Hitman With A Badass System

The Fusion stage cultivators breathed heavily, their faces glistening with sweat and their muscles aching with fatigue. Despite their exhaustion, their eyes still burned with determination and resolve. The air was thick with anticipation as they raised their weapons and arms, ready to unleash a final spell to bring down Michael.

The first cultivator to cast his spell was a master of the fire element. He thrust his hands forward, and a stream of fire emerged from his palms, transforming into a giant, blazing dragon that roared through the air, heading straight toward Michael. However, the dragon was no match for Michael's shield. It simply fizzled out upon contact as if hitting an invisible wall.

The second cultivator to a water spell. He flicked his wrist, and a wave of water materialized, forming into a tsunami that towered above Michael. But even this spell was useless against Michael's shield. The translucent energy barrier repelled the wave, sending it crashing harmlessly to the ground.

The third cultivator cast an earth spell. He raised his arms and slammed his fists together, causing the ground to shake and split open, creating a massive crevice that threatened to swallow Michael whole. But Michael simply leaped out of the way, and the crevice sealed itself up again, leaving the cultivator empty-handed.

The final cultivator was a master of the wind element. He drew his weapon, a longsword, and sliced through the air, creating a powerful gust of wind that threatened to uproot trees and tear down buildings. But once again, Michael's shield proved impervious, and the gust of wind dissipated harmlessly.

Outside the manor, onlookers gazed in awe at the incredible display of power. They knew that Michael was a force to be reckoned with, and the Fusion stage cultivators had given it their all in their attempt to bring him down.

"What do you think will happen?" one onlooker asked another.

"I don't know," the second replied. "But I have a feeling this battle is far from over,

The crowd outside the dome murmured in fear and amazement at the sight before them. Some of them whispered prayers, while others gasped in awe.

"What's happening in there?" asked a woman with wide eyes.

"I don't know, but it doesn't look good," replied a man.

"I hope they can stop whoever is causing all of this," said another person.

Suddenly, a loud explosion shook the manor, causing everyone to jump back in alarm. They watched as debris and rubble flew out of the dome, crashing into the ground below.

"Is everyone okay in there?" someone yelled out.

No one responded, and the crowd fell silent, waiting anxiously for any sign of life from within the dome.

Michael stood tall and unyielding, his eyes fixed on his opponents. The power emanating from his body was overwhelming, leaving the Fusion stage guards and the Half Immortal in a state of shock.

| сom "I have never seen anything like this," whispered one of the Fusion stage guards, his eyes wide with disbelief. "How can he be so strong?"

Another guard spoke up, "We've cast every spell we know and still, he remains unscathed. It's as if he's invincible."

The Half Immortal, who had seen many battles in his long life, could only shake his head in amazement. "I have fought against many opponents in my time, but I have never seen anyone like him. His power is beyond anything I have ever encountered."

As Michael stood there, unmoved and unaffected by their attacks, the guards began to realize the full extent of the danger they were facing. They knew they were outmatched and outclassed by their opponent, and they wondered if they would ever be able to defeat him.

The air in the manor was thick with tension and fear, and the only sound that could be heard was the sound of Michael's breathing. The guards watched him warily, waiting for his next move and wondering what they could do to stop him.

"Is that all? I am disappointed," Michael shook his head, showing his disappointment at them. He slowly turned his gaze back to the Half Immortal.

Michael's eyes glinted with disappointment and disdain as he watched the Fusion stage cultivators attempt to cast their spells. He had expected much more from cultivators of their level. As they launched their spells towards him, the responsive shield around him easily neutralized them. Michael knew they couldn't harm him, and he was not impressed.

"You disappoint me. I had hoped for more from cultivators of your level," he stated coldly.

The cultivators could only stare in disbelief at the display of power before them. They were powerless against Michael, and they knew it. The darkness in the room seemed to come alive, as though it had a mind of its own, and it made them feel even more vulnerable.

The Half Immortal stepped forward and summoned his most powerful spell, a fiery blaze that shot towards Michael with fierce determination. But to everyone's surprise, as soon as the spell hit Michael, a strange and dark black flame erupted from his body, engulfing the Half Immortal's spell. The black flames seemed to have a life of their own, swirling and flickering around Michael's body before finally dissipating into the air.

The Half Immortal stood there, stunned and speechless. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. The other guards and soldiers in the room were equally shocked. They had underestimated Michael's power and now realized that they could never defeat him.

Michael stepped forward, his cold eyes fixed on the Half Immortal. "You have failed," he stated. "Now it's time for you to pay the price."

The Half Immortal tried to cast another spell, but Michael was too quick. With a swift motion, he swung the Doom Bringer, unleashing a shock wave of cold energy that froze the Half Immortal in place. The other guards and soldiers could only watch in horror as Michael approached the frozen Half Immortal with a cold, menacing grin on his face.

The darkness in the room seemed to thicken as though it was drawn to Michael's power. The cultivators could feel its presence, and it made them feel even more powerless. They were shocked and intimidated, unable to beg for mercy as they knew there was none to be found. They were at the mercy of Michael's power, and there was nothing they could do about it.

One of the cultivators spoke up, his voice shaking with fear. "I have never seen anything like this before. He is too powerful," he said, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Another cultivator added, "We have underestimated him. We had no idea he was this strong."

The rest of the cultivators stood there in stunned silence, their mouths hanging open as they watched Michael approach the frozen Half Immortal. They knew that they were no match for him, and they felt helpless and vulnerable in his presence.

"He's not an Inferior," whispered one of the cultivators, his voice barely above a whisper. "He's something else entirely."

The darkness in the room seemed to press in on them, and they felt as though they were suffocating under its weight. They knew that they were at the mercy of Michael's power, and they could only hope that he would spare their lives.

"Now it's my turn," said Michael with a cold voice.

He could sense their fear and desperation but didn't let it affect him. With a quick motion, he cracked his neck and knuckles, preparing himself for what was to come.

Then, a powerful gust of wind, mixed with intense cold, shot out from Michael, sending debris flying and shattering against the walls into a million pieces. With bone-crushing force, the guards were thrown back and hit the ground hard, bouncing and rolling before finally coming to a rest in twisted and unnatural positions. The room filled with the sound of breaking bones and groans of pain as the guards lay motionless and defeated. Michael stood amidst the chaos, his cold and unfeeling eyes surveying the scene. The air was thick with the smell of blood and dust, while the darkness in the room seemed to grow thicker as if drawn to Michael's power.

The once majestic manor now lay in ruins, a mere shell of its former glory. The walls were cracked and crumbling, and the roof had caved in, leaving debris and rubble scattered everywhere. Broken furniture, shattered glass, and charred wood lay strewn about, giving the scene an eerie, apocalyptic feel.

The gardens that once surrounded the manor were no more. Trees were uprooted, and the flowers were trampled, leaving only mud and dirt in their wake. The pond that had once been a serene oasis was now murky and stagnant, with dead fish floating on the surface.

Smoke still rose from the smoldering ruins, casting an acrid odor in the air, and the only sounds were the faint creaking of loose timber and the occasional screech of a bird. The manor was now a haunted, lifeless place, a testament to the power of the battle that had taken place within its walls.

Michael, however, was not yet finished. With a flick of his wrist, the darkness in the air surged forward, enveloping the unconscious Fusion stage cultivators and lifting them off the ground, drawing them towards Michael. He stood before them, an imposing figure with his black cloak billowing around him.

As he raised his hand, a dark sword materialized in his grip. The blade was black as night, and tiny crimson-red lightning bolts crackled around it, imbuing it with an eerie and ominous aura.

The cultivators hovered in the air before him, helpless and at Michael's mercy. He surveyed them with a cold, unfeeling gaze, and then with a swift and precise motion, he cut open one of their arms with the dark sword, drawing blood. The blood dripped from the wound, staining the ground below with its dark and viscous fluid. Michael seemed to take no pleasure in this act as if it were merely a necessary step in his grand plan. As though it was alive, the darkness in the air seemed to pulse with energy and responded to Michael's will. The air itself seemed to thicken as if it were trying to suffocate the cultivators.

Then Michael began to write a message on the wall in blood. Michael's message was a chilling sight, written in bold, jagged letters with their blood. The deep red color of the blood contrasted starkly with the ashen color of the wall, making the message stand out even more. The letters were large, each one nearly a foot in height, and looked as though they had been carved into the wall with a sharp blade.

As Michael finished writing, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. The message was clear and ominous, a warning to anyone who dared to cross Lailah or her son. The blood had already begun to dry, leaving a dark, almost black stain on the wall, making the message even more ominous.

The cultivators who still had some consciousness could only stare at the message in horror, their fear and helplessness growing with each passing second. They knew that Michael meant business and was lucky to be alive. They could feel the darkness in the room, thick and suffocating, as though it was a living entity, surrounding them and reminding them of their vulnerability. As the darkness slowly dissipated, the dim light of dawn began to filter through the shattered windows and broken walls of the ruined manor. The air was thick with the smell of blood and dust, and the groans of injured guards could be heard from all around.

Michael was nowhere to be seen, having vanished into thin air as quickly as he had appeared. The only evidence of his presence was the message he had written on the wall in blood.

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