Hitman With A Badass System



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Dagon materialized within the treacherous depths of hell, a place shrouded in perpetual darkness. The hall he found himself in seemed to stretch endlessly, its walls adorned with ominous symbols and macabre motifs. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, broken only by faint whispers that seemed to echo from unseen corners.

Drawing upon his formidable power, Dagon conjured forth a black dagger, its blade gleaming with a malevolent aura. With steady determination, he pressed the blade against his palm, allowing a deep crimson stream of blood to flow freely. The scarlet droplets cascaded onto the waiting skull, etched intricately upon a towering pillar before him.

As the life essence merged with the skull's etchings, an ethereal transformation took place. Gradually, the nebulous smoke took on the form of Michael, but not as Dagon had last seen him. This manifestation of Michael appeared more mature and seasoned, with a mane of long, flowing hair cascading down his broad shoulders. A thick beard adorned his chiseled jawline, adding an air of wisdom and authority to his countenance.

The apparition of Michael hovered above the skull, his form ethereal and untethered. His eyes, filled with an otherworldly light, locked with Dagon's, revealing a profound understanding of the realms and his vast knowledge. It was as if the embodiment of Michael had transcended mortal limitations, becoming a paragon of supernatural prowess.

In this unhallowed place, where shadows danced, and secrets whispered in the darkness, Dagon had successfully summoned the essence of Michael in a form that transcended time and physical constraints.

"I must confess, I never fathomed that the events foretold by you five millennia ago would unfold in such a manner today. I have encountered your younger self, the harbinger of our grand design," Dagon spoke with a mix of awe and reverence, his gaze locked upon the elder manifestation of Michael, the enigmatic Previous Dark Lord who reset the entire universe.

As Dagon uttered these words, the ancient chamber seemed to hold its breath, hanging onto every syllable that resonated in the air. Shadows danced upon the walls, as if mirroring the weighty significance of their conversation. The atmosphere crackled with an undercurrent of destiny, the culmination of a meticulously crafted plan set in motion eons ago.

The older Michael stood before Dagon, his presence commanding attention and respect. His eyes, filled with a timeless wisdom and ancient knowledge, pierced through the fabric of reality itself. The weight of his past and future converged in this moment, as if the essence of the ages coalesced within his being.

A subtle, enigmatic smile curled upon the lips of the elder Michael, his countenance revealing a profound sense of comprehension and confidence.

"Excellent. Knowing my own nature, I will present you with the severed head of the orc. Take it to the very spot where we first clashed with the formidable Andohr," his voice resonated with the echoes of ages past, carrying the weight of countless eons.

The Previous Dark Lord spoke these words, his voice imbued with the authority and wisdom of one who had traversed the corridors of time.

"Michael, there is one thing that has weighed upon my mind for five millennia. With your immense power and my formidable army, we could have eventually conquered the realm of gods. Yet, you made the decision to reset the universe and start anew. Why?" Dagon's voice carried a mix of curiosity, anticipation, and a hint of long-awaited satisfaction. For countless years, he had yearned for this moment to activate the artifact bestowed upon him by the Previous Dark Lord and pose this burning question.

| "You already know the answer Dagon. Without Gaya by my side, there is no purpose in seeking conquest or ruling over the vast expanse of the universe," Michael's voice carried a profound sorrow, reflected in the depths of his weary eyes. The weight of loss and longing permeated his words, a testament to the love he had shared with his wife, Gaya. The curse that had befallen her, slowly consuming her existence until her inevitable demise, had driven him to make the ultimate sacrifice - to reset the very fabric of reality. In his eyes, the pursuit of power and dominion had lost all meaning in the absence of his beloved.

Dagon's laughter echoed through the chamber, a bitter and mocking sound. "So, you reset the entire universe for one girl? All those worlds, all those lives, all for the sake of your love?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, unable to comprehend the depths of Michael's sacrifice. "You truly are a sentimental fool, sacrificing everything for a fleeting romance."

"She was not my girlfriend, Dagon. She was my wife," Michael's voice carried a mix of sorrow and determination. The weight of his words hung in the air, revealing the depth of his connection to Gaya.

"A wife is not just a companion or a partner, Dagon," Michael said, his voice carrying a touch of wisdom. 

"She is the foundation of a man's soul, the light that illuminates his path, and the source of his strength in times of darkness. In her love and presence, a man finds solace, purpose, and the courage to face any challenge. A wife is a reflection of his deepest desires, a confidante in his deepest fears, and the embodiment of unwavering support. With her by his side, a man becomes more than himself, for she completes him in ways no other can. So, do not underestimate the power and significance of a wife, for she is the beating heart of a man's existence."

Despite Michael's earnest words, Dagon remained obstinate in his pursuit of power. To him, power held greater significance than any emotional connection or companionship. The concept of love and the value of a wife were lost on him, for his heart was consumed by ambition and the thirst for supremacy. The Previous Dark Lord recognized this inherent quality in Dagon, his propensity for deception and manipulation, and that was precisely why he struck a clandestine deal with him. While Dagon was often labeled as the devil and deceiver, Michael knew that compared to many gods in the realm of gods, Dagon possessed a certain level of cunning and resourcefulness that made him a formidable ally. It was this mutual understanding of their shared ambitions that forged an unlikely partnership between them, where each sought to exploit the other's strengths for their own gain.

Dagon paced back and forth, his expression filled with concern and skepticism. He couldn't comprehend why the Previous Dark Lord would opt for such a perilous plan, one that carried the weight of potential destruction. With a furrowed brow, he finally voiced his apprehension.

"Michael, this plan of yours is beyond risky. A single mistake could cost your current self's life, and with it, all that we have strived for. Why would you willingly put yourself in such jeopardy?" Dagon questioned, his voice tinged with a mix of caution and confusion.

The Previous Dark Lord's aged eyes met Dagon's gaze, revealing a mixture of determination and resignation. Deep lines etched his weathered face, telling the story of a man burdened by the weight of his choices.

"Dagon, the stakes are high. I won't deny that. But sometimes, great risks must be taken for even greater rewards," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of experience.

"I had witnessed countless futures, Dagon, before I made the decision to reset the universe," Michael revealed, his voice carrying the weight of his experiences. 

"In all those possibilities, this is the only timeline where Gaya survives, and we attain what we have always longed for."

Dagon came to a sudden halt, his gaze fixed upon the previous Dark Lord. The air crackled with a mixture of intrigue and amusement as he locked eyes with his enigmatic companion.

"Very well, Michael. I shall place my trust in your vision. Now, pray tell me the next phase of this intricate plan, O God of Darkness," Dagon inquired, his voice laced with a subtle hint of amusement.

"Once you arrive at the designated battleground, secure the severed head of the Orc upon the pedestal," Michael began, his voice carrying a weight of authority. "By doing so, the runes I meticulously inscribed will be activated. This will temporarily disrupt the barrier that encases the mortal realm, creating a narrow passage for you and a select portion of your forces to infiltrate their sacred domain."

Michael met Dagon's gaze with a steady intensity, his eyes emanating ancient wisdom.

"When you reach the realm of gods, go to my temple, where you find the graces of the fallen gods.  Release the graces," the previous Dark Lord elucidated, revealing the next crucial step of their audacious plan. The revelation struck Dagon with an unexpected force, causing him to stagger under the weight of the revelation momentarily.

The realization that Michael had kept the graces of the fallen gods hidden within his sanctuary sent shockwaves through Dagon's being. His mind raced, struggling to comprehend the implications of such a revelation. How had Michael acquired and preserved such divine remnants? What role did these graces play in the grand tapestry of their undertaking?

Dagon's brows furrowed, his face etched with disbelief as the weight of Michael's admission settled upon him. The magnitude of what he had just learned sent shockwaves through his being, reverberating with a mix of awe and astonishment. The very notion that Michael had succeeded in capturing the graces of the fallen gods defied the bounds of comprehension.

His eyes widened, mirroring the depths of his astonishment, as he struggled to find words to articulate his incredulity. The air hung heavy with the weight of the revelation, a palpable sense of wonder permeating the space between them.

"What the fuck, Michael? You actually managed to capture the graces?" Dagon's voice carried a tinge of disbelief and a touch of anger. "And now you want to release them? Are you out of your goddamn mind? If those graces make it to the fallen gods, they'll regain their fucking powers in the mortal realm! The damn barrier won't stop them from reaching their mortal bodies and turning them into gods!"

Undeterred by Dagon's shock and the animosity that flickered in his eyes at the mention of the graces, Michael pressed on. His voice carried an unwavering conviction.

"Listen to me, Dagon. The awakening of the graces is crucial. It is the catalyst needed to propel my current self out of his goddamn comfort zone and face the Skyhall. He must confront the reality of the gods' threat, eradicate the formidable eight clans, and prepare for the ultimate battle against the divine forces," Michael's tone grew somber, echoing with a sense of urgency.

As he spoke, a darkening aura enveloped their surroundings, the air crackling with ominous energy. Thunder rumbled in the distance, underscoring the gravity of their conversation.

"The gods must be confronted, Dagon," Michael continued his voice steady but laced with an undeniable edge. "They hold immense power, and my current self must understand the magnitude of the challenge he faces. Only then can he rise to the level of godhood we envision. It is a goddamn necessity."

Michael's words hung in the air, the weight of their significance palpable. The darkened hall seemed to vibrate with an intensity that matched the thunderous rumblings outside as if the very fabric of reality acknowledged the magnitude of their discussion.

"But don't you fucking forget, Dagon," Michael's voice turned deadly cold, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent. "I have a score to settle. You must uncover the origin of the goddamn curse they inflicted upon Gaya. If I were in your goddamn shoes, I'd start by interrogating one of Archer Crooke's fucking disciples."

Archer Crooke, one of the founding members of Mazeroth, stood at the forefront of Michael's list of targets. Alongside Ingrid Stenham, Qin Jiu, and Kargon Pavlovich, they were the insufferable quartet who had waged war against the Previous Dark Lord five thousand goddamn years ago.

As Dagon stood before the elder Michael, a flicker of unease crossed his face. Deep within the depths of his being, the raging Hell flames seethed with eternal hatred for the one who wielded the Dark Flames. Yet, to Dagon's surprise, the infernal flames remained eerily calm throughout their conversation.

Despite the overwhelming animosity pulsating within him, the Hell flames, usually wild and untamed, seemed to listen intently to Dagon's every word. They did not lash out in a fury or attempt to consume their host. Instead, they glowed with a dim, subdued intensity, their fiery hues casting an otherworldly glow upon Dagon's features.

It was as if the Hell flames recognized the significance of this encounter, the weight of the ancient being before them. The flames, in their primal wisdom, understood that this was not a moment for recklessness or blind aggression. They bided their time, observing with a silent, smoldering presence. While the flames yearned to incinerate the Dark Flames and eradicate their opposing essence, they recognized the delicate balance that existed in this pivotal moment. They were patient, waiting for the opportune moment to exact their vengeance, knowing that the culmination of their fiery hatred would come in due time.

Dagon's voice dripped with venomous fury as he confronted the elder Michael. His eyes blazed with an intensity that seemed to draw upon the very essence of the Hell flames burning within him.

"And I hope your current self will keep the word you gave me all those years ago, Michael," Dagon spat, his words laced with hatred that resonated through the dark hall. His form seemed to grow taller, a towering presence emanating power and malice. The air crackled with an electric charge, mirroring the intensity of his wrath.

The flames within Dagon surged, their fiery tendrils licking the air around him, casting an eerie glow upon his contorted features. Shadows danced menacingly, amplifying the dramatic atmosphere that enveloped them.

"Wulfric's soul is mine!" Dagon's voice thundered, echoing through the depths of the pit. His rage reverberated, reverberating like a tempestuous storm, shaking the very foundation of the hall. The sheer force of his words seemed to send tremors through the air, a warning of the ferocity that lay within him.

In that moment, Dagon appeared almost otherworldly, a being consumed by his own wrath, driven by a thirst for vengeance that knew no bounds. His power radiated with an undeniable force, his very presence commanding attention and evoking a mix of awe and fear.

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