Hitman With A Badass System

Chapter 1368  The Agni King

He gently helped Rowena to her feet, his touch surprisingly gentle for the God of Darkness.

"Drink this," he said, pressing a vial of healing potion into her hand. "You need your strength."

Rowena hesitated, her gaze flickering between the vial and Michael's face. She had accepted her fate, had embraced the agonizing year that stretched before her. This… potion… it felt like a betrayal of her sacrifice, a way for him to delay the inevitable. But she was weak, exhausted, and a part of her, a small, stubborn ember of hope, whispered that maybe… maybe he was trying to find a way.

She drank the potion, its bitter taste familiar, unpleasant.

"Take me home, Dean," she said, her voice still weak, but with a newfound determination in her eyes. "Please."

He nodded, a shadow of sadness crossing his face. "Azazel will take you."

But before he could summon his demon butler, Rowena stopped him.

"Wait," she said, her gaze meeting his. "What about… Sabrina? And Father? Are they…?"

Sabrina, restless and ambitious, had embarked on a journey of her own. She'd been traversing pocket dimensions, seeking out dangerous beasts and powerful artifacts, determined to forge her own path to power.

Burdened by grief and the weight of his family's legacy, Ethan Winston struggled to keep the Winston clan from falling apart. The other noble families, sensing weakness in the wake of Noah's death, were circling like sharks, eager to claim a piece of the Winstons' dwindling power. If that wasn't enough, the Hunt family was pretty pissed off about everything Ethan did and they were seeking blood. The two families were on the verge of full-blown war and Nithroel's order to the Hunt family not to start a new war was the only thing that stopped them from destroying the weakened Winston family.

"They're fine," Michael said, avoiding her gaze. He didn't want to burden her with the complexities of their situation. Not now.

"Azazel will take you home. He'll… explain everything." n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

But Rowena shook her head.

"I haven't… asked you for anything, Dean," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "I'm even willing… to forgive you. For what you did… to the mortal realm. To Noah. But… you have to fix it. Bring him back. Give me… give me a reason to… to keep living."

"Easy to say, hard to do," Michael sighed.

 "One year, Rowena. One year, and I'll… find a way. I give you my word."

Rowena nodded, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. And then, with a newfound strength, she followed him out of the frozen chamber.

The moment they pushed open the bronze doors and exited the chamber, Azazel was there, waiting patiently, his gaze flickering between Michael and Rowena.

"Azazel," Michael said firmly as his gaze lingered on Rowena for a moment, "take her home. And make sure… no one touches the Winston family. Not a single hair on their heads."

Rowena stiffened, her jaw clenching.

"I don't need your… protection," she spat, her voice laced with bitterness.

"It's not protection, Rowena," Michael interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "This is my realm now. And I don't like… petty squabbles. Family feuds. Wars between clans,."

Rowena glared at him, but she knew, deep down, that arguing was pointless. He was the God of Darkness. He'd won. And the rules…the rules had changed.

"I'll… send Aria and Saber to… negotiate with the Hunts," Azazel said smoothly, stepping between them.

Rowena opened her mouth to protest – a negotiation involving an assassin and an elder vampire? What could possibly go wrong? – but before she could utter a word, Azazel activated the teleportation scroll. A swirling vortex of black smoke enveloped them, and in the blink of an eye, they were gone.

The scroll, along with a dozen others, a stockpile of healing potions, a few experimental weapons, and a stack of spell scrolls that would make a dragon's hoard look like a child's piggy bank, had been found in one of Skyhall's many treasure vaults.

The looting had been… productive, to say the least.

Azazel's space ring was practically overflowing with goodies. And back at the meeting hall, Michael's subordinates were still arguing over how to divide the spoils, reward those who'd performed exceptionally well during the battle, and compensate the families of those who'd fallen. Michael, generous to a fault when it came to his loyal followers, had left those decisions to them.

After all, he had bigger things to worry about. While Michael was standing outside the chamber doors, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, a figure materialized before him in a swirl of shadows.

"My lord," Maxine said, bowing deeply. Her voice was low, husky, laced with a barely suppressed grief that made Michael's heart ache. She'd just returned from the Southern Continent, where she'd laid Tiberius to rest, performed the ancient burial rites of his people, and whispered a promise of vengeance over his grave.

Every second she'd spent away from Michael, away from the battle with Skyhall, was a moment of regret, a burning ember of anger that she hadn't been there to fight alongside him, to protect those he cared about. As the Queen of Power, as one of his most trusted lieutenants, she felt responsible for Tiberius's death. It was her duty to protect him, to stand beside him, to fight for him… and she'd failed.

But deep down, Maxine knew that none of them could have stopped Rin. Not truly. The Princess of Murder was a being of immense power, a force of chaos from the realm of the Gods.

It was a losing battle from the start.

Michael saw the guilt, the self-blame, that clouded her dark eyes. But he simply smiled, a genuine, reassuring smile that surprised Maxine.

How could he still smile? He'd lost his best friend, killed his own brother, plunged the mortal realm into darkness, and been blamed for it all. He'd been chewed out by Rowena, and Maxine had heard whispers of a similar… confrontation… with Lailah.

And yet… here he stood, calm, composed, a faint hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He was still the Dark Lord she knew, the alpha, the leader, the one who always seemed to have things under control.

Maxine, caught off guard by his smile, felt her anger and her fear recede. For a moment, she'd forgotten why she'd come.

Then, she remembered.

"My lord," she said, clearing her throat. "Empress Nithroel is… here. She's waiting for you in the throne room."

"Let's go meet her," Michael said, turning towards the throne room. Maxine nodded, falling into step behind him, her dark eyes scanning the corridors, ever watchful, ever vigilant.

The throne room, unlike the rest of the castle, was relatively unscathed. Elidyr's runes and arrays, woven into the very fabric of the structure, had protected it from the worst of Skyhall's attacks.

The chamber was vast, its high ceiling lost in shadows. Torches, fueled by an unquenchable black flame, flickered along the walls, casting long, dancing shadows across the floor, which was inlaid with a mosaic of black marble and polished bone.

At the far end of the room, on a raised platform of obsidian, stood Michael's throne. It was still a terrifying throne crafted from skulls and bones and a symbol of his power, his ruthlessness, his dominion over the darkness.

Empress Nithroel was waiting for him, flanked by two tall, imposing elven guards, their silver armor gleaming under the torchlight. She was pacing back and forth, her hands clasped behind her back, her gaze sweeping across the chamber, taking in the details of the Dark Castle's architecture with a thoughtful frown.

She turned as Michael and Maxine entered, a rare smile softening her usually stern features.

"Dark Lord," she greeted, her voice warm, welcoming. "I heard you were having… a bit of a difficult day. With the ladies, that is."

"When am I not, Nithroel?" he sighed, shaking his head.

"Let's… sit," Michael said, gesturing toward a cluster of plush, dark velvet sofas arranged near the foot of his throne. They were surprisingly comfortable, considering their macabre surroundings. More like thrones in their own right, fit for a king… or a God of Darkness.

Nithroel, with a grace that belied her warrior's strength, settled onto one of the sofas. Michael took the seat beside her, leaning back, his gaze meeting hers. The elven guards, along with Maxine, discreetly retreated to the edge of the throne room, their presence a silent, watchful backdrop to the conversation.

"What brings you to the Dark Castle, Nithroel?" Michael asked, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp, alert. "Is there… a problem?"

Nithroel chuckled, a low, melodic sound. "Let's just say… I'm not here to add to your… lady troubles,"

She paused, her gaze turning serious.

"But I do need… a favor. From you. When you return to the realm of the Gods."

After hearing Nithroel, Michael raised an eyebrow, surprised. Nithroel had never asked him for anything before. She was a powerful goddess in her own right, the Empress of the Awor Continent, a force of nature who commanded respect and fear in equal measure. She'd been a key player in their plan to overthrow Skyhall, a valuable ally, but she'd always maintained a certain… distance.

This… favor… it felt different. There was a weight to her words, a hint of vulnerability that Michael had never seen from her before.

He wouldn't refuse her, of course. He owed her that much, at least.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice softening slightly.

Nithroel sighed, her gaze drifting towards the shadowed ceiling of the throne room.

"You know… I haven't set foot in the realm of the Gods in… well, millennia. I cut all ties. Abandoned my title, my duties… everything."

She paused, searching for the right words.

"But… there are still… loose ends. Things I need to… take care of. And one of them… is my bow."

She looked at Michael, her eyes meeting his, her voice firm.

"The Agni-King."

The name, uttered in a hushed whisper, sent a shiver down Michael's spine. He'd never heard of the Agni-King. But he knew, instinctively, that it was something… special. Important. Powerful as hell. Who the hell names a bow the Agni-King without a damn good reason?

The Agni-King… it was more than just a weapon. It was a symbol. A legend. It had made Nithroel the Goddess of Hunt, had given her the power to command the beasts of the forest, to reign over the wilds. Without it, she'd felt… naked. Vulnerable.

And there was another reason, a deeper, more primal fear that gnawed at the edges of her mind. She'd hidden the bow, concealed it in a secret chamber within her ancient temple, deep in the heart of Larnia, her former domain in the realm of the Gods. But she couldn't shake the feeling… the premonition… that it wouldn't stay hidden forever.

"When you return to the realm of the Gods," Nithroel said, her voice a low, urgent plea, "find the Agni-King. Bring it back to me. Before… before someone else finds it."