Hitman with a Badass System



With practiced precision, Michael began his silent takedown of the remaining soldiers. He observed their patrol routes carefully, noting the patterns they followed. Each soldier had a specific path to walk, and Michael exploited this predictability to his advantage.

As the king's agonized screams echoed through the temple, Michael moved swiftly and silently along the beams, using the shadows to his advantage. His dark armor seemed to merge with the darkness, making him nearly invisible. His movements were fluid, like a ghost gliding through the air.

The second soldier walked beneath him, and Michael seized the opportunity. He dropped down, his blade finding its mark before the soldier could react. The body was quickly hauled up onto the beam, out of sight.

Michael approached the third soldier's path, timing his movements to coincide with the soldier's turn. Just as the soldier passed beneath him, Michael executed a swift and precise strike. A paralyzing poison coated his blade, ensuring the soldier wouldn't raise an alarm. He repeated this tactic with the next two soldiers, eliminating them swiftly and silently.

With four soldiers down, Michael continued his deadly dance with the remaining four. He watched them closely, studying their patrol routes and waiting for the right moment. His movements were calculated, his strikes precise. He utilized a combination of poisons, stealth, and the element of surprise to neutralize each threat.

As Michael's swift blade dispatched the sixth soldier, he noticed a shift in the king's screams. Amidst the pained cries, the king's voice took on a note of desperation.

"Help... please... anyone..."

The pleas for assistance were a grim reminder of the man's suffering. But Michael's focus remained on his task. He moved with practiced ease, utilizing the ceiling beams to both hide the bodies and ascend higher within the temple.

For the seventh soldier, Michael employed another paralyzing poison. The soldier's movements became sluggish, his eyes widening in realization before he fell to the ground, lifeless. Michael quickly disposed of the body and continued his ascent.

The eighth soldier's patrol route brought him close to the king. The king's muffled cries grew more desperate as Michael approached. Michael's blade struck true, and the soldier fell silently. Michael's movements were swift, precise, and calculated, avoiding any unnecessary noise or spilling of blood.

Finally, only one soldier remained. Michael watched the soldier's route, biding his time. He needed information, and this soldier would provide it. As the soldier approached, Michael opted for a different approach. He used a dart coated in a sleeping agent, rendering the soldier unconscious without killing him.

With the temple now devoid of threats, Michael turned his attention to the unconscious soldier remaining. The king's desperate pleas for help fell on deaf ears as Michael moved swiftly and efficiently. He needed answers, and this soldier held the key.

Ignoring the king's cries, Michael hoisted the unconscious soldier over his shoulder, his steps silent as he moved away from the gruesome scene. He needed a secure location for the impending interrogation.

In a secluded chamber, Michael laid the soldier down. The man stirred groggily, his eyes widening in shock as he took in his surroundings and the dark figure before him.

"Who... who are you?" the soldier stammered, fear evident in his voice.

Michael's helmeted gaze remained steady. "That's not important right now. What I need to know is the whereabouts of Marli's worshippers."

The soldier's confusion deepened. "Marli? I don't know what you're talking about."

Michael's patience was wearing thin. He knew how to break even the most stubborn individuals. From his equipment, he produced a small syringe containing a pain-enhancing substance. Injecting it into the soldier's arm, he watched as discomfort twisted the man's features.

The soldier's eyes shot open, and he tried to cry out, but Michael swiftly placed his gloved hand over the man's mouth. "Listen carefully. I'm only going to ask once. Where are Marli's worshippers being held?"

The soldier squirmed and wriggled his legs, a mixture of fear and pain evident on his face. He glanced at Michael with wide, terrified eyes, and finally, he gave a reluctant nod.

"In the secret room beneath the temple," the soldier admitted, his voice trembling.

"How do I access it?" Michael's tone was icy, his patience hanging by a thread.

The soldier pointed a trembling finger at a seemingly ordinary lamp fixed to the wall. "Rotate the lamp clockwise, and a passage will open."

Michael's dark eyes narrowed as he processed the information. He could tell the soldier was telling the truth, but he had one more card to play. "Remember, I can easily end your life if you're lying to me."

The soldier's lips quivered, his gaze locking onto Michael's helmet. "You have no idea what you've done. You'll regret this."

A mirthless smile tugged at the corner of Michael's lips. "I've done many regrettable things. Your fate is just another one."

With a swift, decisive motion, Michael silenced the soldier forever, ending his life. He didn't have time for further hesitation or sentimentality. The soldier's usefulness had come to an end, and Marli's worshippers awaited his rescue.

"Ghost, I sense someone approaching us…someone powerful," Sarba's warning reached Michael's ears, though his own scans had failed to detect any presence.

Suddenly, all the lights within the temple were extinguished by an unseen force. The temple's heavy doors sealed shut with a muffled thud. In the darkness, Michael witnessed the guards stationed at the entrance collapse. His attention then turned back to the king, whose agonized cries continued to pierce the air.

Just as he was about to move, a cold sensation brushed against his armor. A voice, dripping with a deadly aura, slithered from behind him.

"Well, well, well… What do we have here?" The voice was sneaky yet laced with danger. Michael felt a blade pressing against his armor, testing its strength. He tightened his grip on his dark swords, ready for any sudden moves. He knew he was dealing with a formidable opponent, one who had managed to approach undetected.

"Thank you for adding a touch of excitement to this dreary temple," the man's tone was oddly amused. He continued to exert pressure on the blade, but Michael's armor held firm.

"Nice armor," the man commented, acknowledging the challenge Michael's defenses presented.

"Who are you?" Michael's voice was firm, his gaze locked on the figure behind him. He made no sudden movements, recognizing the threat this stranger posed.

"An assassin of your caliber should know that the one holding the blade tends to be the one asking questions. You've orchestrated quite the spectacle here, a masterful display of assassination without alerting the guards. But I must admit, I'm more intrigued by you," the man's words dripped with intrigue and a twisted sense of admiration.

Pushing Michael slightly forward, the unseen assassin allowed him to pivot around, facing his enigmatic adversary. As he turned, the veil of invisibility was lifted, revealing the assassin in all his sinister glory. Cloaked in dark crimson robes, the figure emanated an aura of malevolence. In his hand gleamed a blood-red dagger, its edges glinting ominously.

Michael's gaze was drawn to a strand of raven-black hair that cascaded from under the hood, framing a face that remained enshrouded in shadow. Yet, what caught Michael's attention were the eyes—glistening with a crimson hue that seemed to pierce through the darkness.

"Well, this is an unexpected twist," the assassin's voice was silk and steel combined, a blend of amusement and intrigue. "I hadn't anticipated stumbling upon a fellow practitioner of the art."

A wry smile tugged at Michael's lips. "So, what gave it away? The dark attire, the blades, or the fact that I'm sneaking around a guarded temple?"

The assassin's smile grew devilish, a gleam in his red-tinted eyes. "Oh, it's more than just appearances. There's a certain energy about those who walk in the shadows. A familiarity, a kinship. It takes one to know one, you see."

Michael cracked his neck and regarded the assassin. "So, what's the next act in this little performance?"

The assassin's smile remained, a mixture of amusement and something else that was hard to decipher. "Don't worry, I'm not here to kill you," he replied, his voice dripping with a sense of detached amusement. "You're not my target."

Michael's eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. "Then who—"

The assassin's gaze shifted to the king, who was still bound and writhing in agony. "He called for my god, and my god sent me to answer his prayers."

With a sudden blur of motion, the assassin moved around the temple, his figure becoming a fluid dance of shadows. Michael's eyes struggled to track his every movement. The assassin's voice echoed through the temple, laced with a mocking tone. "You're good, but you need to work on your speed and efficiency."

As the assassin continued to dart around, his voice reached Michael, amused yet oddly sincere. "I'll have my eyes on you, friend. And if there's an opening in my house, I might give you a heads-up."

Confusion filled Michael's expression. "What house?"

The assassin's smile deepened. "You'll know when the time comes."

A question burned in Michael's mind. "The king Rainar's worshipper. Did Rainar send you?"

The assassin's laughter filled the air, a chilling sound that seemed to reverberate through the darkness. "Oh, the king now wants nothing but death. He calls for death, and my god sent me to answer his prayers."

A frown creased Michael's forehead. "Your god?"

The assassin's amusement was evident as he replied, "I am an angel of death."