Hitman With A Badass System

1330  The Clone of Jasmine Voldiguard

Michael scanned the area intently, his keen eyes searching for the source of the voice. Despite his enhanced senses and X-ray vision granted by his status as the God of Darkness, he found himself unable to pinpoint its origin. The voice seemed to emanate from everywhere at once, filling the vast expanse of Skyhall. A slight frown creased his brow as he realized his usually infallible abilities were being thwarted.

Beside him, Lenora spun in a circle, her eyes darting from one floating palace to another. "What the hell?" she muttered, a mix of confusion and frustration in her voice. "Where's that coming from?" n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

As they searched, three figures began to materialize in the distance, shimmering into existence as if stepping out of thin air. Michael's gaze locked onto them immediately.

The first was a tall elf with flowing golden hair and piercing blue eyes. His presence exuded power, marking him clearly as a being of Celestial cultivation. Next to him materialized a short, burly figure with a prominent pot belly. His thick, bushy beard and long hair gave him a wild appearance, but there was no mistaking the power that radiated from him as well.

Finally, a white-haired woman clad in sky-blue armor appeared. She stood tall and stern, her very posture speaking of a seasoned warrior. Like the others, she too was clearly at the Celestial stage of cultivation.

As Michael observed these three figures, something nagged at the back of his mind. A sense of familiarity, of importance, pricked at his consciousness. Yet, try as he might, he couldn't place why these individuals seemed significant.

Unbeknownst to Michael in that moment, these were the three elders who had attacked Harriet Hunt, his mother, and cast him into the void when he was just minutes old. They were responsible for his imprisonment on Earth, a fact that eluded him now but would soon come to light with earth-shattering consequences.

For now, Michael stood alert, his senses on high alert as he prepared to face these powerful beings, unaware of the personal history that bound them together.

As the three figures materialized fully, Elidyr's reaction was immediate and intense. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the veins in his forearms standing out from the strain. His jaw set in a hard line, and his eyes blazed with a mixture of recognition and barely contained rage.

To Elidyr, these weren't just powerful celestial beings - they were the very elders who had burned his parents alive and stolen the Celestial Cannon from him. He knew firsthand their power, cunning, and cruelty. The memories of his past trauma surged forward, threatening to overwhelm him.

Michael, attuned to the emotions and body language of his companions, immediately noticed the change in Elidyr. He could feel the waves of killing intent radiating from his friend, so potent it was almost tangible. The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed as he glanced between Elidyr and the three figures, quickly deducing that there was a significant history between them.

What Michael failed to realize in that moment was that he too shared a dark history with these elders - one that had shaped the entire course of his life. "It's them," Elidyr hissed through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with barely contained emotion.

Michael turned to look at his friend, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Elidyr's visible distress. The half-elf was shaking, his body wracked with a potent mixture of rage and fear. The memories recently unlocked by Wulfric had left Elidyr's psyche raw and vulnerable, and now, faced with the very beings responsible for his deepest traumas, he teetered on the edge of a breakdown.

Elidyr's breathing came in short, rapid gasps, his eyes wide and unfocused. The panic attack gripped him fiercely, intertwining with his anger to create a maelstrom of overwhelming emotion. His hands trembled as they opened and closed, caught between the urge to lash out and the instinct to protect himself.

Recognizing the severity of Elidyr's state, Michael placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "We'll take care of them," he said, his voice low and assured. The calm confidence in his tone seemed to anchor Elidyr slightly, providing a lifeline amidst the emotional tempest.

With a subtle gesture from Michael, he and his men began to rise higher to meet the approaching trio on equal footing.

The two groups finally came to a halt, hovering just meters apart in the vast expanse of Skyhall. The three celestial beings regarded Michael with a complex mix of emotions. Fear flickered in their eyes, quickly masked by anger and disgust. Their expressions betrayed a sense of superiority, as if they viewed themselves as more elevated beings, despite the fact that Michael was a god and they were, in comparison, merely powerful mortals.

Thorfinn Borgersson, the stout dwarf, turned his attention to Elidyr. A cruel smirk played on his lips as he spoke, his voice rough and mocking. "Well, well. If it isn't our old friend. It's been quite a while, hasn't it?"

Before Elidyr could respond, Thorfinn let out a boisterous laugh, his hand coming to rest on his protruding belly. He reached for the large gourd hanging at his waist, taking a long swig of ale before continuing. "I had so much fun breaking you all those years ago. Nothing quite like watching a dark elf shatter."

Michael remained outwardly calm, but his keen eyes didn't miss the sadistic glee dancing in Thorfinn's gaze. The dwarf's words and demeanor spoke volumes about the long-standing enmity between dwarves and elves. This animosity ran deep, rooted in centuries of cultural differences, territorial disputes, and mutual distrust. Dwarves, with their love for the underground and craftsmanship, often clashed with the nature-loving, surface-dwelling elves. Their contrasting lifestyles and values had led to numerous conflicts throughout history.

It was clear that Thorfinn was deriving immense pleasure from Elidyr's distress, his words calculated to inflict maximum emotional damage. The dwarf's enthusiasm seemed to go beyond mere racial antipathy, veering into personal vindictiveness. "You fucking asshole, you're going to pay for this," Lenora growled, her body tensing as if ready to spring into action.

Michael calmly raised a hand, stopping Lenora before she could lunge at the dwarf. "Don't," he said quietly, his tone brooking no argument.

Devdan, the tall elf standing next to Thorfinn, spoke up with an air of forced civility. "Quit your childish banter, Thorfinn," he chided, before turning his gaze back to Michael. "I apologize for my companion's behavior, Dark Lord," he said, though his words rang hollow, barely concealing the anger simmering beneath the surface.

In response, Michael let out a low chuckle. It was a sound that sent chills down the spines of Lenora and the dark army soldiers. They had heard their lord laugh before, but this was different. This chuckle was laced with an undercurrent of deadly intent, a promise of violence barely contained. It oozed killing intent and raw power, making the air around them feel heavy and oppressive.

"It's time you hear a little story, dwarf." Michael's eyes locked onto the dwarf, his voice deceptively calm. The air grew thick with anticipation as Michael began to speak, his words carrying a weight that demanded attention.

"Once, there was a badger who fancied himself quite the terror. He'd spend his days bullying smaller creatures, reveling in their fear. One day, this badger came across a sleeping bear. Feeling bold, he decided to show off, poking and prodding at the massive creature. Michael's eyes never left Thorfinn as he continued. "The badger danced around, hurling insults, thinking himself clever. But what he failed to realize was that the bear wasn't being patient or tolerant. No, the bear was simply savoring the moment, enjoying its prey's final, foolish dance before the inevitable." His voice took on a darker edge as he concluded. "You see, the badger mistook the bear's stillness for weakness, never realizing he was already dead. He just didn't know it yet."

The chilling analogy left no doubt as to who was the badger and who was the bear in this confrontation. As Thorfinn opened his mouth to rebuke, Erael, the white-haired woman in sky-blue armor, raised her hand, silencing him instantly. Unlike her companions, her face remained impassive, betraying no emotion as she regarded Michael with a steady gaze.

"Dark Lord," she said, her voice even and measured.  "Perhaps we should engage in dialogue before actions are taken that cannot be undone. There may be more to discuss than meets the eye."

Michael considered her words carefully. He knew he could easily overpower these three, despite their celestial cultivation. However, something about their presence, particularly the composed demeanor of Erael and the calculating look in Devdan's eyes, suggested there was more at play here.

While the dwarf seemed driven by emotion and old grudges, Michael sensed that the elf and the lady before him were not so easily dismissed as fools. Their very presence here, facing a god without fleeing, spoke of either great courage or a hidden agenda - possibly both.

Intrigued by what they might reveal, and always one to gather information before acting, Michael decided to entertain their request for talks. "Alright. Talk." He nodded slightly, his voice low and controlled as he responded.

Michael's gaze shifted expectantly to Erael, anticipating her to take the lead in this dialogue. However, it was Devdan who stepped forward, his blue eyes fixed intently on Michael.

"Before we proceed, Dark Lord, there's a matter of great importance we must discuss." Devdan paused, as if carefully considering his next words.

Michael waited, his patience masking a growing sense of unease. Something in Devdan's tone suggested that whatever was coming would be far from trivial.

Finally, Devdan broke the tense silence with a question, "What do you know about Jasmine Voldiguard?"

The name hit Michael like a physical blow. His frown was immediate and deep, a mixture of surprise and concern etching itself across his features. Jasmine Voldiguard - the name conjured a flood of memories and associations. She was the younger sister of Eve Voldiguard, Michael's best friend. The mere mention of her name in this context sent a chill down his spine.

As the implications of the question began to sink in, a sense of foreboding washed over Michael. The fact that these celestial beings were inquiring about Jasmine could only mean trouble. "What about her?" Michael coldly asked as his patience began to wear thin.

Revealing a cunning that had been masked by his earlier composure, Devdan's lips curled into a devilish smile.

 "We have several contingencies for this exact situation, Dark Lord," he said, his voice laced with smug satisfaction.

"We've been several steps ahead, forming contingencies against you, the God of Darkness. One of those contingencies involves your best friend's younger sister. If you want to see her alive, you'd do well to listen carefully."

Michael's frown deepened, his mind already formulating a plan. He was about to order Azazel, his demon butler, to locate Jasmine when Devdan interrupted, as if reading his thoughts.

"Don't bother," the elf said, his smile widening. "The one out there in the mortal realm is nothing but a clone we created. The real Jasmine is secured and safe... for now."