Hitman with a Badass System

Eventually, the frenzied combat slowed as the number of creatures dwindled, leaving Michael standing, breathing heavily amidst the carnage. He climbed atop the pile of bodies, a makeshift throne of the fallen, and paused to catch his breath. As he sat, the system notifications rang relentlessly in his head, tallying the minuscule badass points and experience points he had earned from the skirmish.

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for killing the weak bat. The reward is 400 Experience points and 40 Badass points]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for successfully being a badass. The reward is 50 Badass points] "Seriously? That's all the points these fuckers are worth?" Michael scoffed, glaring at the blinking numbers that seemed almost to mock him. "Feels like the damn system is messing with me."

He swiped the notifications away with his mind. The points were a pittance, hardly worth the effort, considering he was capable of taking on much more significant threats in the realm of gods.

"Stupid fucking system, think you're funny, huh?" he grumbled under his breath, his annoyance palpable. Michael cracked his neck, shifting his weight as he prepared to leave the mountain of bodies behind.

"Time to stop screwing around with these small fries. Got bigger fish to fry," he muttered as he stood, dusting off bits of debris and blood from his armor. The next step required a different kind of preparation, one that involved more brains than brawn.

Michael's mind was set determinedly on Stormville Mountain, where he was to meet Nithroel. They needed to finalize their plans for the assault on Skyhall—a mission that would truly test the limits of his new armor and his capabilities as a leader in war.

"Alright, Nithroel, let's see what kind of trouble we can stir up together," he said to himself, a sly grin creeping across his face as he envisioned their upcoming confrontation with Skyhall. With one last look at the battlefield, Michael turned and began his journey toward Stormville Mountain.

As Michael set his sights on Stormville Mountain, he activated the arch energy crystal absorption system built into his armor. Focusing his thoughts, he connected with the armor's runes, which seamlessly interfaced with his brain. It was a direct link, one that transformed thought into action without the need for physical triggers.

With a soft, mechanical click, the arch energy crystal nestled within the armor's hidden compartment began to drain. The red linings of his suit pulsed to life, glowing more intensely as the energy surged through the conduits, invigorating Michael with a palpable rush of power.

"Ah, that's the good shit," Michael grinned, feeling the familiar thrill of arch energy flooding his system, supercharging every nerve and fiber of his being. The world seemed to slow around him, details sharpening as his senses heightened.

With no hesitation, Michael shot up into the sky, his armor propelling him upwards with astonishing speed. The ground fell away rapidly, becoming a blur of colors as he ascended through the clouds.

The flight was exhilarating, a stark contrast to the blood and grit of ground combat. As he soared higher, he glanced down at the chaotic landscape of the Demon's Grave, now serene from his elevated perspective.

Realizing he needed to prepare further before the meeting, Michael curved back towards the volcanic mountain that housed his forge. The descent was swift, a controlled plummet that saw him slicing through the air with aerodynamic precision. He landed smoothly at the entrance of his forge, the impact sending a cloud of ash swirling around him.

"Back to the grind," he muttered as he stepped inside the dimly lit forge. The familiar smell of metal and fire welcomed him as he made a quick check of his systems, ensuring everything was in order, then set about gathering the items he needed for his return to the Dark Castle.

"Time to plan, not just to punch," he reminded himself.

Michael tilted his head slightly, focusing on the internal command system of his armor. With a mere thought, he willed the helmet and hood to retract, the components seamlessly folding back into the structure of the suit until his face was fully exposed to the cool air of the forge. He took a deep breath, feeling the raw, unfiltered atmosphere replace the filtered air of his helmet.

Next, he tapped the small skull emblem centered on his chest plate. The sophisticated mechanics of the armor responded instantly, initiating the retraction sequence. The plates, joints, and every piece of the formidable armor began to fold and collapse inward with precision, shrinking down into the compact form of a medallion that clinked gently as it settled around his neck, now just a small skull pendant hanging from a chain.

Satisfied with the swift transformation, Michael turned his attention to the portal device that Elidyr had constructed within the forge. The portal, a swirling vortex of energy, was stabilized and ready for use, humming with a low, pulsing energy that beckoned him forward.

Without hesitation, Michael stepped briskly towards the vortex. The air around the portal crackled with arcane energy, tiny sparks of electricity dancing across the surface of his skin as he neared. He gave a quick nod, acknowledging the ingenuity of the device, and with a final glance around the familiar confines of his forge, he stepped into the swirling energy.

The transition through the vortex was smooth, a testament to Elidyr's expertise. In mere moments, the forge and its fiery ambiance were replaced by the darker, more somber tones of the Dark Castle. The familiar scent of stone and shadow greeted him, a stark contrast to the sulfurous tang of the forge.

As he emerged from the portal, Elidyr was there waiting, his expression one of calm efficiency. "You're back earlier than expected," Elidyr commented, his voice holding a note of curiosity mingled with concern.

Michael adjusted the skull pendant around his neck, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Had to cut the joyride short. There's work to do, and we've got a fortress to storm," he responded, his tone light but underscored with the weight of the tasks ahead.

As Michael entered the meeting hall, the atmosphere shifted noticeably, the gathered members of his council pausing to acknowledge his presence. Lenora, Trista, and Azazel were already seated on their respective thrones, arranged in a semi-circle around a large round table that dominated the room.

"Evening, folks," Michael greeted with a nod as he made his way to his seat, the weight of the upcoming discussion evident in his stride. The others returned his greeting with various nods and murmurs, a mix of tension and anticipation hanging in the air.

Taking his seat, Michael was followed closely by Elidyr, who quietly took his place beside him. Without wasting a moment, Michael leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him on the table, his gaze sweeping across his trusted council. "We're launching the attack as planned," he began, his voice firm and commanding. "Trista, Azazel, you're with me. We'll take a unit of the dark army. It's time to put an end to Skyhall."

"I will accompany you and handle all matters related to the runes. Their defenses won't know what hit them." Elidyr interjected smoothly. His tone was calm but underlined with a sharp confidence that bolstered the resolve of the room.

Michael nodded in approval at Elidyr's readiness, feeling a sense of reassurance in the solid plans they were laying down. His eyes then shifted to Azazel, who met his gaze with a determined look.

"We will be ready to meet Empress Nithroel at Stormville Mountain in two days," Azazel confirmed, his voice echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged hall.

As they were strategizing, the room suddenly shook with an unexpected tremor, the rumble of disturbance echoing through the stone walls of the Dark Castle. Before anyone could react, the doors to the hall burst open, and Ricky rushed in, his face pale and eyes wide with urgency.

"They're attacking us!" he shouted, breathless from his dash to the council room.

"It's the Skyhall, they are attacking us from all directions!"

Trista and Lenora quickly stood up, their chairs scraping loudly against the stone floor. "Who dares to?" Trista began, her voice fierce and demanding, ready to leap into action.

"It's the Skyhall," Ricky finally said, still catching his breath. Michael's frown deepened, but as he processed the information, a slow, knowing chuckle escaped him. He stood up smoothly, his expression turning from surprise to a sardonic amusement. The council members turned their attention toward him, sensing the shift in his demeanor.

"Skyhall wouldn't just sit around and wait for us to strike," Michael said, almost musing aloud. His voice carried a hint of admiration for the enemy's tactics mingled with a steely resolve. "They've decided to bring the fight to our doorstep after what Nithroel and I stirred up. Well, it seems like someone's eager to greet death."

His words hung in the air, laden with confidence and a dark promise. The tremor had stopped, but the air remained charged with tension, every member of the council now fully alert and ready for the confrontation that had found them sooner than expected. Michael's earlier amusement morphed into a fierce grin, his eyes gleaming with the anticipation of battle.

"Let's show them what happens when they dare to attack the Dark Lord," Michael declared before slowly rising from his throne.