Hitman with a Badass System

"What are you gonna do?" Dogu, the dwarf leader, questioned Michael, his tone a mix of defiance and curiosity.

Michael offered no response to Dogu's inquiry. Instead, he unceremoniously tossed the dwarf outside, treating the others with similar disdain, kicking them out of the temple as if they were inanimate objects.

They landed in the sand outside the temple with a dull thud, their immobilized bodies barely able to react. As Michael emerged from the temple, he stretched his neck audibly, preparing for what came next.

"You bastard! Give us the antidote!" Dogu's shout resonated, but Michael continued his course of action, tying the paralyzed dwarves together with swift and precise movements.

"Do you like flying?" Michael inquired of Dogu, his words dripping with irony as the other dwarves struggled helplessly. All they could do was move their eyes, a stark contrast to the fluidity of Michael's movements.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" the dwarf leader snapped, but before he could process it, he found himself lifted into the sky, tethered to the others.

"SHIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" The scream escaped Dogu's lips in a high-pitched frenzy. The moment Michael nearly brushed the clouds, he released the rope that held the dwarves, leaving them to plummet.

As they fell, the wind rushed against their faces. Dogu's cries filled the air, while the others could only experience the impending dread. Their lack of the protective chain became evident, and the inevitable outcome was clear. Michael, having distanced himself, witnessed the sand emperor emerge from the desert, its massive jaws devouring the diminutive figures.

"Let's move," Michael declared calmly after the sand emperor had burrowed back into the dunes.

"Is Bermian city marked on the map?" Ayag inquired.

"No, but it's on our route to the divine portals," Michael replied, his gaze fixed on the map as he spoke.

Eventually, Bermian city came into view on the horizon. The city was an extraordinary sight, nestled amidst the desert landscape. Its buildings were constructed from sand itself, an awe-inspiring example of melding architecture with the environment. Sand walls encircled the city, blending with the natural terrain, offering protection against the harsh desert winds. Torches flickered, casting a warm glow that danced across the sandy streets, illuminating the night as Michael approached.

"We should touch down and proceed on foot," Vedora advised before curling into Michael's coat pocket.

"We really need to find a solution for your appearance. I'll have to remember to brew a transformation potion for you," Michael remarked as he gently landed on the sandy ground.

"I'm curious about what those dwarves said. Creating our species artificially? How is that even possible?" Ayag inquired, seeking Michael's thoughts.

"Given the right resources, knowledge, and time, almost anything can be achieved. We'll look into it later. For now, let's spend the night in the city, gather information about this realm, and then head towards the divine portals," Michael decided as he set off towards the city.

Walking the path to the city, Michael was taken aback by the absence of guards—a surprise in itself. As he stepped inside, he noticed the bustling activity that unfolded before him, yet oddly, not a single guard crossed his path.

The city of Bermian sprawled before Michael, an intricate tapestry woven with sand and stone. Its buildings rose from the desert, constructed not from conventional materials but from the very sand beneath his feet. The structures blended with the environment, a testament to the resilience of the city's inhabitants. As Michael walked through the bustling streets, conversations reached his ears, snippets of discussions that painted a clearer picture of this realm.

"Did you hear the latest news about the war between Rainar and Kranar?" one person in the crowd asked another, their voices filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Yeah, it's been escalating. Some say Rainar's forces managed to secure another territory," the second person replied, shaking their head.

"And what about the worshippers of Agra?" a third voice chimed in, worry etched in their tone. "I heard they're preying on those fleeing the war. People trying to escape are being killed or robbed."

"True. It's becoming a nightmare. Those Agra worshippers believe that the chaos from the war feeds their god's power," the first person said, their voice tinged with fear.

In the bustling streets, Michael's ears caught fragments of conversations drifting through the air. Seeking guidance, he approached a local resident and inquired, "Excuse me, could you point me to a place where I could stay for the night, perhaps a tavern?"

"Sure thing," the man replied, gesturing ahead. "Just head straight and take the first left. You can't miss the 'Sand Castle' tavern."

Following the given directions, Michael found himself walking alongside a small group of people who were headed in the same direction. As he turned at the indicated corner, a distinctive cone-shaped structure loomed into view, crafted from sand and crowned with a wooden sign that read 'Sand Castle.'

Entering the tavern, Michael was enveloped by its warm atmosphere. The interior was adorned with an array of candle holders and torches that cast a gentle glow across the room. The air was thick with the scent of ale and the sound of animated chatter filled the space. Amidst the lively crowd, Michael was drawn to an empty seat next to a hooded man.

Michael settled into the vacant seat and promptly caught the attention of a red-haired young waiter despite the bustling surroundings.

"What can I get you? Our special tonight is roasted lamb chops with freshly brewed ale," the waiter offered.

"I'll take the special," Michael replied, prompting a nod from the young man before he disappeared into the crowd.

Amidst the hubbub of conversation, Michael overheard snippets discussing the ongoing war and its toll on the realm. A particularly vocal drunkard complained about the escalation, while another cautioned against speaking ill of the pantheon. Others joined in, expressing their collective desire for the conflict to end, blaming the agra worshippers for profiting from the chaos.

As the topic turned to agra worshippers, Michael mentally noted their apparent role in the realm's strife. While listening, he received his mug of ale from the young man, who informed him that his food would follow shortly.

"Thank you," Michael acknowledged, his gaze remaining on the scene. Suddenly, his expression shifted to a frown as he sensed a formidable presence coalescing around the tavern through his environmental awareness. These powerful entities were closing in from all directions with astonishing speed.

Suddenly, before anyone could react, the wooden door exploded into splinters as a group of men clad in gleaming white armor burst into the tavern. Their entrance was accompanied by the cacophony of gunshots, as they ordered everyone to freeze.

"Nobody move! Stay where you are!" one of the armored men shouted, his voice sharp and commanding.

The patrons inside the tavern were shocked by the abrupt intrusion, their initial chatter giving way to startled shouts. "Angels!" someone yelled in disbelief.

The group of intruders, unmistakably angels by their appearance, acted with swift authority. They pointed their weapons at the bewildered crowd, forcing them to drop to their knees in submission. Fear and panic were palpable in the air as people complied, their faces etched with terror.

Michael's gaze locked onto the angels, taking in the feathery wings on their backs and the gleam of silver swords hanging at their waists. Their imposing presence and the gleaming armor marked them as formidable beings, and he remained still in his seat, carefully observing the unfolding scene while keeping his own abilities concealed.

As the tense minutes passed, one of the angels approached Michael's table. With a stern expression, the angel forcefully pushed him and the man seated beside him to the ground, their bodies ending up on their knees. The pressure of the angel's hand on his shoulder was firm, leaving no room for resistance.

Gradually, the scene repeated throughout the tavern, with the patrons being forced to kneel under the watchful eyes of the angels. Michael observed as the once lively atmosphere turned into one of complete submission. Fear was evident in the eyes of the people, who avoided making direct eye contact with the celestial beings that had invaded their space. Whispers of prayers and muted sobs filled the air as the angels established their dominance over the establishment.

Michael remained vigilant, his instincts telling him that this encounter might have something to do with the events in the realm, possibly connected to the war between Rainar and Kranar.

After a tense silence, a figure clad in resplendent white armor entered the tavern, his heavy footfalls resounding like ominous drumbeats. The angel's golden wings marked him as distinct, and upon his arrival, the other angels snapped to attention, standing rigidly in his presence.

"It has come to my attention that an agra worshipper dwells among you," the angel with the glistening wings addressed the terrified patrons. His voice was measured, but an underlying current of deadly intent laced his words.

The tavern's occupants exchanged fearful glances and hushed whispers at the angel's pronouncement.

"Reveal the offender now, or all shall suffer the consequences. A hundred innocent lives may be sacrificed, but not a single agra worshipper shall escape retribution," the angel declared without any compassion.

"If this world seems harsh, brace yourself for the realm of gods. There, things are far worse," echoed Nithroel's warning in Michael's thoughts.

He kept his head lowered, concealing his godly identity. As his eyes flicked upward, he noticed the angel's gaze fixated on him. To Michael's dismay, the angel steadily advanced toward him.

"There's a scent of impending death here," the golden-winged angel remarked, inhaling deeply as if savoring the air around Michael.

A chuckle escaped the angel's lips, and he leaned in closer to Michael.

"Ah, what do we have here? Word has it that you're bound for the divine portal. But do you think you can slip away unnoticed?" The angel's question dripped with taunting amusement as he unsheathed his sword with deliberate slowness.

Internally sighing, Michael was utterly perplexed, unable to fathom how the angel had deduced his intentions. Suspicion even brushed against Marli, but he found it difficult to believe that she could have betrayed him.