Hitman with a Badass System



Elder Gravesinger's crimson eyes widened in shock and his grip tightened around his staff as he thundered, "What news do you bring?"

The black-armored soldier's voice trembled as he mustered the courage to respond, "Elder Gravesinger, I deeply regret to inform you that the mortal corpses we had collected and stored in your hall have been ravaged by an unforeseen fire. The squadron entrusted with guarding them abandoned their posts in pursuit of Noah, leaving the corpses vulnerable to this catastrophic event."

The orc's normally composed visage contorted with rage, veins bulging on his forehead as he roared, "You imbeciles! Those corpses were the linchpin of my intricate ritual! The flow of power necessary for our operation has been irrevocably disrupted!"

The soldier's voice quivered as he continued, "Elder Gravesinger. Know that swift retribution has been exacted upon the squadron. Elder Deathhead himself took charge, condemning the squadron leader to death and ordering the remaining members to be thrown alive into the fire as a chilling punishment."

A sinister smile curled at the corners of Elder Gravesinger's lips, his voice dripping with venomous satisfaction, "A quick death? Such mercy bestowed upon them! I would have relished in the opportunity to strip their flesh piece by piece, subjecting them to unimaginable torment for their grievous negligence!"

Meanwhile, Michael, disguised as a black-armored soldier, observed the furious orc with amusement concealed behind his mask. It was he who had orchestrated the fire that consumed the corpses, reveling in the chaos and destruction it brought upon the Skyhall. The sight of Elder Gravesinger seething with anger only served to reinforce his belief that the elders of the Skyhall were anything but righteous figures.

Suddenly, Elder Gravesinger's hand shot up into the air, causing the very ground beneath him to tremble with an ominous resonance. Michael and the black-armored soldier instinctively took several steps back, their eyes widening with a mixture of awe and trepidation. As if responding to the orc's command, the earth began to split open, revealing deep, gaping cracks that snaked their way across the desolate graveyard.

Elder Gravesinger's voice carried an arcane resonance as he chanted under his breath, his words barely audible but laced with dark power. With each syllable uttered, the cracks in the ground deepened and widened, releasing tendrils of malevolent energy that danced and writhed like ethereal serpents.

Out of nowhere, from one of the cracks, a bony hand emerged, reaching upwards with a haunting determination. Its skeletal fingers, weathered and ancient, grasped the edges of the crevice, followed by the emergence of countless other skeletal figures. They clawed their way out of the depths, their decayed remains caked in dirt and clinging to the remnants of tattered burial garments.

The graveyard became a chilling spectacle as the skeletal beings, once dormant in their eternal rest, rose from their slumber. Their hollow eye sockets glowed with an eerie, ethereal light, casting a ghastly illumination upon their bony frames. With jerky, unnatural movements, they shuffled forward, a legion of undead abominations called forth by the necromantic power of Elder Gravesinger.

The air grew heavy with a palpable sense of horror as the skeletal horde assembled before their orc master. The chilling clatter of their bones reverberated through the night, a haunting cacophony that sent shivers down the spines of all who bore witness. The sight was both mesmerizing and horrifying, a macabre dance of death and undeath.

As Elder Gravesinger surveyed his skeletal minions, a sinister smile played upon his lips, his eyes glowing with unholy delight. In that moment, Michael realized that the connection between Dular, the Book of Death, and Elder Gravesinger ran deeper than he had ever imagined. The orc elder was a master of necromancy, wielding forces that defied the natural order and threatened to unleash a reign of terror upon the world.

Elder Gravesinger's piercing gaze fell upon the black-armored soldier and Michael, his eyes burning with an intense malevolence. With a commanding tone, he spoke, his voice laced with dark authority.

"You," he pointed his finger at the soldier, "gather the skeleton soldiers. They shall retrieve the coffins from Hall Twelve A and transport them to my pocket dimension. Ensure that they reach their destination intact."

The black-armored soldier, his voice laced with a mix of obedience and fear, responded, "Yes, Elder Gravesinger. The skeleton soldiers will carry out your command."

Elder Gravesinger turned his attention to Michael, his eyes narrowing as he studied the disguised figure. "And you, ensure that no one interferes with the skeleton soldiers' task. Protect their path and eliminate any who dare to stand in their way."

Michael, hidden beneath the black armor, nodded in acknowledgment. "Consider it done, Elder Gravesinger. No one will impede the progress of your soldiers."

With a final, chilling smile, Elder Gravesinger's gaze shifted back to the skeletal horde assembled before him. "Go now, my minions. Retrieve the coffins and deliver them to the teleportation hall. Let nothing deter you. The power within those coffins is vital to our cause."

The skeleton soldiers, animated by force beyond mortal comprehension, heeded their master's command. They moved with a surreal unity, their bony limbs propelling them forward in a macabre march. As they began their relentless journey toward Hall Twelve A, a chilling aura of death clung to their forms.

Michael and the black-armored soldier, their mission clear, positioned themselves at the forefront of the procession. They became the guardians of the skeletal entourage, their senses heightened and ready to unleash whatever force necessary to maintain the unhindered progress of the undead legion.

The corridors of the Skyhall echoed with the hollow footsteps of the skeleton soldiers, their presence evoking a sense of dread and foreboding. They passed through crumbling chambers and devastated halls, their goal unwavering. As the skeleton soldiers marched through the debris-strewn corridor, their hollow eye sockets ignored the wary glances of the Skyhall soldiers who had gathered there. Though the onlookers were not surprised by the presence of the skeletal army, an unease flickered across their faces, betraying their underlying fears.

Leading the way, Michael and the black-armored soldiers guided the relentless procession toward Hall Twelve-A. It dawned on Michael that this very hall housed the coffins containing the demon skeletons. These coffins were once exhumed from the depths of demon graves and brought to the Skyhall for inspection before being sent to the Rising Hall.

Drawing connections, Michael's mind raced as he pieced together the intentions of Elder Gravesinger. It became evident that the orc elder spearheaded the endeavor to unearth these demon coffins, presumably with the aim of raising an undead army to oppose him, the Dark Lord. The fortunate turn of events, with the fire ignited by Michael and Noah's escape, had compelled Elder Gravesinger to relocate the coffins to his pocket dimension outside the confines of the Skyhall.

A daring idea began to form in Michael's mind, fraught with risk yet pregnant with possibilities. The shifting tides of fate had granted him an opportunity to exploit this situation to his advantage. 

As they reached Hall Twelve-A, Michael was greeted by the familiar sight of a vast warehouse, where ancient coffins stood in neat rows, their weathered surfaces whispering of the secrets held within. He observed how the path between Hall Twelve-A and the teleportation hall had been swiftly repaired by the diligent Skyhall soldiers, allowing for easy access and swift transportation.

With the skeleton soldiers now in position, Michael and the black-armored soldier watched in awe as the skeletal beings moved with surprising coordination and speed, effortlessly carrying the coffins upon their bony shoulders.

"I'll go ahead and wait in the teleportation hall," the black-armored soldier announced, stepping aside to make way for the procession of skeletons.

"Very well," Michael nodded, his gaze fixed upon the skeletal soldiers as they lifted and bore the coffins away.

The black-armored soldier let out a weary sigh, remarking, "Say what you want, but these damn things can certainly get the job done," before making his way towards the teleportation hall.

Once the black-armored soldier disappeared from sight, Michael remained at the doorway, patiently biding his time. He knew that his plan hinged upon the precise moment, the perfect opportunity to execute his daring move. As he observed the movements of the skeleton soldiers, he discerned a pattern—a brief window of twelve seconds every three minutes when the hall would be devoid of their presence.

"One... two... three..." Michael counted silently, closing in on the crucial moment when the skeletons would momentarily vacate the hall in unison.

When the awaited moment arrived, Michael sprung into action. He darted into the hall with swift agility, sliding open the lid of a nearby coffin, and leapt inside, closing the lid behind him in a hushed rush. He had managed to take advantage of those precious twelve seconds, slipping into the coffin undetected before the skeletal soldiers returned to the hall.

Now concealed within the confines of the coffin, Michael's heart raced with anticipation. He knew that this risky maneuver would propel him deeper into the heart of the enemy's operations, bringing him one step closer to the truth and the ultimate confrontation with Elder Gravesinger. As darkness enveloped him, he braced himself for what lay ahead, ready to face whatever challenges awaited him on this perilous journey.

Within the confines of the coffin, Michael experienced a mixture of sensations. The skeletal soldier's cold, bony hands securely grasped the edges of the coffin, lifting him effortlessly into the air. He felt a slight tremor coursing through the skeleton's form as it moved with an eerie grace, stepping forward and making its way through the corridor toward the teleportation hall.

Every jostle and movement of the skeleton resonated within the coffin, causing Michael to feel a sense of confinement and anticipation. The rhythmic footsteps of the skeleton soldiers echoed in his ears as they carried him along, their hollow bones clicking and clacking with each step.

As the procession neared the teleportation hall, Michael sensed a subtle shift in the air, as if it were charged with otherworldly energy. The low, resonant hum grew louder, seeping through the confines of the coffin, and he knew that the teleportation process was imminent.

Finally, the skeleton soldier gently lowered the coffin to the ground, its movements calculated and precise. Michael could hear the muffled sounds of other coffins being set down beside him, forming a macabre symphony of eerie thuds.

Then, a surge of power rippled through the air. The atmosphere distorted and shimmered, like a mirage bending reality. The room seemed to pulsate with energy, and Michael felt a surge of anticipation and trepidation.

Amidst the eerie glow, ancient runes etched onto the ground began to radiate with vibrant light. The glyphs shimmered and danced with an otherworldly power harnessing the power of celestial energy in the air. They pulsed and throbbed, their luminescent glow growing in intensity until finally, they erupted in a blinding burst of light.

In an instant, the coffin, along with the others, vanished from the teleportation hall, leaving no trace behind. The runes' power had worked its mysterious magic, transporting the coffins to Elder Gravesinger's pocket dimension, where they would await his command.

As the teleportation process concluded, the sensations that had enveloped Michael within the coffin dissipated into a still darkness. He felt a momentary disorientation, suspended in a void of uncertainty. His heightened senses strained to perceive any clues about the enigmatic pocket dimension he now found himself in.

With anticipation pulsating through his veins, Michael awaited the moment when he would emerge from the coffin, revealing himself as the Dark Lord. The element of surprise hung in the air, an invisible cloak he would soon shed to confront Elder Gravesinger face to face. Little did the Elder know that fate had conspired to bring the one he sought to destroy directly to his doorstep.