Hitman With A Badass System

Chapter 1366  Rowena's Ultimatum

For three continuous days, Michael remained secluded in the Sanctum of Serenity, surrounded by a mountain of gold that dwindled steadily as he converted it into Badass Points. The air within the chamber crackled with energy, the faint hum of the System's workings a constant backdrop to his meditations.

By the end of the third day, his Badass Point reserves had swelled to an impressive four billion. He'd also mastered the Transference of Consciousness spell, adding its intricate runes and arcane formulas to his growing repertoire of magical abilities.

Outside the Sanctum, life went on. The looting of Skyhall's floating palaces was nearly complete. His subordinates, under Lenora's watchful eye, were busy cataloging the vast wealth they'd acquired, sorting through the mountains of gold, gems, weapons, and artifacts.

And, in a quiet corner of the Azure Citadel, Tiberius had been laid to rest. A simple ceremony, attended by those who had known him, had respected him, had fought alongside him. There were tears, of course, and solemn vows of vengeance. But there was also a sense of… closure. A recognition that the King of War, loyal and fearless to the end, had earned his rest.

Emerging from his self-imposed isolation, Michael felt a sense of… completion. Skyhall was gone. Rin had been… dealt with, at least for now. And he was ready to face the challenges that awaited him in the realm of the Gods.

But there were still two loose ends he needed to tie up before he left the mortal realm.

Jasmine. And Rowena. n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Dealing with Jasmine was… relatively straightforward. He'd simply order Aria to take care of it. Eliminate the clone, transfer the real Jasmine's soul back into her rightful body, and bring her home.

Rowena, however… that was a different beast altogether. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been devastated, heartbroken, filled with a rage and grief that mirrored the darkness he'd unleashed upon the world.

He wasn't sure what to say to her. How to explain… everything.

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But he knew he had to try. Before he left for the realm of the Gods, before he faced the inevitable showdown with Andohr, the other deities, and the looming threat of the Omegas, he needed to… make things right. Thinking about all of this, Michael let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Gods, I can handle armies. I can handle ancient beasts. I can even handle those power-hungry assholes in the realm of the Gods. But… emotionally unstable women? I'm screwed."

He chuckled, shaking his head at his own predicament. Why was it that the toughest battles were always the ones fought on the… relationship front?

He stepped out of the Sanctum of Serenity, his boots echoing on the polished marble floor. Lenora and Trista were waiting for him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. Azazel, his ever-faithful demon butler, stood beside them, his dark suit impeccable, his gaze unwavering.

"My lord," Lenora greeted, bowing her head respectfully. "The looting is complete. We've secured all the floating palaces, cataloged the valuables, and… well, we've basically cleaned those Skyhall bastards out."

"There are a few… complications," Trista added, her voice hesitant. "Some of the palaces are… locked. Protected by ancient runes and wards. Elidyr is… working on it."

"He's… drowned himself in work, my lord," Azazel interjected, his voice a low murmur. "He's barely spoken a word,"

Michael sighed. "Let him be. Everyone grieves in their own way. And after those… memories… he needs time to… process things. Work might be the best distraction for him right now."

"My lord," Azazel asked, his voice laced with a hint of concern. "Now that Skyhall is… dealt with… what are your plans?"

Lenora and Trista echoed the sentiment, their gazes fixed on Michael, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension in their eyes.

"The eternal darkness, boss…" Lenora began, her voice hesitant. "It's… well, it's really messing things up down there. Nithroel's been sending messages. She says she needs help… keeping the world from falling apart."

The eternal darkness wasn't just a cosmetic change. It was… invasive. As the Skyhall elders had warned, with a hint of smug satisfaction that Michael had ignored at the time, Noah's death hadn't just extinguished the light. It had… changed things. Fundamentally.

Mortals were… different. More prone to anger, to violence, to acts of cruelty and selfishness. The darkness, it seemed, was seeping into their hearts, twisting their souls, amplifying their worst impulses.

It was an ironic twist of fate. The God of Darkness, the one who'd been blamed for centuries for the evils of the world, was now responsible for… fixing the mess he'd created.

"We'll help Nithroel," Michael said, his voice firm. "But it won't matter if Andohr and his… friends… manage to break through into the mortal realm." He paused for a second.

"I need to go back to the realm of the Gods. Find a way to fix this mess… while keeping those bastards out of our hair," Michael said to them and took a deep breath.

"But first… I need to see Rowena. Talk to her. Before I go."

"But… but if you leave, my lord…" Trista began, her voice laced with concern. "How can we… deal with this… darkness? With the chaos?"

"Nithroel can handle it," Michael said, leaving no room for argument. "She's strong. Resourceful. And she knows the mortal realm better than any of us. But she'll need help. All of you… Lenora, Trista, Azazel… everyone. You're to assist her in any way she requires. Understood?"

They all nodded, their gazes fixed on Michael, a mixture of respect and apprehension in their eyes. They'd seen what he was capable of, the power he wielded, the ruthlessness with which he dealt with his enemies. They knew, deep down, that the Dark Lord, for all his flaws, was the best strategist they had. The only one who could truly stand against the Gods.

"Rowena is… at the Dark Castle, my lord," Azazel said with a hesitant voice.. "But… are you sure this is the right time to… speak with her? Perhaps… giving her more time to… process everything… might be best?"

Michael understood Azazel's concern. Rowena was still reeling from the revelation of Noah's death, from the knowledge of Michael's role in it. But he had to try. He had to explain himself. He owed her that much.

"Let's go," he said, his voice firm, his gaze hardening with resolve.

Azazel, ever the loyal servant, didn't question his decision. He pulled a teleportation scroll from his space ring and tore it in half. A swirling vortex of black smoke enveloped them, and in the blink of an eye, they vanished from the Azure Citadel, leaving Lenora and Trista standing amidst the looted treasures of Skyhall

Soon, the swirling black smoke dissipated, revealing the familiar, imposing silhouette of the Dark Castle against a backdrop of a bruised, twilight sky. Even from a distance, the scars of the recent battle were evident. Smoke still curled from a few of the towers, and sections of the outer wall bore the blackened marks of magical blasts. The dark ocean surrounding the castle, usually a churning, restless expanse, was eerily calm, its surface littered with the debris of shattered Skyhall warships. Splintered hulls, masts snapped like broken twigs, and the ghostly glow of dying runes painted a macabre tapestry on the water's surface. The air hung heavy with the lingering stench of smoke and burnt flesh, a grim testament to the ferocity of the battle.

Michael surveyed the scene in silence, his expression unreadable beneath his skull-like helmet. He didn't need to voice his thoughts, his concern. Azazel, ever attuned to his master's moods, simply nodded, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.

They walked in silence, their footsteps echoing on the stone path that led to the castle's main entrance. Dark army soldiers, their black armor dusted with soot and grime, were already hard at work, repairing the damage, clearing the debris, restoring the castle to its former imposing glory.

Azazel led him through a maze of corridors and winding staircases, the air growing colder, the silence deepening, as they descended into the heart of the castle. Finally, they stopped before a set of massive bronze doors, etched with intricate carvings of demonic figures.

"She's in here, my lord," Azazel reported, his voice a low murmur that echoed in the dimly lit hallway. "She… awoke two days ago. But she hasn't spoken. Hasn't asked to leave." He paused, his gaze fixed on the closed doors. "I believe… she's waiting for you."

With a heavy sigh, Michael pushed the bronze doors open, stepping into the room beyond. Azazel lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on his master's back, a flicker of concern in his golden eyes.

The demon butler knew, perhaps better than anyone, that the battle with Skyhall was just the beginning. The real challenge, the truly daunting task, lay ahead. Keeping the mortal realm from falling into utter chaos, from succumbing to the darkness that now blanketed the world… that was a war that would test even the God of Darkness's strength.

He bowed his head respectfully. "I'll… leave you two to it, my lord."

And with that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing softly in the silent corridor.

The moment Michael stepped into the room, a blast of icy air hit him. It was like walking into a freezer. Frost covered the walls, thick and shimmering, its edges sparkling with a faint, ethereal light. He could see the evidence of Rowena's fury etched onto the surfaces. Fist-sized dents marred the stone walls, deep gouges raked across the heavy oak door.

And there, in the center of the room, stood Rowena.

She looked… fragile. Exhausted. Her usual icy composure had shattered, leaving behind a raw vulnerability that made Michael's heart ache. Her eyes were red-rimmed, puffy from crying, and her hair, usually neatly combed, hung loose around her shoulders, a tangled mess that mirrored the turmoil within her.

However, she didn't give him a chance to answer. The words, fueled by days of pent-up grief and anger, tumbled out of her, a torrent of accusations and despair.

"We… we had this conversation before, I know," she continued, her voice cracking slightly. "But now… now I need to hear it, Michael. I need to understand… why? Why did you do it?"

She finally turned to face him, her eyes, red-rimmed and filled with a pain that mirrored the darkness in the sky outside, boring into his.

"And I need you to fix this. Fix all of it. Find a way to… to bring Noah back. Because if you can't… if there's no way… then there's no reason for me to… to even exist in this world. I can't… I can't be a part of this… this darkness. And I'm too weak… too broken… to do anything about it,"

Hearing her, Michael was actually surprised and slightly felt uneasy. He expected rage, anger and even lashing out at him. But the way she talked, the certainty in her voice, they all sent a chill running down his spine.

"So Dean, you have two choices, watch me die before your eyes or see me live with the hope you will do something to fix the mess you created,"

This was Rowena's ultimatum and Michael had to choose between promising her and giving her hope about Noah or refusing to give her hope and watch her die. Because he didn't think she was messing around.