80% of their former power from when they were alive. This achievement was one of many aces Skyhall had strategically held up its sleeve, preparing to unleash a reanimated demon army that had not seen the light of day for centuries.

With a measured pace, Elder Tarsus walked toward the center of the spacious hall filled with the silent coffins of demons. Reaching the center, he paused and tapped his foot against the cold stone floor. Instantly, a mechanism activated, and a pillar slowly rose from the ground. Atop this newly emerged pillar rested an orb, glowing faintly with an inner light that pulsed in sync with the lifeless hall around it.

The elder extended his hand and placed it on the orb. His face, usually impassive, now reflected the seriousness of the moment. Closing his eyes, he began to chant in a low, clear voice, each word of the activation sequence reverberating through the hall and causing the orb to glow brighter with each syllable. The runes on the coffins began to respond, flickering with renewed energy as the ancient magic that bound the demons to their eternal rest was slowly reversed.

As Elder Tarsus's chant filled the air, the elf stood nearby, watching the scene unfold with a mix of fear, awe, and anticipation. He listened intently, the atmosphere growing tenser with each passing second. Soon, the unmistakable sound of clicking echoed through the hall as the locks on the coffins began to disengage one by one. The air within the hall grew perceptibly chillier, a coldness seeping into the very bones of those present. Then, a series of low growls started to emanate from the nearby coffins, sending a shiver through the elf. The sounds were primal, filled with hunger and rage from eons of enforced slumber. The coffins started to shake more violently as whatever was inside began to stir, awakening from its deathlike sleep.

Amidst this charged atmosphere, Elder Tarsus completed his chant, his hand still resting on the glowing orb. He opened his eyes, which now flickered with a dark triumph. Looking over at the visibly shaken elf, he said with a sinister smile.

"Let's give the Dark Lord a taste of his own medicine."

Suddenly, the rattling and tremors emanating from the coffins ceased, and a chilling silence enveloped the hall. The abrupt stop in noise was more unnerving than the cacophony that preceded it, filling the air with a tense anticipation of what was to cnext.

Feeling the oppressive quiet, the elf instinctively reached for the sword dangling at his waist. His hand gripped the hilt tightly, ready to draw it at a moment's notice, his eyes darting nervously around the dimly lit hall. Each shadow and every slight sound seemed magnified in the heavy stillness.

Meanwhile, Elder Tarsus maintained a confident, even grin on his face as he looked around, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and malice. He seemed utterly unfazed by the eerie quiet, almost as if he relished the suspense and fear that filled the room.

Just as the tension seemed unbearable, a sudden, violent movement broke the silence as the top of a nearby coffin was violently thrown off, clattering across the stone floor. Then, a dark figure slowly rose from the opened coffin except the figure's features were obstructed under the dust cloud around it.

"Welcback, demons," Elder Tarsus declared as his voice was filled with satisfaction, anticipation and dark amusement.