Hitman with a Badass System

Michael was taken aback by Nithroel's sudden and ruthless request. The shock was clear on his face as he processed her words. Before he could respond, Elidyr stepped forward, nodding in agreement with Nithroel.

"She's right, my lord," Elidyr said, his voice steady. "We need a ruler like her to govern the mortal realm and be our ally. Someone who understands the complexities of power and the necessity of tough decisions." Elidyr continued.

"You can't stay here forever pretending to be something you're not. You're not a king meant to sit on a throne; you're a warrior who battles across realms. Let Nithroel rule the mortal realm while you travel back and forth from here to the realm of the gods to gain the strength we need."

"Hmm," Michael nodded slowly, absorbing Elidyr's words. After a moment of contemplation, he turned back to face the assembly, his decision made. "I agree. It's the best course of action for us all."

The Skyhall elders exchanged nervous glances, their bodies tensing as they realized the implications of such an alliance. Whispers of fear and disbelief circulated among them as they struggled to come to terms with the union of the Dark Lord and the Empress of Awor against Skyhall.

"Fuck, we're doomed," one elder muttered under his breath, his voice barely a whisper yet filled with despair.

"Gods help us all," another elder said, shaking his head in disbelief, the reality of their situation sinking in.

Finally, Michael took a deep breath. His expression shifted into a cold smile as he addressed the trembling Skyhall elders. "It seems like your reign at Skyhall is finally coming to an end," he said with icy calmness.

Before anyone could react, dark beams shot from Michael's eyes, striking the leading elder directly in the forehead. The beams penetrated his skull with lethal precision, causing a gruesome explosion of blood that splattered onto the horrified angels nearby.

As the elder's body crumpled to the ground, Michael's system chimed in.

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for killing the Skyhall Elder. The reward is 5000 Experience points and 400 Badass points.]

The system continued with a notification that answered the doubt that appeared in Michael's mind about the amount of experience points he received.

[Ding! Note to the host: As you have ascended to godhood, killing mortals will yield significantly fewer experience points due to the ease of such actions.]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for successfully being a badass. The reward is 5000 Badass points.]

Michael barely registered the system's notifications. His focus wasn't on the points; it was on the Skyhall, which had now become a symbol of his frustrations and the injustices he had endured. Their demise was not just an act of rebellion, it was a release for his pent-up anger, a message to all that his patience had its limits.

However, Michael knew that although the experience points gained from killing a single elder might be minimal, the cumulative effect of defeating an entire army could significantly boost his cultivation level in the realm of gods.

He turned to his assembled forces, a dark resolve etching his features. "Take them out," he commanded with a dismissive wave of his hand. The gathered army surged forward, the air thick with the promise of impending carnage.

Contrary to what some might expect, Michael did not hold Azazel back. Instead, he clapped the demon butler on the back, a rare gesture from the Dark Lord. "I trust you, Azazel," he said firmly, encouraging him to join the fray.

Azazel was visibly moved by this show of confidence. His loyalty to Michael, which had always been strong, now solidified completely, reaching an absolute peak. The system recognized this profound bond and rewarded Michael:

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for achieving 100% loyalty with your follower Azazel and receiving a Legendary Gift box]

Bloodlust could be a severe problem for those who harbored demons within their ranks, as their savage nature could often lead to unpredictable and uncontrollable violence. However, Michael was not just any leader; he had the system. With the sophisticated tools and resources it provided, he was confident he could manage—even cure—the bloodlust that plagued demons like Azazel.

As the battle raged on the ground between Michael's dark army and the Skyhall forces, the elders and angels vociferously condemned Nithroel's alliance with the Dark Lord. "Traitor! You'll pay for this treachery!" one elder screamed over the clash of metal and the cries of combat. "Bring her down!" another shouted, pointing towards Nithroel.

Above them, the Skyhall warship roared into action, its cannons thundering as they unleashed a volley of heavy fire. The projectiles streaked across the sky, their trails glowing against the dark clouds, a terrifying display of power aimed squarely at Nithroel's forces.

But Nithroel, standing resolute beside Michael, merely raised her hand and signaled to her own ship. "Return fire. Show them no mercy," she commanded with a cold grace. Her massive warship, manned by elves in gleaming armor, responded instantly. The elven crew worked with lethal efficiency, their own cannons booming in answer.

The sky above turned into a battlefield of its own. As Nithroel's ship fired back, the air was filled with the sounds of cannonballs clashing against the hulls and shields of the Skyhall ship. Explosions lit up the sky as the elven projectiles found their targets, tearing through the Skyhall ship's defenses.

"Damn them! They've got us in their sights!" yelled a Skyhall captain, his face grim as he watched part of his ship's wing burst into flames. Below him, the crew scrambled, returning fire while trying to maintain their ship's stability.

Nithroel's ship didn't relent. Another volley tore through the sky, the cannonballs blazing like meteors in the dark. They struck with devastating force, and large sections of the Skyhall ship began to disintegrate under the relentless assault.

"We're hit! Brace for impact!" shouted an angelic crew member, as a massive explosion rocked the Skyhall ship, sending debris scattering into the wind. The once mighty vessel groaned under the strain, its structure fatally compromised.

"Looks like the skies are no safer than the ground today," Michael watched with a dark satisfaction. Meanwhile, the battle in the skies intensified as the Skyhall airship continued to exchange volleys with Nithroel's superior vessel. However, Nithroel's warship, a marvel of elven engineering, showcased its superiority with an array of advanced weaponry. Its cannons, larger and more powerful, fired with a precision that tore through the defenses of the opposing vessel.

Mounted along the sides of Nithroel's ship were crystal-based energy launchers that emitted concentrated beams of light, slicing through the metal and magical barriers of the Skyhall ship. Each hit resonated with a thunderous clash, the sound echoing across the battlefield. Despite the Skyhall crew's desperate attempts to activate a shimmering magical shield, using an ancient artifact embedded at the ship's core, the shield flickered under the relentless assault. "Impressive firepower. It seems the elves know how to build war machine," Michael remarked coolly, watching as another burst of cannon fire from Nithroel's ship broke through the failing magical shield of the Skyhall vessel. The shield flickered out like a snuffed candle, leaving the enemy exposed and vulnerable.

On the ground, the chaos was mirrored by Azazel's savage combat. His demonic form was a blur of motion, his crimson wings unfurling with menacing grace as he moved through the ranks of angel soldiers. His eyes, burning with a fiery crimson glow, focused intently on his targets as his hands tore through celestial armor with ease.

"Come on, you feathered fucks, is that all you've got?" Azazel taunted, his voice laced with scorn as he grabbed an angel by the wing and hurled him into a group of his comrades. The impact sent them sprawling in a clatter of armor and broken wings.

Blood splattered the ground as Azazel's claws ripped through another angel, his brutal force undeniable. His laughter echoed over the sounds of battle, a chilling sound that was accompanied by the thud of bodies hitting the earth.

"Pathetic!" Azazel roared, his form a whirlwind of destruction. Each move was calculated and deadly, leaving behind a trail of celestial carnage. His power was on full display, a terrifying spectacle of demonic might that none could withstand.

Back in the sky, the Skyhall ship took another devastating hit, a direct strike that sent shards of metal and magical energy scattering into the wind. The ship began to lose altitude, and its demise was inevitable under the relentless assault of Nithroel's superior firepower.

The elders shouted with rage and despair as the Skyhall ship continued its fatal descent toward the dark ocean. "Damn you, Nithroel!"

"Curse you, Dark Lord! You'll pay for all this destruction!" But their words were lost amidst the chaos of battle and the roaring flames.

The massive vessel, now a fire-engulfed wreck, groaned under its own weight as it plummeted. Flames licked its hull, and smoke billowed into the sky. When the ship hit the ocean, its impact was colossal, sending a massive plume of water and debris into the air. As the wreckage settled and the waves churned around the remains of the ship, Michael turned his gaze back to the battlefield. The ground forces of Skyhall demoralized but not yet defeated, continued their desperate struggle. "This is just the beginning," Michael said softly with cold, killing intent.