Hitman with a Badass System



Michael clung to the ceiling, his gaze fixed on the bald and eerie man as he scanned the hall. With a sudden movement, the man's eyes flicked upward, but to his dismay, he found nothing but empty space above. Michael, swift as a spider, had deftly evaded his gaze.

Meanwhile, the soldiers returned to the hall, carrying a lifeless body with them. The rest of the soldiers remained busy, attempting to cast spells and activate safety runes in an effort to extinguish the fire. However, their efforts proved futile against the flammable liquid that Michael had drenched the bodies with. The flames continued to dance and rage, defying all attempts to be subdued.

The soldiers carefully laid the charred body on the ground, its once vibrant form now reduced to a blackened husk. Smoke curled upwards from the smoldering remains, filling the air with an acrid scent that hung heavy in the hall. Ashes fell gently, cascading down like black snowflakes, remnants of what once was. 

It was a stark reminder of the destructive power that had been unleashed upon the corpses in the adjacent chamber. The flames had consumed them with an intensity that left no trace of their former selves, transforming them into mere ashes and smoke.

The creepy man crouched down beside the burnt body, his nose almost touching the charred flesh. It was an eerie sight, reminiscent of a predator savoring its prey. Even though the soldiers wore heavy armor that concealed their expressions, the tension in the air was palpable, and Michael sensed their discomfort.

Unexpectedly, the man sniffed the entire length of the body, his actions resembling someone indulging in a forbidden pleasure. This sent a shiver down Michael's spine, as he watched from his vantage point on the ceiling.

"I smell something... something peculiar...A primordial flame..." the man spoke, his words carrying a strange mix of curiosity and anticipation. His revelation startled Michael, leaving him intrigued and unnerved.

One of the soldiers, attempting to shed light on the situation, spoke up. "Elder, Noah used his primordial flames during the battle above."

The man paused, his brows furrowing as he considered the soldier's words. "I don't detect Noah's presence in these bodies. This is the work of another force entirely. There's no point in trying to extinguish the fire; it's beyond our control. Someone has dealt a devastating blow to Elder Gravesinger's operation," he concluded, rising to his feet with a sense of urgency and purpose.

Michael absorbed their conversation, realizing the gravity of the situation. It seemed that his actions, combined with Noah's fiery display above, had disrupted the Skyhall's plans.

Despite the risks involved, Michael felt a sense of satisfaction for successfully infiltrating the Skyhall. Not only had he thwarted their plans of building an army, but he was also gaining insights into the strength of the Skyhall. The creepy elder's presence confirmed his suspicions - this elder possessed immortality, making him a formidable adversary. However, something about the elder's demeanor unsettled Michael, creating a deep sense of unease.

"Now, it is time for someone to be held accountable for this grave loss," the elder commanded the two soldiers standing before him, his voice sending a chilling shiver down Michael's spine.

The elder's words held an ominous weight, as if someone would soon face dire consequences for their failure. Michael observed the scene from above, remaining hidden, and sensed the soldiers' uneasiness as they received their orders.

The two soldiers retrieved a small orb from their pockets, which fit snugly in the palm of their hands. With a sense of urgency, they activated the orb, causing it to glow and pulsate with a vibrant energy. Michael watched as the orb illuminated the room, casting an ethereal glow across the hall.

Suddenly, a voice emanated from the orb, resonating with a faint echo. "Squadron Twelve, report to the Hall of Runework immediately," the voice commanded, its urgency evident. Michael listened intently, hidden from sight, as the voice continued. "Most of the squadron is injured from their encounter with Noah. Proceed with caution."

The creepy elder's eyes narrowed, a sinister smile playing across his face. "Send all of them, regardless of their injuries," he declared in a bone-chilling tone, relishing the opportunity for further mayhem.

Moments later, a group of six soldiers entered the hall, adorned in tattered silver robes that bore the marks of their battle with Noah. The robes were torn, bearing scorch marks and stains of blood. Fatigue weighed heavily upon their features, their bodies marked with bruises, and their hair disheveled from the intensity of their recent struggle.

The soldiers stood before the elder, their weary gazes meeting his malevolent stare. The tension in the air was palpable as the elder prepared to address them, his voice dripping with a twisted enthusiasm for the impending task at hand.

The elder's eyes narrowed further as he stared at the soldiers, a chilling aura surrounding him. "Explain yourselves," he demanded, his voice laced with an unsettling mix of anger and curiosity. "Why did you leave your posts where you were supposed to guard the corpses for Elder Gravesinger?"

The soldiers, trembling with fear, stuttered in their response. "We... we heard commotion above and went to investigate," one of them managed to utter, his voice quivering. "We... we found Noah and... and we fought him to try and stop him."

The elder's eyes gleamed with a sinister light as he circled around the soldiers, sniffing the air around them as though he was enjoying the fear in the air. "And were you able to stop Noah from escaping the Skyhall?" he asked, his voice dripping with anticipation.

The soldiers, their voices barely audible, whispered in unison, "No."

A devilish chuckle escaped the elder's lips as he continued to circle the soldiers, his presence oozing malevolence. "Then what was the point of leaving your post?" he hissed, relishing in their fear and despair.

The soldiers shivered uncontrollably, their faces pale as the elder's relentless circling intensified. Every move he made, every word he spoke, exuded a sense of darkness and wickedness.

Finally, the elder pointed a bony finger toward the charred body on the ground. "Look around you," he sneered, his voice filled with venom. "All the corpses you were supposed to guard have been reduced to ashes. The fire still rages, consuming the remnants of our plans."

And in that moment, the soldiers could feel the weight of their failure crushing them, as the elder reveled in their despair, a true embodiment of malevolence and darkness.

The elder abruptly ceased his circling, standing directly in front of the squadron leader, a man with fiery red hair at the Fusion stage of cultivation. With an eerie gentleness, the elder cupped the leader's head in his pale, bony hands, a twisted smile creeping across his face. "Tell me," he whispered, his voice dripping with sadistic delight, "what should be the punishment for failing in your duty?"

The soldiers trembled in fear, their eyes widened with horror, as the elder's touch lingered on the squadron leader's face, his fingers caressing the man's features. It was a hauntingly intimate gesture, sending shivers down their spines.

And then, in a sudden, shocking moment, the elder's teeth plunged into the squadron leader's exposed neck. Blood sprayed forth, painting the air crimson as the elder greedily sucked the life force from the leader's veins. The squadron leader writhed in agony, his desperate struggles proving futile against the elder's insidious grip.

Michael, watching the macabre scene unfold with a frown on his face, observed the elder's true nature. It was clear to him now—this sinister elder was a vampire, and his instincts had been right all along.

But for now, Michael remained hidden on the ceiling, watching the elder indulge in his dark feast, his mind focused on his mission and the greater threat that awaited within the depths of the Skyhall.

As the elder continued to drink the lifeblood of the squadron leader, a sudden burst of light erupted throughout the hall. Runes inscribed on the walls and floor ignited, their ethereal glow casting an eerie illumination. Simultaneously, a deafening alarm blared, its piercing sound resonating through the chamber. Michael recognized the familiar robotic voice he had heard earlier from the orb, echoing through the hall.

"Intruder alert! Death detected in the Hall of Runework. Dispatching soldiers for immediate investigation," the voice declared.

Slowly, the elder lifted his head, revealing a face drenched in the blood he had consumed from the squadron leader. His teeth were stained crimson, a chilling smile forming on his twisted lips. "Ah, it is I, Elder Deathhead, who snuffed out a life," he declared, his voice dripping with sinister satisfaction.

"The voice recognition confirms Elder Deathhead's identity. The alarm will be deactivated shortly," the robotic voice announced, its tone devoid of emotion.

Elder Deathhead's twisted smile widened, his eyes gleaming with malevolence. He relished the chaos he had caused and reveled in the fear that permeated the air. The soldiers, trembling in fear, watched as their squadron leader's lifeless body slumped to the ground, blood pooling around it.

As the voice announced the imminent deactivation of the alarm, the runes around the hall slowly dimmed, returning the chamber to its previous darkness. The oppressive silence hung heavy, broken only by the echoes of the alarm fading into oblivion. The soldiers stood frozen, their gaze fixed on Elder Deathhead, their minds paralyzed by fear. 

A sly smile curled on Michael's lips as he absorbed the crucial information he had just learned. The defense mechanisms of the Skyhall were intricately connected, and the runes had a way of sensing when a life was extinguished, triggering an alert. Michael realized that killing would only bring unwanted attention upon himself, potentially jeopardizing his mission.

"Knockouts instead of kills," he murmured under his breath, formulating a new plan. He would use his skills to incapacitate the guards when necessary, rendering them unconscious but preserving their lives. It would allow him to proceed without setting off the alarm and alerting the Skyhall to his presence.

His mind raced with thoughts, drawing a parallel between the voice he had heard and the sophisticated artificial intelligence he had encountered in the past. Could there be a central core, a control center that governed all the defense mechanisms and surveillance systems within the Skyhall?

"Perhaps there's a core," he speculated, his eyes narrowing with determination. If he could locate and neutralize that central control, he might gain the upper hand and disrupt the Skyhall's operations even further. But first, he needed to navigate through the treacherous halls and encounter more clues that would lead him to this elusive core.

With newfound resolve, Michael ventured deeper into the heart of the Skyhall, his mind buzzing with strategies and possibilities. He knew that his mission had just become even more complex, but he was determined to uncover the truth and put an end to the sinister plans that unfolded within those walls.

Slowly, Elder Deathhead slowly rose from his crouched position, a twisted smile stretching across his face as he surveyed the remaining members of the squadron. Their leader's body now appeared shriveled and mummified, a ghastly sight that sent shivers down their spines.

The elder's cold gaze fixed upon the terrified soldiers, his eyes gleaming with a wicked delight. With a chilling voice, he addressed them, his words dripping with malevolence. "You have failed in your duty and betrayed the Skyhall. Such incompetence deserves a severe punishment."

The soldiers, trembling and panic-stricken, pleaded for mercy, their voices filled with desperation. "Please, Elder Deathhead, we were only following our leader's orders. We didn't know it would come to this."

The elder merely chuckled, paying no heed to their pleas. He turned his attention to the black-armored soldiers standing nearby, their presence intimidating and foreboding. With a casual wave of his hand, he issued a chilling command. "Throw them into the fire. Let them burn with the bodies they were supposed to guard."

The squadron soldiers' screams echoed through the hall as they begged for forgiveness, their voices laced with terror and remorse. "No, please! We didn't mean any harm! We were just following orders!"

But their pleas fell on deaf ears as the black-armored soldiers, devoid of compassion, delivered swift punches, knocking the squadron members unconscious. With a callous disregard, they dragged their limp bodies towards the door leading to the hall where the bodies were burning.

Michael, hidden in the shadows, watched with a furrowed brow. He knew he had to act carefully, avoiding detection while finding a way to intervene. The scene before him was a harrowing testament to the cruelty that permeated the Skyhall.