Hitman with a Badass System-Chapter 1441: A God vs An Angel I

The remaining elves, witnessing the brutal efficiency with which Michael dispatched their comrade, stumbled back. Their faces were pale and their eyes were wide with a dawning horror.

"By the Light…," one of them whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief. "He… he just…"

"Monster!" another hissed, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "He is a fucking monster!"

"Get him!" a third roared, his voice filled with a righteous fury that masked his fear. "For lord Aelrindel!"

However, before they could react, before they could muster their courage and charge, Gaya moved. She tapped the chain around her neck, the metal cold against her skin. And then she was gone. Not gone gone, but invisible. Her armor, a masterpiece of enchantment and craftsmanship, shimmered for a moment, its surface reflecting the dim light of the room, before fading into nothingness.

The elves blinked, their eyes darting around the room, searching for any sign of the woman who had, just moments before, stood before them. "Where did she…?" one of them began, his voice uncertain as he tried to comprehend the sudden vanishing act.

Before he could finish his sentence, the doors to the room slammed shut. The sound echoed through the sudden silence like a thunderclap, sealing them in. And then, darkness descended. Not just shadows, not just dimness, but absolute darkness. The kind of darkness that swallowed light, that muffled sound, that pressed down on you like a physical weight. The Death Range. Michael's signature move. A sphere of pure darkness that obliterated everything within its radius.

"What in the seven hells…?" an elf stammered as the oppressive darkness enveloped them.

"I… I cannot see!" another cried out, his voice panicked and rising with fear.

"Stay calm!" a third voice ordered, authoritative but shaky. "It is just a spell. A trick. We need to–"

His words were abruptly cut short by a gurgling sound, followed by a sickening thud that echoed in the impenetrable blackness.

"By Luxor, what was that?!" someone gasped, fear making his voice thin and reedy.

"He is in here! The bastard is in here!" another voice yelled, terror spiking his tone.

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"Protect the Young Mistress!" a desperate cry rang out, the words barely audible above the rising panic.

Alyndra, her heart pounding in her chest, could only huddle against the wall. Her senses were overwhelmed by the darkness, the sounds of unseen violence, the metallic tang of blood that filled the air.

"Father?" she whispered, her voice trembling with fear. "Father, what is happening?"

"Stay back!" one of her guards yelled, his voice strained with urgency. "Get behind us!"

"Father?!" she called out again, louder this time, her voice laced with rising panic as the unseen horror unfolded around her.

"Alyndra," Aelrindel's voice, strained and filled with an unfamiliar fear, came from somewhere to her left in the suffocating blackness. "Stay quiet! Do not move!"

Meanwhile, shrouded in the suffocating darkness of Michael's Death Range, Gaya moved like a phantom. She drew the Agni King, the powerful bow feeling familiar in her grip, and began to fire arrow after arrow into the void. She could not see her targets, the terrified elves, but she could hear them. Their panicked breaths, their frantic movements, the clinking of their armor - these sounds were her guides in the inky blackness. Each shot was precise, guided by sound and instinct, and each arrow found its mark with deadly accuracy.

The elves, jolted out of their initial shock, reacted with the swiftness and coordination of seasoned soldiers, despite their fear. The leading elf, his voice tight with urgency, barked out orders, attempting to rally his troops from the brink of panic.

"Form a defensive perimeter! Soldiers, prepare a Lumina spell! We need light!" he commanded, striving to maintain control in the chaos.

One of the elves, his hands trembling visibly despite his training, began to chant. His voice was a shaky whisper as he desperately gathered his mana. A faint, white light began to glow at his fingertips, a fragile beacon in the oppressive darkness. However, against the Death Range, it was woefully inadequate. The light, instead of dispelling the darkness, seemed to be swallowed by it. The feeble glow barely illuminated the mage's own terrified face, a stark testament to the spell's futility. It was like trying to light a firefly in a hurricane – a pathetic, futile effort against the overwhelming power of Michael's darkness.

"It is no use!" another elf cried out as the crushing darkness pressed in on them. "The darkness… it is… consuming the light!"

"Hold your ground!" the leading elf roared again with desperation as he fought to maintain command. "We need to–"

His desperate words were cut short by a sickening thud, instantly recognizable as the sound of impact on flesh, followed by a gurgled cry of agony. The dark beams Michael fired, completely invisible in the darkness, had found their mark. They had pierced the elf's chest, leaving a gaping, smoking hole where his heart used to be. He collapsed silently, his body hitting the plush carpeted floor with a dull thud that was swallowed by the oppressive dark.

In the stifling darkness, the remaining elves could only hear the muffled thud, the strangled gasp, and then the chilling silence that followed each unseen attack. They could not see the beams, could not track their trajectory in the impenetrable blackness.

"By the fucking light, what was that?!" one of the younger elves yelled, his voice trembling on the verge of hysteria.

"He's using… something else," another said, his voice tight with fear as the unseen enemy continued to strike from the shadows. "Stay close! Do not let him pick us off!"

The elves huddled together, their backs pressed against each other for a semblance of security, their weapons raised defensively, their senses strained to their absolute limit. But it was no use. They were effectively blind, deaf, and utterly lost in a void of Michael's creation.

Finally, a young elf, barely more than a man in years, desperately whispered an incantation.

"Lumina Minima," he chanted. Then, a tiny, flickering light, as weak and transient as a firefly in a hurricane, finally appeared above his palm. It cast a pathetic, wavering circle of illumination, barely reaching a foot in any direction. However, there was no use because the Death range was cast by a god and infront of a spell cast by a god, his spell was weak as a new born child.

"Kill him!" Aelrindel's voice, thick with a fear he could not quite conceal, echoed through the darkness, a desperate plea in the oppressive void. "Kill him now! He is toying with us!"

On the other hand, Alyndra could only whimper, her voice lost in the sudden eruption of chaos that swirled around her.

"What… what are they?" she stammered as arrows whistled through the darkness.

In the hall, the air was filled with the sickening thud of flesh being pierced, cries of pain choked off into gurgled gasps echoed in the confined space. The elves, completely disoriented and terrified, lashed out blindly. Their desperate spells cast eerie, fleeting shadows that danced across the walls for a fleeting moment, only to be swallowed by the oppressive darkness once more.

When shouting did not work, Aelrindel made a desperate bid to escape the inky blackness, lunging towards the door and hoping to raise the alarm and summon reinforcements.

However, before he could take more than a few steps towards freedom, a sharp, stinging slap echoed through the room, the sound shockingly clear amidst the din of battle. It was followed by a grunt of pain, a sound unmistakably his own.

"Father?" Alyndra cried out again, her voice laced with rising panic. "What… what is happening?"

Then, an unnerving, absolute silence descended, cutting off all sound. After few moments, the darkness receded, revealing the horrifying aftermath of a slaughter. The room was a macabre tableau. Elven guards, their once gleaming silver armor now splattered with dark blood, lay scattered across the plush carpeted floor. Their bodies were twisted at unnatural angles and their faces, those still visible amidst the carnage, were frozen in expressions of utter terror, pain, and disbelief.

And in the center of it all stood Aelrindel. He was alive, but barely clinging to consciousness. His face was swollen and bruised, a stark handprint blazing crimson on his cheek where Michael's slap had landed. His once-proud bearing was completely gone, replaced by a defeated slump.

When Alyndra saw her father like this, her heart skipped a frantic beat. Standing almost casually beside her broken father were Michael and Gaya. They were different. It was not just the blood that stained their clothes, or the grim satisfaction that twisted their lips into cruel smiles. It was something else entirely, something far more profound. Gone were the calm and almost timid humans she had briefly entertained in her room. These beings radiated a cold, terrifying strength.

Gaya casually held the Agni King in her hands, the fiery bow a stark contrast to her silver armor. Its crimson surface glowed faintly in the aftermath of battle. It was both terrifying and breathtakingly beautiful, an impossible combination that sent a shiver of primal fear and awe down Alyndra's spine.

Without even thinking, a single thought, stark and undeniable, flashed through Alyndra's terrified mind: Gods. The aura, the effortless power they exuded, the way they stood amidst the carnage as if it were nothing more than a casual stroll in the garden - it all pointed to a terrifying, impossible truth. They were not merely powerful mortals; they were something else entirely. They were gods, and they were here.

On the other hand, Aelrindel rose to his feet and did not cower before them, nor did he plead for mercy. He simply stood there amidst the carnage, his bruised and swollen face a mask of defiance. And his eyes were still burning with a cold, hard fury.

"You have no idea what you have done," he said, rasping growl that filled the deathly silent room. He looked directly at Michael, then at Gaya, his gaze lingering for a chilling moment on the glowing bow still held loosely in her hands.

"He is coming for you. You have no fucking idea what you have unleashed."

Before Michael or Gaya could respond to his ominous pronouncements, before they could even begin to process the weight of his words, the air itself shifted within the room. It thickened and distorted, rippling like heat rising from sun-baked stone. An almost unbearable pressure built in the confined space, a palpable sense of imminent arrival, of something profoundly powerful rapidly approaching.

A portal was opening, right there in Alyndra's opulent guest room. And Michael knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the very bone despite his godly nature, that whoever was coming through that portal would not be some pampered elven lord come to bargain. Nor would it be another batch of hapless, easily dispatched guards. This presence was something else, something far more dangerous and utterly beyond their previous encounters in Luxor. This was the 'He' Aelrindel spoke of, and the implications were terrifying.