Hitman With A Badass System

Chapter 1370  Michael Died Again...

While Michael was heading toward the distillery district to reunite with Gaya, deep beneath the surface of an unknown domain, in a temple dedicated to the worship of Xyloth, a different kind of conversation was taking place.

The temple was built underground and its walls were stained crimson with the blood of countless sacrifices. There were intricate carvings, depicting scenes of violence and torture, adorned the walls, their details rendered in gruesome, lifelike detail. If that wasnt creepy enough, various skeletons both human and beasts were strung together with thick chains and hanging from the ceiling. On the ground, cells, their iron bars rusted and stained with blood, lined the perimeter of the main chamber. Within those cells, the remnants of… unfortunate souls… lay scattered, their bodies mutilated, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles.

Naturally, the air was thick with the stench of blood and incense, a cloying, metallic scent that would make a weakened soul throw up immediately. In the center of the chamber, a group of Xyloth's worshippers, clad in blood-red robes that concealed their faces, chanted in a low, rhythmic drone. Their arms were outstretched, their palms slashed open with ritual daggers, the blood dripping onto the stone floor, a crimson offering to their god.

Their voices, though muffled by their hoods, carried a chilling fervor, a desperate hunger that resonated with the darkness within the temple. Their prayers, their chants, their blood… it all created a steady stream of worship energy that formed into a black miasma and drifted toward the ceiling…toward Xyloth, the God of Murder. His power grew with each sacrifice, each act of violence committed in his name.

Meanwhile, in a darkened corner of the chamber, two figures, their blood-red robes indistinguishable from the others, huddled together, their voices hushed whispers against the backdrop of the chanting.

"Did you hear that?" one of them asked, his voice a low hiss. "The Princess… she's… active."

"Rin?" The other figure chuckled. "Yeah, I heard her too. Sounds like she's having… fun. Who's the poor bastard she's playing with this time?"

"Doesn't matter. Whoever it is… they're screwed." The first figure sighed, his hand flexing as if he were gripping an invisible weapon. "Damn, I wish I had someone to… kill right now. My hand's itching."

They both laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed the violence swirling within the temple walls.

This was Xyloth's domain. A haven for the bloodthirsty, the cruel, the utterly fucked up. And these worshippers…they were just living up to their god's reputation.

As they were talking, Rin was within a spacious chamber deep within the temple. It was a grotesque parody of a laboratory, a macabre display of her twisted artistry. Glass tubes, filled with a murky, greenish liquid, lined the walls. Within those tubes, the bodies of humans, elves, dwarves, and various other unfortunate souls, all meticulously skinned and preserved, floated, their lifeless eyes staring out into the chamber, their expressions frozen in eternal screams.

The spacious hall was lit by blood-red orbs that hung from the ceiling, casting an eerie, crimson glow over the scene. Skeletons, their bones polished to a macabre sheen, were strung together, forming grotesque chandeliers that swayed gently in the still air. In the center of the room, Rin stood before a large, square tank filled with what could only be… blood. And standing before that tank, clad in her blood-red armor, her twin daggers glinting in the eerie light, was Rin.

Suddenly, the reflection rippled.

A figure, clad in black armor from head to toe, materialized behind her, dropping from the ceiling with a predatory grace. He wielded two swords, their blades as black as obsidian, and attacked without hesitation.

Rin, without even turning, simply laughed, a cold, chilling sound that echoed through the chamber.

"You're early," she purred, spinning on her heel, her daggers flashing as she parried the swordsman's attack. "I was expecting… a grand entrance. Fireworks, maybe. A chorus of screaming souls,"

She ducked under a sweeping blow, her body a blur of motion as she countered with a thrust aimed at the swordsman's chest. He deflected the blow with a twist of his wrist, his own sword spinning, the blades clashing in a shower of sparks.

"You've gotten… predictable," Rin taunted, her laughter echoing through the chamber. "Where's the fun in that?"

She danced back, her movements graceful, almost… playful, as she evaded the swordsman's attacks. He was fast, strong, skilled… but she was faster.

"Show me what you've learned. Entertain me." she purred.

While Rin danced with the black-armored figure, another figure watched from an elevated platform overlooking the chamber. He lounged on a throne of carved bone, a goblet of crimson wine swirling in his hand, a look of lazy amusement on his face.

It was Andohr, the God of Time and Space.

He observed the fight with a detached interest, taking a sip of wine as Rin parried a blow, chuckling softly when the swordsman's attack missed its mark.

"Come now, Rin," he purred, his voice laced with a mocking impatience. "Surely you can do better than that. This… is taking far too long."

Andohr was here to oversee one of his many intricate schemes, a web of manipulation and betrayal spun specifically to ensnare his nemesis, Michael. He was playing a dangerous game, a multi-dimensional chess match with the fate of the mortal realm hanging in the balance. He'd forged alliances with unlikely partners, stooped to levels he once considered beneath him, all to exact his revenge.

Once upon a time, before his encounter with the previous Dark Lord, before the humiliation of his five-thousand-year imprisonment, Andohr wouldn't have given someone like Xyloth, or his bloodthirsty daughter, a second glance. He'd considered them beneath him, crude, unworthy of his attention. But his thirst for vengeance, his obsession with bringing down the God of Darkness, had changed him.

He was willing to do anything, use anyone, to achieve his goals.

And this plan… this plan was his masterpiece. If it worked, he'd finally have Michael right where he wanted him. Trapped. Vulnerable. Ready to be broken.

Andohr would finally have his revenge.

Hearing Andohr, Rin snarled and ignored his taunts. She'd love nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his face, to carve him up and display his skin as a trophy in her chamber of horrors. But even she, in her bloodthirsty arrogance, wasn't stupid enough to cross the God of Time and Space.

Weakened as he might be, Andohr was still a force to be reckoned with. A being who could, with a flick of his wrist, unravel her very existence, scatter her across the timelines, or trap her in an endless loop of agonizing torment.

No, she had to play nice… for now.

Besides, the task Andohr had given her… it was proving to be far more entertaining than she'd anticipated. She'd lost count of how many lives she'd taken in her pursuit of the… ingredients for his ritual. Those who were too slow, too careless, too stupid to gather the necessary artifacts – the blood, the armor fragments, the strands of hair, everything the previous Dark Lord had touched – had paid the price. A swift, merciful death was a rare gift in Rin's world. She preferred to savor the pain, the terror, the despair in her victims' eyes.

It was only last week that she'd finally managed to gather everything Andohr had requested. And the ritual… the ritual was… exquisite. A symphony of blood and darkness, a masterpiece of suffering.

She returned her focus to her sparring partner, her crimson eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. The dark-armored figure, relentless and skilled, was proving to be a worthy opponent. He lunged, his sword aimed at her heart, but she twisted away, the blade grazing her armor, leaving a shallow scratch that healed instantly, the flesh knitting back together as if the wound had never been there.

She countered with a vicious slash, aiming for his throat, but he parried the blow, their blades locking, the force of the impact sending a jolt of energy through her arm. She grinned, her fangs glinting in the dim light.

"Is that all you've got?" she taunted with a mocking amusement. Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Then, he grabbed her wrist, his grip like iron, twisting her arm, forcing her to drop one of her daggers. She hissed, a sound of both pain and frustration. He pressed his attack, his sword a blur as he aimed for her heart again. She saw the killing blow coming, felt the cold steel against her armor, and with a desperate, almost insane grin, she cut her own hand using the remaining dagger clean off.

The pain, sharp and agonizing, made her vision blur for a moment, but it also gave her the opening she needed. He faltered, his gaze momentarily drawn to the blood welling up between her fingers. And in that split second of distraction, she ducked under his sword, spun, and drove her dagger upwards, the blade finding its mark, piercing his armor, his flesh, sinking deep into his neck.

He gurgled, a strangled gasp escaping his lips, his eyes widening in surprise. Then, his body went limp, collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.

After the fight, Rin's chest was heaving from the exertion of the fight as she wiped a smear of blood from her cheek.

"Hey!" she called out, her voice sharp, commanding.

Two figures, their faces hidden beneath the hoods of their blood-red robes, hurried into the chamber.

"Get rid of this," she said, gesturing towards the swordsman's body with a dismissive wave of her hand. "He's boring me."

The two minions bowed, their movements swift and silent. One grabbed the corpse by the ankles, the other by the shoulders, and together they dragged it out of the chamber.

They stepped out of the hall, into a corridor that opened onto… nothingness. A raging, tempestuous sea of swirling shadows and crimson light stretched out before them, the air thick with death. Directly in front of the doorway, a gaping crater, its edges jagged and unstable, yawned open. And at the bottom of that crater, a mountain of bodies, all clad in identical black armor, lay piled, a grotesque testament to Rin's… enthusiasm.

The stench of decay, of rotting flesh and stagnant blood, hit them like a physical blow. Flies buzzed lazily around the corpses, their wings a constant, irritating drone.

"Damn it, I hate this part of the job," one of the minions muttered, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Shut up, you idiot," the other hissed, his voice a low warning. "Do you want to get us both killed? She'll hear you."

Then, he heaved the corpse over the edge of the chasm, the body tumbling down to land with a sickening thud on the pile below. The impact dislodged the helmet, sending it rolling away, revealing the face beneath…

A face that belonged to… Michael.