Hitman With A Badass System

1353  Andohr's Plan to Deal With Michael

Meanwhile, in a throne room that shimmered with stolen starlight, Andohr was making his pitch.

"Think about it, Kranar," he purred, his voice a smooth, silken thread that somehow managed to convey both menace and temptation. "Zorian's power is waning. Noah's death… it left a void. He might be the God of Sun, but even he can't escape the consequences of that loss."

He leaned back on his throne, crafted from shadows and whispers, his sapphire eyes gleaming with a cold fire. "The mortal realm might be plunged into darkness, but even here… even in the realm of the Gods… I can feel it. The balance is shifting. And Zorian? He's losing his grip."

Kranar, the God of Lightning, shifted uneasily on his ornate, lightning-shaped throne. He stroked his neatly trimmed beard, his brow furrowed in thought. Andohr's offer was tempting, no doubt about it. A chance to join a new pantheon, one that was on the rise, led by a God whose power seemed to grow with each passing day… n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

It was a tempting offer.

But…

"The Pantheon is still strong," Kranar pointed out, choosing his words carefully. "And they see you as the traitor, Andohr. The one who started this… this civil war."

He'd only recently managed to solidify his own power base. Rainar, the God of Rain, had finally kicked the bucket, leaving his worshippers ripe for the taking. Kranar had wasted no time in absorbing them, adding their devotion to his own, feeling the surge of power as their prayers flowed into him.

Gods like Kranar, despite their posturing and claims of divine purpose, craved one thing above all else: worship. More worshippers meant more worship energy, more power, more influence. And they'd do damn near anything to get their hands on it. Even if it meant ignoring a few… inconvenient truths.

And being branded a traitor god? That wasn't exactly conducive to attracting new followers.

Andohr let out a laugh, a low, chilling sound that echoed through the throne room. "Rainar? That pathetic excuse for a deity? You think his death was… natural?"

Kranar shifted uncomfortably again. He'd been at war with Rainar for centuries, vying for control of the skies, their storms clashing in a never-ending battle for dominance. But even he had to admit, Rainar's death had been… sudden. Unexpected.

"The Dark Lord, Kranar," Andohr continued, his voice taking on a harder edge. "He killed Rainar. Ripped him apart like a rag doll. And he won't stop there. He's coming for all of us. The old pantheon… they can't protect you. Only I can."

Hearing Andohr, Kranar couldn't deny the truth behind his words. He'd seen it with his own eyes. That goddamn crossbow bolt, appearing out of thin air, piercing Rainar's skull with sickening precision. The swirling black void that had opened up, sucking Rainar's lifeless body into oblivion. It had been a brutal, terrifying display of power. And it had sent shockwaves through the Pantheon.

Gods could be killed.

It was a truth they'd preferred to ignore, a possibility they'd dismissed as a myth, a story told to scare unruly demigods and ambitious mortals. But the Dark Lord had shattered that illusion, ripped it apart just as he'd ripped apart Rainar himself.

Kranar's initial instinct had been to deny it, to bury his head in the sand and pretend it hadn't happened. He'd focused on consolidating his power, absorbing Rainar's worshippers, telling himself that if he became strong enough, if he amassed enough power, he'd be safe.

But Andohr's words… they struck a chord. The God of Time and Space was a cunning, calculating bastard, a being of immense power and even greater ambition. And if he was taking the Dark Lord seriously…Kranar couldn't afford to be complacent.

He glanced at the shimmering portal that led to the old Pantheon's meeting chamber, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Zorian, the God of Sun, was a fading light, his power dwindling with each passing day. The old Pantheon was fractured, weakened, embroiled in a pointless war with Dagon, the ruler of hell, and now… Andohr.

It was a losing battle. A sinking ship.

And Kranar, for all his arrogance and lust for power, wasn't stupid. He knew when to cut his losses.

Andohr's offer, as dangerous as it might be, was starting to look more and more appealing. Siding with a God who controlled time and space…that wasn't a bad bet to make. Certainly a hell of a lot better than clinging to a dying regime.

Looking at Kranar's face, Andohr's smile widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He could practically smell Kranar's fear, taste his desperation. It was only a matter of time before the God of Lightning caved, another pawn added to his ever-growing army.

But as Andohr savored his impending victory, the doors to the throne room swung open with a resounding boom.

"What the—" Andohr began, his smile vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

He hadn't expected any visitors. And he'd specifically instructed Salesi to stay the hell out of his way during these recruitment meetings.

Unlike her father, Salesi wasn't a Goddess of anything in particular. She was… a tool. A weapon honed and polished to serve his ambitions. She was cunning, ambitious, and always, always eager to please him. It wasn't fatherly love he felt for her, not even close, but she was useful. And her loyalty, fueled by a desperate craving for his attention and approval, was unwavering.

She stood in the doorway now, her usually carefully composed features etched with worry, her eyes darting between Andohr and Kranar.

"Father," she began, her voice hesitant.

Andohr's gaze narrowed. He could tell, just by the look on her face, that something was wrong. Seriously wrong. For Salesi to disobey a direct order…she had to have a damn good reason. And for her sake, he hoped she did.

"You'd better have a bloody good explanation for this interruption," he growled

Despite his desire to escape the sinking ship that was the old Pantheon, Kranar wasn't an idiot. He'd seen that look in Salesi's eyes before. A look that said shit's about to hit the fan, a look that screamed abandon ship.

And he wasn't about to be caught in the crossfire of whatever storm was brewing in Andohr's perfect little utopia.

"Well," he said, forcing a chuckle, "this has been… enlightening, Andohr. I'll certainly… consider your proposal."

He glanced at Salesi again, her face still pale, her gaze fixed on the floor. Yeah, definitely time to make a strategic retreat.

"But I can see you have… family matters to attend to. I wouldn't want to intrude." He inclined his head, a gesture that was both polite and a not-so-subtle attempt to get the hell out of dodge.

"I'll be in touch," he added, backing towards the door.

And then, with a crackle of electricity and a flash of blue light, he was gone.

"Fucking coward," Andohr snarled, watching the spot where Kranar had vanished with a mixture of fury and frustration. "The moment things get a little… complicated, he runs off like a frightened rabbit."

He turned his gaze on Salesi, his eyes narrowed to slits.

"You," he growled, his voice dripping with venom. "Explain yourself. Now."

Salesi, acutely aware of her father's displeasure, hurried to appease him.

"Father, it's… it's about the Dark Lord," she stammered, her voice trembling slightly. "Seraphene… she wanted me to inform you… that he… he has obtained the blood."

Andohr stared at her, his face blank for a moment, as if he hadn't quite processed her words.

The blood. Don's blood.

It was impossible. He'd personally overseen the construction of the vault, woven temporal safeguards into its very fabric, ensured that it was inaccessible to anyone, even a God, without the proper keys and the knowledge of the ancient rituals.

And yet…

"He has the blood?" he echoed, his voice dangerously low.

A surge of raw fury, unlike anything Salesi had ever witnessed, erupted from Andohr. He slammed his fist against the armrest of his throne, the impact sending out a shockwave of energy that cracked the surrounding floor.

"How?!" he roared, his voice laced with a power that shook the very foundations of the palace. "How the fuck is that possible?"

He'd boasted to Qin Jiu about the vial's temporal shifts, the safeguards he'd woven into its very existence, confident that no one, not even a God, could circumvent his measures. And he'd been right. No God in this universe could have touched that blood.

But Andohr hadn't accounted for Don. The Ancient God, operating on a level of power that dwarfed even Andohr's own, had simply… bypassed the safeguards. He'd wanted Michael to have that blood.

And even without Don's intervention, Michael, with his damn Badass System and an endless supply of points to burn, could have probably brute-forced his way through Andohr's carefully crafted defenses. But Andohr, blissfully unaware of the System's existence, remained in the dark, his arrogance blinding him to the true scope of the threat he faced.

"Impossible," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "It's… it's impossible!"

He slammed his fist against the armrest of his throne again, the force of the blow sending another spiderweb of cracks across the obsidian surface. It wasn't enough. Not even close. He wanted to scream, to rage, to unleash the full force of his power on something, anything, but even he couldn't break the laws of time and space enough to undo what had already been done.

"That goddamn Dark Lord…" he snarled, his voice laced with a venomous fury that promised untold retribution.

"Salesi!" he roared, his voice echoing through the throne room like a thunderclap. "Get Seraphene in here! Now! And tell her to get her ass to the mortal realm. I want to know where that goddamn Dark Lord fucker is hiding. Every move he makes, every breath he takes… I want to know about it!"

He paced back and forth, his shadow stretching and contorting across the floor, a reflection of the chaotic energy swirling within him.

"And send word to every domain in the realm of the Gods," he snarled. "The moment that bastard sets foot outside the mortal realm, I want to know about it,"

He stopped pacing, his gaze fixed on the shimmering portal that led to the old Pantheon's meeting chamber. A cruel smile, cold and calculating, spread across his lips.

"And Salesi…"

"Yes, Father?"

"Set up a meeting with Agra. It's time we had a… chat." He chuckled, a low, chilling sound.

"I think the God of Chaos might be… interested in what the God of Darkness has been up to."