Hitman with a Badass System



With a wicked smile, the Orc, now fully possessed by Rudra's sliver of grace, raised his hand to the sky, invoking the power of the gods. A golden lightning bolt crackled and materialized in his grasp, pulsating with immense energy. With a swift motion, he plunged the bolt deep into the ground, unleashing a cataclysmic explosion of raw power.

The force of the explosion sent shockwaves rippling through the island, shattering the surroundings and throwing everyone into disarray. Gaya, caught in the midst of the chaos, plummeted from the sky, crashing violently onto the ground. Her vision blurred, a mixture of pain and disorientation gripping her as she struggled to regain her bearings.

Through her hazy vision, Gaya glimpsed the Orc, his speed unfathomable, closing in on Michael. The air crackled with malevolence as dark flames erupted from Michael's body, consuming everything in their path. The searing heat licked at the surroundings, devouring the once vibrant landscape in a dance of destruction.

Gaya's heart pounded in her chest as she watched in horror, her voice lost amidst the chaos. The scene unfolded before her eyes with vivid intensity, each detail etched into her memory—the Orc's savage charge, Michael engulfed in those dark, merciless flames. 

The dark flames roared with an insatiable hunger, engulfing the grassland surrounding Michael and Gaya. The intense heat radiated from the flames, raising the temperature to unbearable levels. The Orc, its skin melting and bubbling under the scorching onslaught, seemed unfazed by the agony it should have been experiencing. Instead, a sinister snicker escaped its deformed mouth as it extended its hand towards the last remaining seal bearer.

The young man in white robes cried out in terror as the Orc's hand closed around him, the searing heat of the dark flames seeping into his very being. His anguished screams pierced the air, a haunting testament to the merciless fate that awaited him. The dark flames consumed him relentlessly, reducing his form to a pile of hot ash, leaving nothing but remnants of his existence.

As the life force of the third seal bearer was extinguished, a sudden rumble echoed through the sky. For a fleeting moment, a crack tore open the sky, a glimpse into a realm beyond mortal comprehension. The crack shimmered with an otherworldly light, hinting at the immense power and consequence tied to the seal bearers' demise. However, as quickly as it appeared, the crack closed, leaving behind only a sense of foreboding and uncertainty.

The Orc stood tall, its form grotesquely transformed as its skin melted away, revealing the raw skeletal structure beneath. In this macabre state, the Orc raised its hands, bony fingers extended towards Michael. Countless golden lightning bolts crackled to life, surging forth with malevolent intent.

Michael, recognizing the imminent danger, summoned a responsive shield around him. The shield, translucent and glowing with a vibrant blue hue, materialized just in time to intercept the incoming lightning bolts. However, the power behind the Orc's attack proved overwhelming, as the bolts shattered the shield like fragile glass, penetrating through to strike Michael.

Agony seared through Michael's body as the lightning coursed through his veins. Blood tainted the corners of his lips as he coughed it up, his strength waning with each passing moment. Paralysis gripped his limbs, rendering him helpless against the Orc's relentless assault.

With a chilling smirk, the Orc raised its hand, exerting a force that pulled Michael closer. His feet dragged across the ground as he was lifted effortlessly by his neck, suspended in the grip of his merciless adversary.

The acrid scent of burning grass mingled with the sickening odor of charred flesh, filling the air with a haunting reminder of the devastation surrounding them. The metallic tang of blood lingered, a testament to the violence that had unfolded on the island.

As the Orc's skin continued to melt away, revealing the gruesome sight of its skull, a grim and horrifying visage emerged. Its eye sockets held an otherworldly glow, and the lack of flesh on its face heightened the eeriness of its presence.

Disappointment laced the Orc's voice as it shook its skull-like head. "Not impressed," it uttered, its voice laden with mockery. The grip around Michael's neck tightened, constricting his airway and leaving him gasping for precious breaths.

Summoning his remaining strength, Michael called upon his dark swords. One of the swords began to levitate toward his outstretched arm, a last-ditch effort to regain control of the situation. However, the Orc, swift and cunning, swatted the sword aside, redirecting its trajectory towards Gaya.

The hilt of the sword struck Gaya with a resounding thud, knocking her unconscious before she could even rise to her feet. Panic and concern flashed in Michael's eyes as he gasped for air, his voice strained. "Who are you?" he managed to rasp, his words carrying a mixture of defiance and desperation.

As Michael's thoughts raced, he knew that the time had come to initiate Plan D—the contingency he had devised for facing an adversary of insurmountable power. Just as the weight of the situation began to settle upon him, the sky above them rumbled with a newfound intensity, as if in response to his desperate plea.

Amidst the stormy clouds, a golden light broke through the darkness, illuminating the scene with an ethereal glow. To their astonishment, the once turbulent seas surrounding the island turned eerily calm, contrasting the tumultuous skies above.

With a thunderous boom, the golden light descended from the heavens, its brilliance fading gradually to reveal the figure of Nithroel, the Empress of Awor. Her golden locks billowed around her like a halo, and she stood adorned in intricately crafted golden armor that covered her from neck to toe. Every movement exuded an aura of divine power and grace, marking her as an otherworldly goddess.

Soon, a golden bow materialized in her hand, emanating a radiant energy that seemed to pulse with ancient enchantments. As she pulled back the string, an arrow adorned with intricate runes materialized, poised to be released at her command. The mere sight of her presence instilled a sense of awe and reverence, for she embodied a force that transcended mortal comprehension.

Nithroel's voice resonated with a commanding authority that seemed to shake the very foundations of the island. "Let him go, Rudra. Your fight lies somewhere else," she declared, her words echoing through the air and reaching every corner of the island. The power behind her voice carried a weight that commanded attention and respect.

As her words hung in the air, a golden aura enveloped Nithroel, radiating from her being like a shield of divine energy. The Orc, possessed by Rudra's sliver of grace, stared at her with a sliver of surprise emerging in his glowing eyes. The unexpected turn of events momentarily caught him off guard, questioning the path he had taken.

The tension in the air was palpable as the empress and the possessed Orc locked eyes, each representing a formidable force in their own right. The outcome of this encounter held the potential to reshape the course of events, and the witnesses on the island stood frozen, captivated by the clash of powers unfolding before them.

The Orc, now barely recognizable as a humanoid figure, threw aside Michael's limp body and turned its attention fully towards Nithroel. The last shreds of skin clung to its smoking, charred body, as if defying the intense heat of the dark flames that consumed it.

From the mouth of the Orc, Rudra's voice resonated, carrying a mix of calmness, excitement, and a sliver of surprise. "I can see you've regained your grace, Nithroel, the goddess of hunt. How long has it been since we last saw each other?" The words flowed from Rudra with a calculated ease, as if he relished the encounter, savoring the chance to face his former ally.

Nithroel responded to the Orc, now possessed by Rudra, with a cold and stern tone. "Leave this realm, Rudra. You have no right to be here," she stated, her voice devoid of any warmth or sympathy. Her gaze remained fixed upon the deteriorating figure before her.

Rudra's voice, still emanating from the Orc, grew even calmer and more playful. "Slow down with the threats, Nithroel. Yes, you may have regained your grace, but you are not as strong as you used to be," he taunted. The excitement in his voice was tinged with a hint of superiority, as if he believed he held the upper hand.

Nithroel's response was icy and resolute. "Perhaps I cannot defeat you in your true form, Rudra, but I can still overcome this vessel that holds your grace. And time is not on your side. The dark flames that consume your vessel will soon bring its demise," she retorted, her words carrying an unwavering determination.

Rudra, his presence fading within the crumbling vessel, snickered with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. "Ah, Nithroel, my task in this mortal realm is now complete. I have no mind to stay any longer," he remarked, his voice betraying a playful undertone. However, underlying his words was a genuine concern for the goddess standing before him.

"Choose your side carefully, Nithroel," Rudra warned, his voice devoid of sympathy. "You wouldn't want to lose your grace once again." His words carried a subtle caution, a reminder of the consequences she might face if she aligned herself against the pantheon.

Nithroel, her gaze unwavering, met Rudra's gaze with determination. "I have made my choice, Rudra," she declared with unwavering resolve. "I have left the pantheon and chosen to remain in the mortal realm. You needn't worry about me."

Her response carried a resolute conviction, a statement that she had made her stand and was prepared to face the consequences of her decision. Though Rudra's concern for her was not evident in his voice, there was a flicker of admiration in his gaze, acknowledging the strength of her resolve.

As the possessed Orc's body crumbled to the ground, consumed by dark flames and reduced to a heap of smoldering ash, a golden light emerged from within. It shimmered and danced in the air, casting a soft glow upon the chaotic scene. Nithroel, her gaze fixed upon the dissipating light, watched as it slowly ascended towards the heavens, leaving the mortal realm behind. With a faint sigh of relief, she knew that Rudra's sliver of grace had departed, returning to its rightful place.

The once vibrant wedding decorations now lay in ruins, charred and scattered across the grassy ground. The once jubilant atmosphere had been replaced by an eerie stillness, broken only by the soft crackling of smoldering embers. The bride and groom, their bodies sprawled motionless, were a stark contrast to the beauty they had exuded moments ago.

Nithroel stepped cautiously over the remnants of shattered pillars and torn fabrics, her footsteps leaving imprints in the ash-covered ground. She approached the unconscious couple, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. With a gentle touch, she checked their pulses and found them to be faint but steady. A sense of relief washed over her as she realized that their lives had been spared in the midst of the chaos.

Surveying the scene, Nithroel knew that there was much work to be done. The aftermath of this tumultuous encounter would not be easily forgotten.

As Michael's consciousness slowly returned, he rose to his feet, his gaze immediately fixating on Gaya, lying unconscious nearby. With a mix of relief and concern etched on his face, he quickly made his way to her side, gently cradling her in his arms. 

Nithroel watched this intimate moment, understanding the depth of their connection and the strength it brought them. She respected their need for a moment of solace, a respite from the turmoil they had endured. But she also knew that there were questions to be answered, decisions to be made.

As Michael's eyes met Nithroel's, she could see the weight of the recent events reflected in his gaze. The God of Darkness, his presence formidable, acknowledged her with a nod, a silent recognition of the necessity to speak.

Nithroel's voice, calm yet resolute, broke the silence. "We have much to discuss," she declared, her tone carrying a weight of urgency and purpose.