Hitman With A Badass System

Chapter 1302  Massive Badass Points Payday

As he readied himself for the confrontation, his cape retracted smoothly into his armor, and the sword sheathes clicked audibly as they extended, allowing him to draw his twin dark swords from his back. The blades gleamed menacingly in the dim light, ready to cut through anyone who dared to stand in his way.

Surveying the scene around him, Michael saw the sky filled with warships, demons, and Skyhall angels, a swirling mass of enemies that blotted out the light. Below, the raging ocean was surrounded by naval forces, each wave crashing against the hulls of ships engaged in fierce navel combat.

Meanwhile, the Big Bertha continued its relentless assault, firing mortar shells at the Skyhall naval forces. Each explosion from its cannons sent shockwaves through the enemy lines, sinking ships and causing havoc. However, despite the powerful blows dealt by Big Bertha, the sheer number of Skyhall ships in the water prevented it from gaining the upper hand. The Skyhall forces, undeterred by the losses, fired back with equal ferocity, their own cannons roaring as they targeted Big Bertha in a desperate bid to neutralize its threat.

Observing the battlefield from his ship, Elder Tarsus grew increasingly agitated as he watched the dark lord single-handedly hold his ground.

"Coordinate with all forces, focus every attack on the Dark Lord. Bring him down!" He barked orders to the men around him, "Elder, remember, the Dark Lord is a god. We cannot simply kill a god." The elf, standing nearby, frowned at these orders. "We may not kill him, but we can destroy his physical form. His soul will then be forced to wander, searching for another vessel," Elder Tarsus snickered at the elf's reminder.

 "During this time, we can purge his influence from the mortal realm and find a way to deal with him permanently."

Despite the elder's confident declaration, the elf's reservations lingered. He knew the history well; every time an army had thought to overpower the Dark Lord, they had been decimated. Yet, he couldn't help but watch intently as the Dark Lord prepared for the onslaught, cracking his neck and quietly mumbling a rhyme, a chilling prelude to the impending blood bath.

Suddenly, a halfling came running up to Elder Tarsus, his face marked by urgency. "The Big Bertha is retreating, moving out of our firing range!" he reported breathlessly. n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Elder Tarsus turned his gaze to the horizon, observing Big Bertha as it engaged in defensive maneuvers while steadily sailing away at full speed. Watching the warship make its escape, Tarsus couldn't help but laugh, a sound rich with scorn. "Look at that ship flee!" he exclaimed, reveling in the moment.

"Let the ship go," Elder Tarsus declared, his attention swiftly shifting back to the more pressing matter at hand. "We need to focus all our attacks on the Dark Lord now."

As he observed the battlefield, Tarsus noted how the demons, unlike mindless undead, did not immediately attack Michael. Instead, they seemed to study him, assessing his movements and tactics with a strategic intent that intrigued yet frustrated Tarsus.

Growing impatient with the cautious approach of his forces, Tarsus shouted commands to the Skyhall angels hovering nearby. "Attack him now! What are you waiting for?" His voice boomed across the deck, urgent and commanding.

"Why are we hesitating? He's just one, and we are many!" another voice joined in, echoing Tarsus's impatience.

"Engage him, for the glory of Skyhall!" Tarsus roared, trying to spur his troops into action, eager to capitalize on their numerical advantage and deal with the Dark Lord once and for all.

On the ground, Michael observed as a group of Skyhall angels dashed at him from all directions, while the airships above swiveled their cannons towards him and unleashed a barrage. In response, Michael remained composed. He cast the "Silenes" spell, which created a time bubble around him, dramatically slowing down time within its confines. Simultaneously, he released dark smoke and fear toxin from his armor, enveloping the area in a thick, obscuring cloud.

By the time the Skyhall angels reached the spot where Michael had just stood, he was gone, and only the dense cloud of dark smoke remained. Within the cloud, the angels frantically swung their weapons, disoriented and increasingly panicked as the fear toxin took hold, amplifying their dread and rendering their movements clumsy and desperate.

Suddenly, a plume of flames shot forth from the center of the dark cloud. From Elder Tarsus's ship, the elf watched in horror as a group of Skyhall angels was engulfed in fire, burning and screaming in a slow, painful, agonizing death. The harrowing screams echoed across the battlefield, a chilling testament to the brutality of the encounter.

The elf clenched his fists, cursing under his breath as he realized the strategic cruelty of Michael's tactics. "Damn that Dark Lord!" he spat bitterly, his voice laced with both fear and respect. "He's turning their own fears against them!"

It was clear to the elf that Michael was using this method not just to defeat his enemies but to terrorize them, breaking the spirits of the other Skyhall angels by forcing them to witness the tormented demise of their comrades. He could have dispatched them quickly, but instead, he chose a method designed to make them scream—a stark reminder to all present of just what the Dark Lord was capable of.

As the flames dissipated and the screams of their burning comrades echoed through the air, the remaining Skyhall angels were left in a state of shock and horror.

"Gods, did you see that? He burned them alive!" one angel shouted, his voice cracking under the strain of fear.

"Those screams... I can't get them out of my head!" another cried out, visibly shaken as he clutched his weapon tighter.

"This is a nightmare! We're fighting a damn nightmare!" a third yelled, anger mixing with terror in his tone.

Amidst the turmoil, Michael activated the voice amplifier in his mask, ensuring his next words would be heard by all. As he slowly walked out from the dark cloud of smoke, he never looked more menacing or powerful.

 "I am just getting started. Anyone who dares approach me will beg for a quick death." His voice echoed through the battlefield like a thunder clap.

From Elder Tarsus's ship, the crew who were not combatants but responsible for operating the ship exchanged fearful glances and muttered among themselves.

"Did you hear that? What are we even fighting against?" a slender, pale-skinned elf whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

"This is beyond anything we signed up for," a burly dwarf grumbled, gripping the railing tightly.

"We're not equipped to fight monsters like him," a human with a nervous tremble in his voice added, looking around as if seeking an escape.

"Shut up, all of you!" Elder Tarsus, overhearing the fearful murmurs, snapped fiercely at his crew. Then, turning his attention back to the battle, he barked an order to the demons hovering nearby. "Attack him now! Immediately!"

As the battle intensified, the system notifications in Michael's head began to blare relentlessly. Despite the lack of experience points from the chaos unfolding, he was racking up a substantial amount of badass points, which he found far more valuable at the moment.

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for successfully being a badass. The reward is 50,000 Badass points]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for successfully being a badass. The reward is 30,000 Badass points]

...

Each notification fed into his resolve, fueling his readiness for the continuing fight. Michael revealed a small grin behind his mask as he watched the demons begin their charge toward him, their forms a blur of movement and malevolent intent.

He braced himself, his grin widening slightly as he gripped his swords tighter. The thrill of the battle, the rush of facing overwhelming odds, and the game of outsmarting and overpowering his enemies played right into his hands. "I'm going to enjoy this," Michael said, As the demons strategized, they cleverly chose not to approach Michael one by one, knowing that such tactics would lead them directly into a slaughter. Instead, they coordinated and gathered around him in a group of ten, launching a simultaneous assault. Three of them took to the air, positioning themselves above Michael to block any potential escape routes.

"Smart," Michael uttered, a snicker escaping him as he acknowledged their tactic. Without hesitation, Michael cast the Ring of Flames spell. Dark flames erupted from him in pulsating circles, radiating outward with intense heat. The demons on the ground were immediately affected; their legs caught in the fiery blast turned into ashes, severing their mobility temporarily. Despite this, the demons growled, a sound filled with pain and anger, as their legs slowly began to regenerate, showcasing their formidable resilience.

Then, in a concerted effort, all the demons lunged at Michael simultaneously, covering him with their massive bodies. They pressed in, their weight and sheer number attempting to overpower him.

From his vantage point, Elder Tarsus watched the scene unfold with growing excitement. Seeing Michael seemingly overwhelmed by the mass of demonic bodies, he couldn't contain his enthusiasm. "Yes, stab and skew him like a pig!" Elder Tarsus roared with vicious satisfaction, convinced that they were finally gaining the upper hand against the Dark Lord.

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