Hitman with a Badass System



With the skull medallion clutched tightly in his hand, Elder Gravesinger made his way through the teleportation hall. As he pressed the medallion, the array beneath his feet glimmered, casting an ethereal light that engulfed the elder. In an instant, he vanished from the hall, transported to his very own pocket dimension.

This pocket dimension, curated specifically for his sinister necromantic rituals, exuded an eerie ambiance. Its dark and foreboding atmosphere was tailor-made to accommodate Elder Gravesinger's macabre experiments and the awakening of the deceased. Three thousand years ago, when the Skyhall and the Guardian Guild relentlessly hunted down the Order of Death and all those suspected of supporting or worshiping the Dark Lord, the bodies of their victims were amassed in this very dimension. It became a burial ground on a massive scale, entrusted to Elder Gravesinger for his unholy undertakings.

The pocket dimension itself seemed to exist in perpetual twilight, with an oppressive gray sky overhead. A thick mist shrouded the entire dimension, lending an otherworldly quality to the surroundings. Towering trees, devoid of leaves, stretched out like skeletal giants, their branches reaching out with an air of malevolence. These darkened sentinels were scattered throughout the dimension, standing alongside countless coffins that lay in solemn repose.

As Elder Gravesinger approached the coffins, the army of skeleton soldiers parted to make way for their master. The sounds of their rattling bones echoed in the stillness as he made his way through their ranks. With measured steps, the Elder walked among the coffins, his gaze scanning the rows with a mix of anticipation and authority.

A faint rustling sound reached Elder Gravesinger's ears, drawing his attention to one particular coffin. Frowning, he closed the distance, his eyes fixed on the source of the disturbance. Step by step, he closed in, his presence exuding a commanding aura. Finally, he stood before the coffin, the weight of his power hanging heavy in the air.

Before opening the coffin, Elder Gravesinger paused, closing his eyes and attuning himself to the array's energies that permeated the pocket dimension. This place, devoid of any energy, was under his complete control. Anyone other than him who dared to step foot in this realm would be stripped of their powers, reduced to mere mortals. With a combination of carefully crafted arrays and the influence of his god-given abilities, Elder Gravesinger reigned supreme as the deity of this sinister dimension.

"What do we have here?" Elder Gravesinger's brow furrowed as he reached out to push open the lid of the coffin. However, before his fingers could make contact, a sudden explosion shattered the coffin into fragments. The force of the blast rippled outward, knocking several of the skeleton soldiers off their feet. Yet, to the surprise of all, Elder Gravesinger remained rooted in place, defying the expected impact.

In the blink of an eye, a hand emerged from the chaos, seizing hold of the skull-shaped medallion that adorned Gravesinger's neck. Before the stunned elder could react, the hand swiftly plucked the medallion from his possession. A potent gust of wind surged forth, catching Gravesinger off guard and propelling him through the air. The entire sequence of events unfolded in a mere heartbeat, leaving those who witnessed it bewildered and astounded.

The explosion of the coffin sent a cloud of dust and smoke billowing through the air, obscuring the scene from view. As the particles settled, revealing the aftermath, Elder Gravesinger was found sprawled on the ground, his body covered in a layer of dirt and mud. He swiftly rose to his feet, brushing off the soil that clung to his robes with a frustrated swipe of his hand.

In a state of urgency, Elder Gravesinger's hand instinctively reached for his neck, his fingers searching for the familiar weight of his precious skull medallion. However, a growing sense of dread engulfed him as his touch met nothing but empty space. His eyes widened in realization as he understood that his treasured talisman had been snatched away, leaving him vulnerable and unable to teleport out of this place without activating the special arrays, which would take time.

As the dust and smoke settled, revealing the aftermath of the explosion, a figure emerged from the haze, donned in a suit of black armor. The armor bore an intricate skull emblem, its eyes radiating a haunting crimson glow. Elder Gravesinger's gaze locked onto the figure, and his heart skipped a beat. He knew this face all too well; it was the visage of the Dark Lord himself.

Time seemed to stand still as Elder Gravesinger's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. He stumbled backward, his jaw slack, unable to comprehend the sight before him. The calmness etched upon the Dark Lord's face only deepened the sense of unease that gripped the elder's heart. The intensity of the crimson light in the skull's eyes contrasted sharply with the darkness of the armor, giving the Dark Lord an aura of both power and mystery.

Elder Gravesinger's mind raced, attempting to process the magnitude of this unexpected encounter. Fear and uncertainty mingled within him, his hands trembling involuntarily. The Dark Lord's presence alone sent chills down his spine, and it became clear to the elder that he was facing an opponent far more formidable than he had ever imagined.

"Diddle…diddle…you are so little…" 

A serene calmness resonated in Michael's voice as his words reverberated throughout the eerie pocket dimension. Elder Gravesinger struggled to collect his thoughts, his mind still reeling from the realization that the Dark Lord had infiltrated his domain undetected, slipping through their defenses like a phantom.

"Get him!"

With a sudden surge of determination, Elder Gravesinger's shock transformed into a fierce resolve. He bellowed his command, his voice filled with equal parts anger and desperation, urging his skeleton soldiers to attack the intruder. The skeletal army, loyal to their master's call, charged at Michael from all directions, their bony limbs clattering in a macabre symphony.

But Michael stood firm, an embodiment of unwavering confidence amidst the chaos. The billowing black cape that adorned his armored form danced gracefully in the ethereal wind, adding an air of mystique to his presence. His eyes, once filled with crimson radiance, transformed into pools of pure darkness, exuding an otherworldly aura.

In an instant, Michael unleashed his power, a torrent of dark energy surging forth from his eyes. The beams of inky blackness sliced through the air with deadly precision, cleaving the skulls off the charging skeletons. The pocket dimension became a whirlwind of dislodged bone, as countless skulls were sent spiraling through the air in a grotesque ballet.

The clash between the Dark Lord's dark energy and the skeletal army created a scene that was both captivating and horrifying. 

"How…how do you use…cultivation power…"

Elder Gravesinger's words stumbled out in a mix of shock and disbelief, barely forming coherent sentences. The realization that the Dark Lord possessed the power of cultivation struck him with profound astonishment. Michael, too, was taken aback by this revelation. He had assumed that the elders of Skyhall held extensive knowledge about him, but it seemed that Gravesinger was oblivious to his capabilities.

"How can you hope to defeat your enemy," Michael calmly questioned, his voice tinged with a hint of incredulity, "when you remain ignorant about who they truly are?"

As Michael spoke, the relentless tide of skeleton soldiers surged forward, their mindless existence fueled solely by Elder Gravesinger's necromantic powers. With no strategy or fear, they mindlessly charged at their intended target. Unfazed by the oncoming horde, Michael continued his deliberate approach, his every step purposeful.

Growing darkness enveloped the area surrounding Michael, casting an ominous shadow over the confrontation. Within this shroud, Elder Gravesinger's gaze fixated on a sight that sent chills down his spine. He witnessed the emergence of a swirling black flame, burning within the depths of the dark shroud that encompassed the Dark Lord.

The intensity of these black flames emanated searing heat, causing beads of sweat to form on Gravesinger's forehead. As the flame blazed forth, it consumed the approaching skeleton soldiers with ruthless efficiency. Before the mindless soldiers could draw near to the Dark Lord, their bones turned to ash, carried away by the whispering winds of the pocket dimension.

The scene unfolded like a macabre dance as the relentless advance of the skeletons was met with the all-consuming power of the black flames. The air grew heavy with the scent of burning bone, mingling with the acrid tang of charred remains.

With a mixture of frustration and desperation, Elder Gravesinger let out an enraged roar, his voice reverberating through the eerie pocket dimension. He realized that extracting any valuable information from the Dark Lord seemed futile.

"Enough!" Gravesinger bellowed, his voice laced with fury. "You won't get anything out of me with your pathetic attempts at conversation!"

In an act of grotesque defiance, his expression contorted into a deranged grin. With a swift, unnerving motion, he thrust his hand towards his own mouth, clutching his tongue tightly. The veins on his forehead bulged as the elder's face contorted in agony. Blood gushed from between his fingers, spraying in every direction, creating a macabre crimson mist in the dimly lit atmosphere.

The torment etched across Gravesinger's face was juxtaposed with the manic glint in his eyes. He plucked his own tongue out, ripping it from his mouth with a sickening squelch. Blood cascaded from the severed tongue, splattering onto the ground in a grotesque display.

The elder's twisted act of self-mutilation sent shockwaves through the air, mingling with the scent of blood and the stifled gasps of disbelief from those witnessing the scene. The sound of dripping blood and Gravesinger's pained gurgles filled the void, underscoring the depravity that unfolded before them.

In this twisted moment, the dark forces at play revealed the depths to which Elder Gravesinger was willing to go, his madness and desperation laid bare for all to witness. The silence that followed was punctuated only by the faint whispers of the wind, carrying the weight of an unsettling realization: the battle between the Dark Lord and the elder had descended into a realm far beyond the boundaries of sanity.

As the macabre scene unfolded, a chilling laughter erupted from the lips of the Dark Lord. The sound reverberated through the twisted pocket dimension, mingling with the echoes of Gravesinger's pained gurgles and the lingering scent of blood.

Amidst his laughter, the Dark Lord's voice rang out, cold and menacing. "Oh, Gravesinger, you misunderstand. I have no interest in torturing you for information. You possess nothing I need." His laughter subsided, replaced by an unsettling calmness that sent shivers down the spines of those present.

Leaning closer, the Dark Lord's crimson eyes pierced through the shadows, fixed upon Gravesinger's bloodied form. "No, my dear Elder, I am here for a much simpler purpose. I have come to kill you and claim all these coffins that you have amassed."

The casualness in the Dark Lord's tone was unnerving, his words laced with a dangerous certainty. There was no room for negotiation or compromise. His intentions were clear, and the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.