Hitman With A Badass System

1407  Rin's Army II

After Michael destroyed all the stone statues with his shield, the scattered stones reassembled themselves, forming a staircase leading upwards. The ceiling above them opened, revealing a passage to the next floor.

"Well, that's convenient," Michael murmured, his gaze fixed on the newly formed stairs.

He and Gaya ascended the staircase, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The second floor was different. It was a vast, circular chamber, its walls lined with white marble, its floor a mosaic of polished stone. Statues, not of soldiers this time, but of scholars, stood in alcoves with their hands holding scrolls or strange, unidentifiable objects. It was pristine. Untouched.

But as they reached the top of the stairs, they saw him.

A figure, clad in black robes, stood in the center of the chamber, his back to them.

Michael narrowed his eyes, studying the figure. He activated his Eyes of Doom, trying to gauge the figure's power, to see his aura. But there was nothing. No green, no yellow, no red. Just blue. A cool, steady blue that was unfamiliar.

"Who's this guy?" Gaya whispered through the comms. "He's giving me you vibes."

"Yeah," he murmured. "I see it too."

And as if on cue, the figure turned.

Michael felt a jolt, a shock of recognition, as he stared into the face of himself.

"Is this an illusion?" Gaya's voice, laced with a hint of unease, echoed in his ear. "Like that thing we faced in Luxor?"

Michael remembered that encounter. The doppelganger, a creature that had mimicked his every move, his every attack, with terrifying precision. They had only managed to defeat it by unleashing the full force of his primordial flames, a power the doppelganger couldn't replicate.

But this this felt different. This wasn't some mindless copy, some reflection. This felt real.

"I don't think so," he whispered back, his gaze fixed on the figure. "This this feels different."

The figure chuckled, and the sound it was his voice.

"Hello, Michael," the figure said, a slow, sinister grin spreading across his face. "It's nice to finally meet you."

This was none other than the one of many clones, created by Rin and Andohr, using the remnants of the previous Dark Lord. A weapon, forged in Michael's own image, designed to fight him. But they weren't perfect. Not yet. They were incomplete. But they were getting better and stronger with each iteration.

And this one this one was the closest yet.

The figure before him moved, a blur of motion, a flicker of black lightning, and Michael reacted.

"Watch out!" Gaya's voice, sharp and urgent, echoed in his mind. "That bastard's fast! As fast as you!"

He'd already realized that, of course. The clone had cast Lightning Dash, his signature move, the one he had used in over countless battles.

Michael cast Silenes, attempting to slow down time, to give himself an edge. But the clone it did the same. The two spells, identical in their power, their execution, collided, canceling each other out, the world around them snapping back to its normal flow.

Michael, a hair's breadth from being impaled, bent backward, his spine arching, his gaze fixed on the clone's swords.

He'd expected something different. Not those.

They were crimson red, the color of freshly spilled blood, their edges shimmering with an unnatural, almost living light. He'd seen that metal before. On Rin's daggers.

"Cool blades, you got there," Michael said with a low growl as his eyes narrowed. "But you know what? You're just a cheap fucking knock-off of the real deal."

The clone chuckled, the sound a chilling echo of Michael's own.

"No, no, no I'm the upgrade."

And then it moved.

It vanished, reappearing a heartbeat later behind Michael, a flicker of shadow, a whisper of displaced air. It plunged the crimson swords towards Michael's back, aiming for his heart.

Michael's wings, reacting on instinct, snapped open, the metal feathers deflecting the blow. The blades clashed against the reinforced metal, a shower of sparks erupting from the point of impact.

The clone, its attack thwarted, vanished again, reappearing on the other side of the chamber, its movements fluid, graceful, a mirror image of Michael's own.

But Michael was faster.

He activated Shadow Teleportation, his body dissolving into the darkness, reappearing behind the clone, his swords a blur of motion as he attacked. But the clone, with his own damn reflexes, his own damn agility, his damn everything it dodged, twisting away from the blow, its movements a chilling echo of Michael's own.

From Gaya's perspective, it was like watching a shadow play. Two figures, identical in their movements and in their power, appearing and disappearing, a blur of darkness and crimson light, the only sound the hiss of their blades cutting through the air. It was impossible to keep track of them.

But she didn't intervene, not yet. They were only on the second floor, after all. This fight it was just the appetizer. And besides, the clone, though impressive, didn't seem to be overpowering Michael. Not yet, anyway.

Gaya watched as the two figures, mirror images of each other, clashed again. The clone, with a speed that matched Michael's, parried a blow, his crimson swords a blur of motion. He spun, kicking out with a leg, aiming for Michael's head, but Michael ducked, his own swords flashing as he countered, the blades slicing through the air, narrowly missing the clone's arm.

They moved like shadows, a whirlwind of black and crimson, their movements so fast, so precise, that it was almost impossible to follow their individual attacks. One moment they were here, the next they were there, the only sound the hiss of their blades, the crackle of dark energy, the occasional grunt of pain as a blow landed.

The clone, leaping back, creating some distance between them, raised his hands, his eyes glowing with a familiar, sinister light.

Eyes of Doom.

Two beams of black energy, sharp and precise, shot forth, aiming for Michael's chest.

But Michael, anticipating the attack, mirrored the clone's movements, his own eyes glowing with the same power.

Eyes of Doom.

The two beams collided in mid-air, a blinding flash of energy that made Gaya shield her eyes. The force of the impact, the sheer power of it, sent both Michael and the clone flying backwards, their bodies slamming against opposite walls, the stone cracking under the force of the impact.

They both pushed themselves to their feet, shaking their heads, their gazes fixed on each other.

After standing up to his feet, the clone chuckled as a trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

"For a pale imitation of the real deal," he said, his voice a distorted echo of Michael's, "you're doing good."

Michael, wiping a smear of blood from his own lip, grinned.

"I gotta give it to you, for a fucking clone or whatever the fuck you are you put up a good fight," he said, his voice a low growl. "But don't forget I'm not even taking this seriously."

The moment Michael said this, a flicker of doubt and fear crossed the clone's face.

"Don't look so surprised, me," Michael continued, his grin widening. "I can't bear to see it."

He paused, his gaze hardening.

"So tell me who created you?" he asked, taking on a dangerous edge. "Because those crimson swords they give me a pretty good idea. But I want to hear it from you. Did Rin send you?"

The clone's reaction was telling. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. He might have looked like Michael, might have moved like Michael, might have even sounded like Michael. But he was still just a copy. A replica. And he had the same tells as the original. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Michael knew, with a chilling certainty, that he'd hit the mark.

"So, Rin's making moves, huh?" he said, his voice a soft purr. "But why here? Unless she's after the bow too."

The clone, however, didn't answer. He simply stared at Michael, his gaze unreadable.

"I'm not the only one, you know," he said, his voice a chilling echo of Michael's own. "She has more. An army." He grinned, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You can take one of me. But can you fight a hundred? A thousand?"

Michael felt a chill run down his spine. An army of himself. It was a terrifying thought.

Even Gaya, listening from her perch above, felt a flicker of unease. An army of Michaels. It was a goddamn nightmare scenario. She had faced him in battle and seen what he was capable of. One Michael was bad enough. But a hundred? A thousand?

Killing Rin, taking her out permanently, had always been a daunting task. But this this was a whole new level of fucked up.

"No matter how many clones you have, I'm the real deal." Michael cracked his neck as the sound echoed through the chamber. Then he took a step forward locking his gaze with the clone.

"And this is gonna sound cheesy as fuck. But let me tell you something. No army, not even an army consisting of my clones can kill me," he said, his voice dripping with a confidence that was both terrifying and strangely reassuring. "Because I'm the one who decides who lives and who dies, got it? Including the fucking gods."