Hitman With A Badass System

1362  Grace of Ava and Trickery of Rin

Michael turned, his heart pounding in his chest, bracing himself for… well, he wasn't sure what. Tears? Accusations? A slap across the face? He did not know. But as his gaze landed on Lailah, he froze, a wave of surprise washing over him.

She was still beautiful, of course. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall, framing a face that would have launched a thousand ships back in ancient Greece. Her eyes, the color of a stormy sea, held a depth, a wisdom. And her figure…she still had that hourglass shape that had once made his heart skip a beat.

But it wasn't her beauty that surprised him. It was the aura that surrounded her. A subtle shimmer, a faint ripple of power that radiated from her like heat from a forge. She was still at the Immortal Stage of cultivation, he could sense that much. But the power… the quality of the energy… it was wrong.

It was like looking at a candle that burned with the intensity of a supernova.

She was stronger. Far stronger than any Immortal cultivator had any right to be. Her energy signature was almost… godly. It was like she'd tapped into a power source that was… beyond the reach of mortals.

He could sense it now, the faint echo of celestial energy, the residual trace of a fallen god's grace, woven into her very being. n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

She was more powerful than any Celestial Stage cultivator he'd encountered… but not quite at the level of a level one God. The only explanation he could come up with on the spot was that she had absorbed a fallen grace. It was the only explanation.

Sensing the tension crackling between Michael and Lailah, Wulfric the unspoken questions and the weight of their shared history, cleared his throat.

"Perhaps… we'll give you two some… privacy," he said, his gaze flickering between Michael and Lailah. "Come on, you lot. Let's go see what's for dinner."

Kayla nodded, gently ushering the students away from the awkward reunion. Harry, however, lingered for a moment, his eyes darting between his parents, a flicker of hope, a yearning for connection, evident in his gaze. It was the first time he'd ever seen them together, truly together, and for the first time he felt like he had a family.

But even he, young and naive as he was, could sense that this wasn't the time or place for such a reunion.

With a sigh, he turned and followed his friends, leaving Michael and Lailah alone in the moonlit courtyard.

Michael watched them go, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He hadn't forgotten how Harry had been conceived. That whole… mess with the First Energy. Lailah, in her desperation to contain the chaotic power, had attempted to prematurely absorb it, dragging Michael's soul along for the ride.

However, Michael, being a gentleman from Earth, had a strict "no physical contact without consent" policy. So he chose the soul walk, having no fucking clue that it would lead to an even deeper, more tangled connection than the physical act ever could have.

It had nearly killed him.

Lailah, consumed by the First Energy's chaos, had lashed out, her power nearly overwhelming his. And when she was freed, she was not in a cuddling mood. And Michael, pissed off and frankly a little terrified, had used the System to ensure that any… spirit child conceived during their forced soul-meld wouldn't inherit any of his powers, his soul DNA, his anything.

But Lailah, bless her stubborn heart, had gone and given that spirit child a body anyway, which was Harry. Looking at Lailah now, at the power radiating from her, at that subtle, almost godly aura, Michael knew she had pulled another shitty stunt.

While Harry and his friends were walking away from Michael and Lailah, they exchanged uneasy glances.

"Well, that was… awkward," Clara, muttered, adjusting her spectacles. "They seem to have… tension, don't they?"

"No shit, genius. He's the fucking Dark Lord. She's… well, she's Lailah. They're practically polar opposites," Thrian rolled his eyes.

Yet, Harry barely registered their words. He kept glancing back over his shoulder, watching as his parents stood facing each other, their figures silhouetted against the moonlit sky. He couldn't take his eyes off his parents, the two figures standing in the moonlit courtyard. But the moment was fleeting. As he followed his friends into the academy, the imposing stone walls blocking his view, a shadow of sadness fell over his face.

Back in the courtyard, Michael didn't waste any time. The moment the others were out of earshot, he turned to Lailah.

"What did you do?" Michael asked as Lailah met his gaze, her expression unreadable.

"So you noticed, " she said, her voice devoid of its usual warmth. It was a statement, not a question.

Michael frowned. She sounded… different. Colder. More distant. And there was a definite edge to her voice, a hint of… accusation.

He had a bad feeling about this.

"You didn't notice then, did you?" Lailah continued, her voice rising slightly. "When I was struggling to raise Harry alone? When I begged you to… to stay? When I brought him here, to Mazeroth, and faced all those… challenges? You didn't notice any of it, did you, Michael?"

"I was fighting a war, Lailah," Michael interjected, his voice taking on a defensive edge.

He hadn't abandoned them. Not really. He'd kept tabs on them, through Azazel, through his network of spies and informants, through the occasional flyby with a cloaked Spyder drone. He'd watched Harry grow, had seen him excel at Mazeroth, had even intervened a few times when things got… dicey. But he'd kept his distance. He hadn't seen the point in… complicating things.

"You're always fighting a war, Ghost," Lailah shot back, her voice laced with a bitter frustration. "First it was those pathetic sects, then the kings and queens, then Skyhall… and now it's the Gods themselves. Your fight… it never ends! Because you don't care, do you? You don't care about the consequences, about the effect your actions have on… on people! You have no idea what your… absence has done to Harry! "

Lailah let her words hang in the air, her gaze piercing Michael's. He didn't try to interrupt, to defend himself. He knew, from years of experience dealing with… strong-willed women… that arguing with an angry woman was like trying to wrestle a hurricane. A futile, and potentially dangerous, exercise.

"Look around you, Michael!" she continued, her voice trembling with emotion. She gestured towards the sky, towards the unnatural darkness that had settled over the mortal realm. "Look at what you've done! How many Skyhall soldiers… how many people… did you and your army slaughter in this war?"

Her voice cracked, her anger giving way to a raw, aching sadness.

"And it won't stop, will it? Skyhall's gone, but something else will take its place. New powers will rise, new enemies will emerge, and you'll be right back in the thick of it, fighting, killing, destroying… When does it end, Michael? When will Harry… when will he finally have a father in his life?"

After listening to her rant, Michael simply chuckled, a low, humorless sound that sent a shiver down Lailah's spine.

"You're talking to the God of Darkness now, Lailah," he said, his voice taking on a harder edge. "Not the Ghost you met two years ago."

As he spoke, the aura around him intensified, the shadows in the courtyard deepening, the air growing heavy with a palpable sense of power. The temperature dropped, a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the night air and everything to do with the raw, primal energy emanating from Michael.

"These… new powers you speak of," he continued with a chilling confidence, "even if they were an army of Celestial Stage cultivators… all it would take is a snap of my fingers, and they'd be nothing more than a pile of ash."

He took a step towards her as the shadows parted before him like a dark tide.

"But let's not make this about me, shall we?" he said, his voice softening slightly. "Tell me, Lailah… what's the connection between your little rant and the fact that you're practically glowing like a goddamn supernova? What the hell did you do?"

Despite the pressure of Michael's presence, the weight of his power bearing down on her, Lailah didn't flinch.

"I did what I had to do," she said, her voice calm, steady, but with an underlying current of steel. "I protected Harry. In every way I could. So I absorbed Ava's grace," she said firmly.

The words hung in the air, a bombshell that shattered the fragile truce between them. Michael stared at her, his jaw slack, his mind struggling to process what he'd just heard.

"You… you what?" he stammered, his mind struggling to process what he'd just heard. She spoke of absorbing a goddess's grace as if it were… a casual Tuesday afternoon activity.

He knew about the fallen graces. Most of them were remnants of those whose bodies had been destroyed, their souls imprisoned by the previous Dark Lord in his temple in the realm of the Gods until Dagon released them all into the mortal world.

But some of those graces… they weren't remnants of shattered souls. They were gifts. Fragments of power, voluntarily left behind by gods and goddesses, for reasons known only to them. And Ava's grace… it was one of those.

Michael was sure of it. He'd never met Ava, the Goddess of Healing, but he knew she was still out there, somewhere. She hadn't been seen in the realm of the Gods for centuries, but there'd been no whispers of her death, no signs of her soul being shattered, no indication that she'd been… destroyed.

Which meant…Lailah had absorbed a grace that had been… given. And that… that raised a whole new set of questions.

"You idiot!" Michael snapped, unable to contain his anger any longer. "You have no idea what you've done! You've just painted a target on your back, Lailah! Do you even realize what kind of danger you're in?" He roared.

"How did you even find Ava's grace?" Michael pressed, his voice tight with worry. "And how the hell did you… absorb it? Without, you know… exploding?"

He had seen how those graces worked. They were like sentient energy bombs. Looking for a suitable host, a vessel to carry their power like Evan. But Evan's energy signature was stable and controlled. Lailah's aura, on the other hand, was anything but stable. It flickered and pulsed, the power within her threatening to burst free, like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

Finally, Lailah flinched at his words as a flicker of doubt clouded her eyes for a moment.

"I… I had help," she admitted.

"Help?" Michael's gut twisted. "Who?"

He knew, with a sickening certainty, that whatever answer Lailah gave him… it wasn't going to be good.