Hitman With A Badass System

Chapter 1390  Michael and Agra is about to meet

Agra and his followers marched towards the forest, a chaotic procession of black robes and flickering torches. From a distance, they looked like a swarm of angry fireflies, their lights bobbing and weaving erratically across the darkened landscape. There was no discipline, no order, to their march. Some sang obscene songs, their voices raucous and off-key. Others hopped and skipped, their laughter echoing through the night. Agra himself, still clutching one of the wooden boxes containing a severed head, was bouncing up and down like a hyperactive child, his painted face contorted in a manic grin. They were high on chaos, fueled by a potent cocktail of blind faith, religious fervor, and probably some… questionable substances. Back on Earth, they'd have been diagnosed with every mental disorder in the book, locked up, and medicated into oblivion.

Watching their approach through the Spyder drone's camera feed, Michael shook his head. Things had… escalated quickly. He'd initially planned to infiltrate the temple, use that ventilation shaft to get close to Agra, and maybe even pay Qin Jiu a visit. But the System's instructions had changed everything. The Pond of Tranquility. The irony. The opportunity.

He still might use that ventilation shaft, though, he mused, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Qin Jiu… she was a loose end. And Michael didn't like loose ends.

Agra stopped at the edge of the forest, his gaze sweeping across the trees, his grin fading.

"Look at this… disgusting display of… order," he snarled, his voice dripping with disdain. "All these… trees! So… green! So… peaceful! It's making me… itch."

"Burn it all down, Agra!" one of his followers shouted, raising his torch high. "Cleanse this land with… chaos!"

"Yeah, burn the fucking forest to the ground!" another yelled, echoing the sentiment.

"We will leave nothing but ashes! Those tree-hugging Ava worshippers will regret defying chaos!"

Agra, basking in the adoration of his followers, let out a booming laugh.

"Excellent!" he cackled, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Let the… cleansing begin!"

He resumed his march, leading his followers into the forest, oblivious to the traps that lay hidden beneath the undergrowth. They'd crossed the perimeter, the point of no return, and now… they were on Michael's turf.

Meanwhile, Gaya, perched beside Michael in the branches above, grinned, her eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger.

"Those dumb bastards have no idea what's coming," she chuckled, cracking her knuckles. "They're in for a… treat."

"Fayeth," Michael said, turning to the angel, his voice a low growl, "it's… showtime. Shout. Loudly. Let Agra and his… fan club… hear you."

"What… what do I say?" Fayeth asked, her brow furrowing.

"Ask him… if he's… afraid, Fayeth," Michael said, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Ask him if he needs his… minions to… protect him. If he's too much of a… pussy… to enter the forest alone."

Fayeth hesitated. Taunting a god… it felt… wrong. Disrespectful. But Michael… he was playing a different game.

"There's no time for… politeness, Fayeth," he said, his gaze hardening. "We need to… provoke him. Push his buttons. Attack his ego. Make him… lose his shit."

Seeing Fayeth's reluctance, Gaya rolled her eyes.

"Fine, I'll do it," she muttered, stepping forward. Agra had never met Fayeth or even heard her voice. Thus, he wouldn't know the difference. Then, she cupped her hands around her mouth, took a deep breath, and shouted.

"Agra, you spineless, shit-eating coward! Do you need your little army of ass-kissing sycophants to hold your hand? Or are you just… incompetent? Come out and play, you little bitch! Or are you too scared to face the consequences of your own fuckery you dickless wonder?"

The moment Gaya's voice, amplified by the magic of the forest, echoed through the trees, a stunned silence fell over Agra and his followers. The cultists, their mouths agape, stared at each other, their eyes wide with disbelief. Had they… heard that correctly? Had that… angel… just… said that?

Even Vorlag, who prided himself on his mastery of… colorful… language, was taken aback. It wasn't that he hadn't heard worse. He'd spent centuries surrounded by Agra's followers, after all, a group whose vocabulary consisted primarily of curses, insults, and various… obscenities. It was the… fluency of it. The sheer… artistry with which Fayeth had strung those insults together. There was no hesitation, no stumbling, no… filter. It was like she'd been born with a… dictionary of profanity… implanted in her brain.

But more than that… it was the audacity. The sheer, unadulterated gall of that… woman. To challenge Agra? To question his power? To call him… a coward?

She'd just signed her own death warrant.

Despite Agra's usual flamboyant attire, white face paint, crimson lipstick, and shock of green hair… he looked… dangerous. The playful grin and manic energy that had animated him moments before had vanished, replaced by a cold fury that radiated from him like heat from a forge.

"Stay here," Agra growled, his voice low and menacing. "I'll… deal with this… bitch, personally. And then… we'll burn this fucking forest to the ground. But not before… we have a little fun with our guest. She'll get to watch as we cleanse her precious sanctuary. And then… well, let's just say… she'll be begging for mercy. Before I'm through with her."

The cultists, their eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger, let out a chorus of cheers. The thought of playing with an angel, of defiling Ava's chosen was too tempting to resist.

Agra, his black robes billowing behind him, stalked towards the forest, his gaze fixed on the shadows, his hands crackling with chaotic energy.

Michael and Gaya, watching from the trees, exchanged grins.

"He took the bait," Gaya purred, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Just like we planned," Michael chuckled, nodding. "Now, it's time to split up. You keep those followers occupied. Make sure they enjoy our little surprises."

He paused, his gaze hardening.

"I'll take care of Agra."

As Agra stepped into the forest, a strange shimmer, a distortion of reality, rippled around him. He multiplied, his form splitting into dozens of identical copies, each one clad in the same swirling black robes, each one grinning with the same manic intensity.

"Now… where are you, you little bitch?" a chorus of Agra's voices echoed through the trees, their laughter a cacophony of madness.

Michael, watching from above, frowned. Even his Eyes of Darkness, which could pierce through illusions, through shadows couldn't distinguish the real Agra from his… replicas.

"Damn it," he muttered, his jaw clenching. "He's a god. Of course his illusions are… stronger."

He was about to ask the System for help, to pinpoint Agra's true location when the army of Agra's made their move.

They moved with a speed and ferocity that surprised even Michael. Their forms blurred as they dispersed, spreading out through the forest as their laughter echoed through the trees.

"This isn't going to be… easy, that crazy bastard's… playing games." Michael muttered, realizing this was not going to be an easy fight.

He melted back into the shadows as two of Agra's replicas, their grins wide and unsettling, climbed the tree he was perched on, their movements a bizarre mix of chaotic energy and… unexpected grace. They perched on branches above him, their gazes scanning the surrounding trees, their laughter echoing through the forest.

"Where are you, you little bitch?" one of them called out, his voice a mocking singsong. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

The other replica, apparently bored with the… traditional search methods, decided to… express himself. He began to… breakdance on the branch, his limbs flailing, his body twisting and contorting in a way that defied both gravity and… common sense.

Michael, hidden in the shadows, rolled his eyes. "Showoff," he muttered.

"System," he thought, "I need to find the real Agra. Pinpoint his location. Can you do that?"

[Locating the true form of Agra, the self-proclaimed God of Chaos, amidst his illusory duplicates, will require 5 million Badass Points. Does the host wish to proceed?]

"Five million?" Michael snorted. "You're practically giving it away, System. Do it."

A pulse of energy, a wave of crimson light visible only to Michael, radiated outwards from him, sweeping through the forest, through the trees, through the very air itself. As the wave passed, a faint, red outline appeared around each of Agra's replicas. All except one.

One figure, still grinning maniacally, but now outlined in a shimmering blue light, was moving deeper into the forest, towards the center of the Verdant Sanctuary.

The real Agra.

Michael watched as the blue-outlined figure moved deeper into the forest, his mind racing. He had to follow, to intercept, but those two goddamn replicas were still perched on the branch above him, their chaotic energy a constant, irritating distraction.

One of them was… singing. Badly. The other, still in his breakdancing phase, was attempting some kind of headspin. It was a sight to behold. A goddamn train wreck of chaotic, uncoordinated movement. Michael almost felt sorry for the trees. Almost.

"And… he sticks the landing!" the singing replica shouted, clapping his hands together with a manic glee. "Ten out of ten for artistic interpretation of a squirrel having a seizure!"

The breakdancing Agra, however, didn't stick the landing. He wobbled, his foot slipping on a patch of moss, and with a shriek of laughter, tumbled from the branch, his limbs flailing wildly as he plummeted towards the ground.

"Oops," the singing replica chuckled, peering down at his other part. "Looks like someone needs to work on their dismount,"

It was the opportunity Michael had been waiting for.

He activated Shadow Teleportation, vanishing from his spot. He reappeared a heartbeat later on another tree, closer to Agra's true form. He repeated the process, moving from shadow to shadow, the forest blurring around him, the distance between him and his target shrinking rapidly.

After a few more teleportations, he was directly above the real Agra. Oblivious to Michael's presence, Agra was strolling through the forest, his gaze fixed on the clearing ahead, where the pond shimmered under the moonlight.

"I found you, you little angel," he chuckled, his voice a low, menacing purr. "You can't hide from a god,"

Michael grinned.

"Time to make your acquaintance, asshole," he murmured, preparing to drop in.