Hitman With A Badass System

1357  Time for an upgrade

"What if I just… off the bitch?" Agra mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully while bouncing on the balls of his feet. "No witnesses. No prayers. Problem solved."

Andohr simply chuckled.

"Oh, he'll figure it out, Agra. Kill her, keep her as a pet… hell, maybe even make her your new concubine, like you did with poor Qin Jiu over there. It doesn't matter. The point is, the Dark Lord is coming. Whether you like it or not."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

"But… if you help me, Agra, I can give you something… you need."

Agra frowned, his brow furrowing. "And what the hell is that supposed to be?"

Andohr didn't answer right away. He studied Agra, his gaze piercing, his mind dissecting the God of Chaos's every thought, every insecurity, every buried desire. Andohr knew how to read people, how to exploit their weaknesses, how to twist their desires to his own advantage.

And Agra… well, Agra was an open book.

"Respect," Andohr said finally, his voice low and resonant.

Agra's eyes narrowed. "Respect?"

"All this… chaos," Andohr continued, gesturing towards Agra's flamboyant attire, his manic energy, the aura of barely contained madness that surrounded him. "This… self-proclaimed title of God of Chaos… all these… theatrics… it's all a desperate attempt to gain respect, isn't it? To make people fear you. Because deep down, Agra, you know they don't respect you. They fear you. And those are two very different things."

Agra's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to deny it, to lash out, to unleash a torrent of chaotic energy on this smug, manipulative bastard. But Andohr's words… they struck a nerve. Because deep down, buried beneath the layers of madness and bravado, Agra knew he was right.

"Help me, Agra," Andohr said, his voice softening, taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Help me bring down the Dark Lord. And I will make sure… the entire realm… respects you. Truly respects you."

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

Meanwhile, after four days of agonizing transformation, Michael stirred. Then, finally, his eyelids fluttered and he opened his eyes slowly.

He'd expected… well, he wasn't sure what he'd expected. Some grand spectacle, maybe? Lightning strikes, dark clouds parting, a chorus of angels singing his praises… the kind of dramatic bullshit that usually accompanied a major power-up in those cheesy fantasy novels he'd occasionally read back on Earth.

But there was nothing like that.

The world looked… the same. The sky was still that impossibly vibrant blue, the sun still warm on his face, the air still sweet with the scent of wildflowers.

He sat up, stretching, and felt a series of satisfying pops and cracks along his spine. He felt… good. Stronger. More… connected.

But the real change, the one that truly mattered, wasn't visible. It was a feeling, a sensation deep within him. Like a thousand, a million, a billion whispers, all converging on a single point.

The prayers of his worshippers.

He remembered the first time he'd entered the realm of the Gods. The cacophony of voices, the overwhelming flood of prayers and pleas from his worshippers… it had nearly driven him mad. He'd had to shut it out, to build a mental wall to block the noise, the sheer volume of it as unbearable as a thousand broken radio signals all trying to broadcast at once.

But this… this was different.

The voices were still there, a chorus of whispers, chants, and desperate pleas, but now… now they were clear. Distinct. He could pick out individual voices, understand their hopes, their fears, their pain. It was like listening to a symphony, each voice a different instrument, blending together in a melody that resonated deep within his soul.

"My Lord, protect us from the shadows."

"Dark One, grant us strength in these uncertain times."

"Oh, God of Darkness, avenge us! Strike down our enemies!"

"Please, my lord… heal my daughter. She's all I have left."

He heard stories of hardship, of loss, of despair. He felt their faith, their desperation, their unwavering belief in his power. And it filled him with a sense of… responsibility.

As he listened to the symphony of voices, a familiar chime echoed in his mind.

[Congratulations, Host! You have achieved the Prime God Level! ]

[Worship Energy Cultivation ability fully unlocked. Passive cultivation initiated. ]

[The Passive cultivation rate is determined by the strength and number of your followers' prayers. Answering prayers, spreading your legend, and performing acts of power that resonate with your divine domain will increase the rate of worship energy accumulation.]

Michael grinned, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his lips.

"Well, well, well," he murmured, his voice laced with a newfound confidence. "Looks like things just got… interesting."

As he was absorbing the whispers, the pleas, the raw energy of their devotion, a notification chimed in his mind.

[Ding! The host has received 40 Worship Energy]

"Forty?" Michael frowned. "That's it?"

[The current influx of Worship Energy is… minimal. Your prolonged absence from the Realm of Gods has resulted in a… decline in your followers' faith. Many have turned to other deities for guidance and protection.]

[The system recommends that the host actively engage with their worshippers. Answer their prayers. Perform acts of power that resonate with your god domain. The more you spread your legend, the more your followers' faith will grow, resulting in a significant increase in Worship Energy accumulation.]

"So I gotta work for it, huh?" Michael mused, a slow grin spreading across his face. "No problem. I've never been afraid of a little hard work."

He remembered the Fayeth rescue mission. How he'd used Worship Energy to bypass Rainar's security measures, to teleport past his guards, to disable the temple's defenses. It had been a rush, a taste of raw power unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

Back then, he had even asked the System what else he could do with Worship Energy, what kind of cool shit it unlocked. The System's answer had been cryptic, but memorable.

[You could eclipse the sun, Host]

Yeah, he understood why the Gods were so damn obsessed with this stuff. Why they'd start wars, manipulate mortals, even betray each other, to get their hands on more worshippers, more power. In other words, Worship Energy was the ultimate currency in the realm of the Gods. "So basically," Michael muttered, "I gotta get out there and do some PR work. Show those bastards I'm still the baddest god in the universe,"

But before he could decide what to do next, a familiar figure materialized beside him. n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Don," Michael greeted, nodding in acknowledgment. "You're back."

"I can sense… a change in you, Ghost," Don said, his gaze intense. "Subtle, but... significant."

Michael grinned. "Yeah, well… let's just say those four days weren't exactly a vacation."

Don nodded, then held out his hand. "It is time, I believe, for an… upgrade."

Michael's brow furrowed. "An upgrade?"

"The shield I gave you, Ghost. It has served you well, but… it's time for something… more."

Michael glanced down at his left wrist, at the retractable shield that had saved his skin more times than he cared to count. It was a simple-looking device, a band of black metal that looked more like a wristwatch than a piece of divine armor. But its unassuming appearance belied its true strength. The shield, when activated, could withstand blows that would have shattered mountains, could deflect attacks that would have vaporized lesser beings.

But lately… lately it had been showing its age. The smooth black surface was marred with scratches and dents, testaments to battles fought and barely won. The enemies he was facing now… they were on a whole other level.

"Yeah," Michael sighed, running a thumb over a particularly nasty gouge in the metal. "It's seen better days. Been meaning to get it looked at."

He looked back at Don. "And who better to give it a tune-up than the guy who built it in the first place, right?"

With a soft click, he detached the shield from his wrist, tossing it to Don. The Ancient God caught it effortlessly, his gaze lingering on the device.

"Good design," Don murmured, turning the shield over in his hand. He pressed a button on the side, and the black, round shield expanded outwards, revealing its full size.

"But… it's time for something… stronger."

And with that, Don vanished.

"Wait, what the—" Michael started, but the Ancient God was already gone, leaving Michael standing on the hilltop, staring at his empty hand.

"Stronger?" he muttered to himself, a mixture of frustration and anticipation swirling in his gut. "What the hell does that even mean?"

He paced back and forth, his curiosity piqued. What kind of upgrades could Don possibly make to his shield? Would it be bigger? More powerful? The possibilities were endless, and Michael, stuck in his immobile state, was itching to see what Don had cooked up.

Time seemed to stretch, each second an eternity as he waited. He watched the people of Everlight going about their daily lives, oblivious to the cosmic shenanigans happening on the hilltop above them. He saw children playing in the streets, merchants hawking their wares, lovers strolling hand-in-hand through the park. It was a peaceful, idyllic scene, a stark contrast to the chaos and violence of his own world.

And then, finally, Don reappeared.

"About time," Michael grumbled, his impatience evident in his voice. "What took you so long?"

Don didn't answer. He simply held out the shield, its black metal surface now gleaming with a faint, ethereal glow.

"Show me," Michael said, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

Don, without a word, pressed a button on the side of the device.