Hitman With A Badass System

1358  End of Skyhall War Arc

The shield that sprang forth from the device wasn't the simple, round disc Michael was used to. This… this was something else.

It was still round, still black as midnight, but the edges… the edges were lined with jagged blades, sharp and menacing, like the teeth of a giant saw. The black metal surface was now etched with a network of tiny runes, almost invisible to the naked eye but shimmering with a faint crimson light as they caught the sunlight.

"Holy shit," Michael breathed, his eyes widening in awe. The thing looked like it could cut through steel, let alone flesh and bone.

With a casual flick of his wrist, Don retracted the shield back into the device and held it out towards Michael.

"Try it on, Ghost."

Michael, his excitement mounting, took the device and strapped it onto his wrist. He pressed the button, and the bladed shield snapped outwards, , the whirring sound of those razor-sharp edges spinning almost like a goddamn chainsaw, making his grin widen.

"Damn," he muttered, flexing his hand, testing the weight and feel of the upgraded shield. It felt… powerful. Dangerous.

"It is… enhanced," he said simply.

This was more like it.

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the shield flying. It shot through the air, rotating rapidly, a blur of black metal and crimson light. It slammed into a distant tree, slicing through the thick trunk as if it were made of butter. The tree, severed cleanly in half, toppled to the ground with a heavy thud.

And then, as if guided by an invisible hand, the shield arced back towards Michael, returning to its housing on his wrist with a satisfying click.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Michael chuckled, his grin turning predatory. "Time to test this bad boy out on some real targets."

As he was examining the shield, running his fingers along its jagged edges, Don spoke.

"The shield… it is infused with my blood, Ghost. The runes… they will enhance its power."

"Enhance it how?" Michael asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It will… sever the connection between an Ancient Beast and its power source. If you use it correctly. Strategically. Combined with… other potent attacks."

Michael's brow furrowed. "So, it's like… a specialized weapon? For taking down those oversized lizards?"

Don nodded. "Think of it as… a tool. It will not win the battle for you, Ghost. But it will give you an edge. An advantage."

He paused, his gaze meeting Michael's.

"Weapons… items… they are important, Ghost. But they are not the deciding factor in a battle against overwhelming power. Your mind is your most powerful weapon."

Michael nodded slowly, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. It was something he'd always believed, even back in his assassin days. He'd relied on his wits, his cunning, his ability to plan and adapt, as much as he'd relied on his physical skills or his arsenal of weapons.

And the System… well, the System was just a tool. A powerful tool, sure, but a tool nonetheless.

It was his mind that determined the outcome of any battle.

But as Michael was contemplating Don's advice, nodding along internally like a goddamn sage, the Ancient God caught him off guard.

Don's gaze, usually distant and unreadable, sharpened, focusing on Michael with an intensity that made him shift uncomfortably.

"One more thing, Ghost."

"Yeah?"

Don took a deep breath, his expression… well, it was hard to tell with Don, but Michael could have sworn he saw a flicker of something… sympathy? Understanding? … in those dark eyes.

"I'm… no stranger to… complex family dynamics."

Michael frowned. Where the hell was this going?

"You don't get to choose your family, Ghost. And… you don't get to abandon them. You're lucky to have a mother who would… die for you. Believe me, a mother's love is the most powerful force in any universe."

Michael stared at him, his jaw slack. How… how did Don know? It was like he'd peered into Michael's soul, witnessed firsthand the messy, painful history between him and Diana. He wanted to ask, to demand an explanation but before he could even process the implications of Don's words, the Ancient God acted.

With a casual wave of his hand, a vortex of swirling colors and energy materialized behind Michael.

"Your time here is over, Ghost. Go. Deal with your… family matters. And be ready. The Omegas… they are coming."

And then, without another word, without even a chance for Michael to say goodbye, Don shoved him into the vortex.

There was no warning, no gentle transition, just a sudden, jarring sense of displacement, of being ripped from one reality and thrown headlong into another.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds, Michael was spat out of the vortex, dumped unceremoniously back into his own universe. He landed on his feet, stumbling slightly, his senses reeling from the abrupt transition.

He was back in the Skyhall pocket dimension, the familiar, oppressive atmosphere closing around him like a shroud. And the first thing that hit him was the smell.

Blood. Burnt flesh. Ozone. A goddamn symphony of carnage.

It wasn't that he'd never noticed the smell before. It was just… after spending time in Don's universe, with its fresh air and flowery scents… well, his own reality suddenly seemed a lot more… pungent.

"Damn, this place reeks," he muttered, wrinkling his nose.

He knew, of course, that Don's universe wasn't all sunshine and roses. There were probably plenty of shitty, smelly places there too. But right now, all he could think about was the stench of death that hung heavy in the air.

He glanced around, taking in the scene. The battle was still raging, but the tide had clearly turned. His demon army, a relentless tide of claws and fangs, was tearing through the remnants of Skyhall's forces. Dark army soldiers, their black armor gleaming under the dim light of the artificial sky, were systematically dismantling the captured warships, their movements efficient, their expressions grim.

Lenora, a crimson blur against the backdrop of chaos, was overseeing the operation, her laughter echoing through the carnage as she directed her troops with a mix of playful sadism and ruthless efficiency.

"Well," Michael chuckled, cracking his knuckles. "Looks like I missed all the fun."

***************************

An hour ago, just moments before Michael had vanished into the swirling vortex, Devdan made his move.

He'd watched, hidden beneath his invisibility spell, as the Dark Lord had systematically dismantled the Ancestors, his heart pounding with anticipation. The blood of an Ancient God... it was a prize beyond imagining. Power beyond his wildest dreams.

And now, it was within his grasp.

He'd seen Michael touch the vial, had seen the flash of light, the distortion of reality that had accompanied his disappearance. And as soon as the Dark Lord was gone, Devdan had darted forward, his hand outstretched, his fingers itching to close around the prize.

But the moment he touched the vial, the world dissolved into a blinding kaleidoscope of colors and energy.

He'd triggered Andohr's safeguard. The very one that had killed the arrogant fool, that ancestor who'd tried to claim the blood for himself all those centuries ago.

"Shit!" Devdan cursed, his voice swallowed by the roaring vortex that had engulfed him. He was hurtling through time and space, a helpless passenger on a runaway train.

He saw flashes of scenes, snippets of lives lived and lost, entire civilizations rising and falling in the blink of an eye. He felt the weight of millennia crushing down on him, the sheer vastness of time and space twisting his perception, warping his sanity.

"Stop this!" Devdan screamed, his voice raw with terror. "Let me out! I didn't mean to… I just wanted…"

His words were lost in the chaotic whirlwind, swallowed by the relentless torrent of time and space.

He felt his body begin to… change. His skin stretched and tore, his bones creaked and groaned under the strain of temporal distortion. He was growing younger, smaller, his carefully cultivated beard vanishing, his hard muscles softening, his once-powerful form shrinking until…

He was a baby. A helpless, mewling infant, lost in the blinding chaos of the temporal vortex.

But the journey wasn't over. The vortex continued to churn, time flowing in reverse, then forward again, then sideways, then… well, it was impossible to describe, a chaotic ballet of temporal shifts that defied all logic and reason.

He aged rapidly, his infant form transforming into a toddler, then a child, then a teenager, then a young man, the years flashing by in a dizzying blur. His body ached, his mind screamed, and through it all, that cold, creeping madness continued to spread, twisting his thoughts, devouring his sanity.

"Fuck… make it… stop…"

***************************

At present, back in the wrecked landscape of the pocket dimension, Michael grinned, taking a deep breath of the stale, blood-tinged air.

"Wonder what happened to that Devdan asshole," he mused, glancing around the battlefield. He'd known, from the moment the elf had cast that invisibility spell and created a duplicate, that Devdan was planning to follow him.

Hell, Michael had practically invited him to.

"Gotta have a backup plan, right?" he'd chuckled to himself, as he'd pretended not to notice the sneaky little bastard trailing behind him.

Andohr, that manipulative son of a bitch, was always up to something. Michael had figured if there were any nasty surprises waiting for him in that vault, better to have someone else trigger them first.

He'd felt the ripple of temporal energy, the faint tug of the vortex, as Devdan had reached for the blood. And he'd known, with a grim certainty, that the elf was in for a very bad time.

"Gotta give the guy credit, though," Michael mused, shaking his head. "He almost pulled it off. Clever bastard. Too bad he picked the wrong guy to mess with."

He could only imagine what kind of temporal hell Andohr had unleashed on the poor elf. It probably wasn't pretty.

"Well," Michael said with a shrug, turning his attention back to the carnage unfolding around him, "that's what you get for trying to steal from the God of Darkness."n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om