Hitman With A Badass System

1360  Immense Loot II (Took a week off due to Brother's Wedding)

As the three of them stood there, lost in contemplation, a dark army soldier approached. He was older than most of the others, his hair a distinguished silver gray, neatly combed and pulled back into a tight bun. He carried himself with an air of quiet efficiency, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy that still crackled around the battlefield outside.

He stopped before Michael, snapping a crisp salute.

"My lord," he said, his voice clear and respectful. "We have finished cataloging the loot from this... Azure Citadel, as those Skyhall folks called it." He unrolled a parchment, revealing a meticulously detailed list of items, numbers, and valuations.

"We have recovered… approximately thirty-two million gold coins," he reported, his voice betraying no hint of excitement, as if reciting the daily weather report. "In addition, we have… twelve chests of precious gems, including rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. We've also recovered a significant number of enchanted weapons, armor, and… well, sir, it's quite a lot. The Skyhall folks seemed to have a… fondness for shiny things." He cleared his throat, consulting the parchment again. "We have also uncovered a library containing several thousand scrolls and books, some of which appear to be… quite ancient."

"Thirty-two million, huh?" Michael whistled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Not a bad haul for a day's work."

Lenora, ever the pragmatist, chuckled. "And that's just one palace, boss. Imagine what we'll find in the others." She ran a hand over a jewel-encrusted dagger, her fingers lingering on its sharp edge. "Looks like retirement's looking pretty damn good right about now."

As they were admiring the spoils of war, another dark army soldier hurried into the room. He was younger than the first, his armor still bearing the fresh stains of battle, his face pale beneath his helmet. He carried a thick, leather-bound parchment, its edges frayed, its surface covered in faded ink.

"My lord," he said, his voice a hushed whisper, "you… you need to see this."

He held out the parchment towards Michael, his hand trembling slightly. There was a look of… fear… in his eyes, a raw, primal terror that Michael had rarely seen in his soldiers.

Michael, sensing something was wrong, took the parchment, his gaze skimming over the faded script.

"What is it, boss?" Lenora asked, peering over Michael's shoulder.

"Code Red," Michael muttered, his brow furrowing as he read the ancient text. "Looks like those Skyhall bastards had a… contingency plan. In case of… well, this."

"Shit," he breathed, his voice barely audible.

Lenora, reading over his shoulder, felt a chill run down her spine. The words on the parchment, written in a language that predated even the oldest of the Ancestors, were stark, chilling.

In the event of Skyhall's fall, the Code Red protocol is to be initiated.

"Code Red?" Elidyr frowned, his brow furrowing. "They had a plan for… their own defeat? What kind of plan?"

"Those Skyhall bastards always had a contingency for every damn thing," he muttered, shaking his head. "They were obsessed with control, with planning for every possible outcome."

Michael, however, simply chuckled.

"Let them come," he said, his voice laced with a predatory amusement. "It'll be… entertaining. Besides," he added with a shrug, "the army needs to stay sharp. Been getting a little too comfortable around here lately. A bit of… motivation wouldn't hurt."

He tossed the parchment onto the table, his gaze shifting towards Lenora.

"You mentioned a library?" he asked, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Lead the way."

"Right this way, boss," Lenora said with a smirk, leading the way out of the treasure room and deeper into the Azure Citadel. They navigated a maze of winding corridors, passed grand halls hung with faded tapestries, and climbed a spiraling staircase of polished marble. The air grew colder, the scent of incense replaced by the musty smell of aged parchment and ancient magic.

Finally, they reached a set of imposing double doors, crafted from dark wood and etched with arcane symbols.

"Here we are," Lenora announced, pushing the doors open with a dramatic flourish.

The library was a vast, circular chamber, its high ceiling lost in shadows. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, crammed with thousands of scrolls, books, and tablets, their surfaces covered in faded ink and cryptic symbols. The air was thick with the scent of dust and decay, the silence broken only by the soft rustling of parchment as a few stray drafts stirred the air.

In the center of the room, two golems, their bodies sculpted from obsidian and their eyes burning with an eerie green light, stood guard. They were imposing figures, their limbs thick and powerful, their faces etched with expressions of eternal vigilance.

"Don't worry about those guys," Michael chuckled, cracking his knuckles. "They're just here for show."

He raised a hand, his fingers crackling with icy energy. A wave of Frostbite washed over the golems, encasing them in a layer of frost. They froze mid-step, their obsidian bodies now gleaming with a layer of ice that glittered ominously in the dim light.

Michael approached one of the frozen golems, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

"Time to cool down, buddy."

He drew back his fist, his knuckles crackling with dark energy, and slammed it into the golem's chest. The impact echoed through the silent library, a sharp crack that sent shards of obsidian and ice flying in all directions. The golem, its frozen form shattering under the force of the blow, collapsed into a pile of rubble.

He repeated the process with the other golem, its destruction just as swift, just as brutal.

"Now," Michael said, dusting off his hands, his gaze sweeping across the library, "let's see what secrets these Skyhall bastards were trying to hide."

Michael, Lenora, and Elidyr stepped into the library, their boots echoing on the stone floor. The dark army soldiers, their gazes hungry, lingered near the entrance, their fingers twitching as if yearning to reach out and touch the ancient scrolls.

"My lord," one of the soldiers asked tentatively, "would it… would it be permissible for us to… peruse the contents of this library?"

Michael chuckled, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Go nuts, boys," he said with a wave of his hand. "This is our library now. Learn everything you can."

He wasn't a hoarder like those Skyhall bastards. He didn't see knowledge as something to be locked away, guarded jealously, used only for his own benefit. He'd learned, the hard way, that power was meaningless without the loyalty of those who wielded it. And knowledge… knowledge was power.

He wanted his army to be the best. The strongest. The most knowledgeable. The more they learned, the more they grew, the better equipped they would be to face the challenges that lay ahead.

Because Michael knew, deep down, that the war with Skyhall… it was just a warm-up. A prelude to something far greater, far more dangerous.

The war with the Gods was inevitable.

And he needed his army ready.

"But first," Michael announced, clapping his hands together, "we celebrate! We've earned it, damn it. Skyhall's gone, we're swimming in loot, and it's time to raise a few glasses to the God of Darkness!"

He grinned at Lenora and Elidyr, who were both looking at him with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"A celebration, boss? Now? Don't we have… you know… bigger things to worry about?" Lenora asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"There's always something to worry about," Michael countered. "Andohr, the other Gods, the wars… it's never going to end. We've been through hell, all of us. We deserve a little fun, a little… release. Before we dive headfirst into the next shitstorm."

He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at Elidyr, who was still carrying the weight of his past, the scars of his mistakes, etched onto his face.

"Besides, a little celebration might do us all some good," he added, a hint of understanding in his voice.

"Alright, boss," Lenora chuckled, throwing her hands up in defeat. "You're the God of Darkness. You call the shots."

"Let's loot these palaces, then we party!" Michael grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

But before they could make plans for their victory bash, Elidyr, who had been browsing the shelves, let out a low whistle.

"My lord, check this out," he said, approaching them with a thick, leather-bound tome in his hands. The book's cover was dark, almost black, and etched with strange symbols that seemed to writhe and shift under his fingertips.

"Found this tucked away in one of the back shelves. Looks like… some kind of necromancy manual. Lots of juicy rituals and spells." He grinned, flipping through the pages.

"Some of these… these could be pretty damn useful."

"Nice find, Elidyr," Michael said, taking the book from him. The leather cover felt dry and brittle beneath his fingertips, the pages stiff and yellowed with age. He handled the book with care, instinctively knowing that even a little too much force could cause it to crumble into dust.

But its age, its fragility, was also what intrigued him. This book, hidden away in the depths of Skyhall's library, held secrets, knowledge that had been lost for centuries, perhaps even millennia. He carefully flipped through the pages, his gaze scanning the faded ink, the intricate diagrams, the arcane symbols that seemed to writhe and twist on the parchment.

Some of the spells were… basic. Run-of-the-mill necromancy stuff. Raising skeletons, summoning ghouls, animating corpses… useful, sure, but nothing groundbreaking.

But as he delved deeper, the spells grew more complex, more powerful, more… forbidden. There were rituals for binding souls, for manipulating the fabric of life and death, for tapping into the raw power of the afterlife.

One spell, in particular, caught his eye.

Transference of Consciousness.

It described a ritual that allowed the caster to temporarily transfer their consciousness into multiple bodies, controlling them as if they were their own. It wasn't a permanent transfer, like his Project Phoenix, which was more of a last-resort, soul-shuttling safety net in case his main body was destroyed. This was something else. A way to extend his awareness, to experience the world through multiple sets of eyes, to control multiple bodies simultaneously.

"This…" Michael muttered, tracing the outline of the spell diagram with his finger. "This could be… interesting."

A slow grin spread across his face.

This spell, this little hidden gem of necromantic knowledge, could be a game-changer. An ace up his sleeve. A way to surprise his enemies, to outmaneuver them, to strike from multiple angles at once.

The possibilities were… intriguing.

The more Michael read about the Transference of Consciousness spell, the more excited he got. He could already picture the possibilities.

Imagine infiltrating a heavily guarded fortress, bypassing all those fancy wards and magical defenses… by simply slipping into the minds of the guards themselves. He could walk right through the front gate, gather intel, maybe even sabotage a few key defenses, all without anyone being the wiser.

He had his Spyders, of course. And his drones. Little mechanical eyes and ears he could send out to scout ahead, to gather information. But he knew, with a sinking certainty, that those wouldn't be enough in the realm of the Gods. Those gods were old, powerful, and paranoid as hell. They'd have defenses against that kind of tech, magical countermeasures that would fry his gadgets before they even got close.

But this spell… this was a whole new level of espionage.

No need for fancy gadgets, no risk of detection… just a little bit of necromantic know-how and a willingness to get up close and personal with the enemy's minds.

"Damn," Michael muttered, a slow grin spreading across his face. "This is… fucking awesome." n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om