Hitman with a Badass System

1417 Cindy vs Zariel II

The ancient castle groaned around Cindy like a dying beast, each creak of timber and mournful sigh of wind through shattered glass a stark reminder of its age and decay. The cold bit deeper with every step upward, a damp, insidious chill that seeped through her armor, rattling her teeth.

At last, the second floor. A long corridor stretched before her, swallowed by shadow, lined with doors whose warped and cracked wood whispered stories of neglect. Now she heard it clearly – a faint, heart-wrenching whimpering, a child's voice, thin and desperate, calling for help.

Trap, her mind screamed the word, a sharp, urgent warning. Zariel was a master of deception, a puppeteer of the soul. He relished in exploiting weaknesses, in twisting compassion into a weapon.

But a stubborn flicker of hope, a desperate refusal to believe the worst, burned in her chest. What if it wasn't a trick? What if, against all odds, it was a real child, truly in need?

She moved down the corridor, her footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence like a drumbeat of dread. Ignis, the tiny dragon perched on her shoulder, provided the only light, his flickering flames painting dancing shadows on the aged walls. She passed several doors, each one silent, unyielding in its secrets, before halting abruptly before another. This was it. The source of the desperate cries.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the doorknob. The metal was icy slick beneath her fingers. Taking a breath, she pushed the door inward.

Darkness. The room was a void, the feeble light from Ignis barely piercing the gloom. Shapes emerged slowly from the shadows – hulking forms draped in white sheets, like silent, watchful ghosts. Empty chairs, their cushions ripped and torn, squatted in the dusty corners. Thick, suffocating cobwebs hung from the ceiling, macabre decorations in this forgotten space.

And in the center of the room, a shape. Tall, almost six feet in height, completely shrouded in a white sheet. The child's whimpering, faint but undeniably there, seemed to emanate from beneath it.

Cindy approached with cautious steps, her hand instinctively finding the familiar grip of her sword's hilt. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the cold, rough fabric, and with a swift tug, pulled the sheet away.

A mirror. Tall and ornate, its frame carved with intricate, dust-choked designs. Its surface, clouded with years of neglect, reflected her own image back at her – distorted, shadowy, a stranger in a strange land.

A breath escaped her lips, a weary sigh that held a bitter mixture of relief and self-directed annoyance. A damn mirror. Of course. Should've bloody known.

She turned, ready to curse her own gullibility and resume her search, when a flicker in the reflection snagged her attention.

For the briefest of moments, she'd seen something else. A figure. Small. Indisputably child-sized. Standing directly behind her in the reflection.

She whirled around, sword raised in a flash of polished steel, her heart hammering against her ribs. But there was nothing there. Just the dust-laden furniture and the oppressive silence.

A frown etched itself onto her face. Zariel was toying with her, the manipulative bastard. But why? What was the point of this cruel little charade?

Then, with a sudden, sharp clarity, the memory surfaced. The day she'd stood, a desperate, pleading child herself, before the hardened faces of the adventurers in the guild, begging them to help her save her mother, Raylene. The way they'd laughed, their callous mockery echoing in her ears. Dismissed her as nothing. Except for one person.

Ghost.

He hadn't hesitated. Hadn't questioned her sanity or her motives. He'd just helped. A hand outstretched in the darkness.

And that day… that day had irrevocably altered the course of her life. He'd become more than just an ally. He'd become family. Her stubborn, infuriating, fiercely loyal big brother.

She couldn't ignore a child in need. Not after that. Not ever. The memory solidified her resolve, pushing back the gnawing suspicion.

But she wasn't a fool. She'd seen the portraits lining the walls on her way up. The family. The smug-looking merchant Zariel had chosen as his puppet. And the son. Hostages, more likely than not. The pieces clicked into place with chilling certainty.

She had to be careful. Terribly, brutally careful.

Cindy's gaze remained glued to the mirror, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. She spun around, her eyes raking the room, but the space behind her remained stubbornly empty.

Turning back to the glass, there he was. A little boy, no older than five, dressed in striped pajamas, stood beside her reflection. He hadn't been there a moment before. She glanced beside her, to where he should have been, but again, nothing. Just empty air.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she shifted her focus back to the mirror. The boy was still there, his reflection smiling up at her. And then, behind him, a figure materialized. Tall and unnaturally slender, a wide grin stretched across its face from ear to ear. The sight of this reflection sent a jolt of icy fear down Cindy's spine, stealing her breath. She whirled around almost instantly, her sword leaping into her hand, but the room remained stubbornly vacant. The figure, the thing, was gone.

Then, a sudden, unseen force slammed into her back, propelling her forward. She stumbled, her body crashing through the mirror with a deafening shatter. "Fuck!" she cursed, scrambling back to her feet, her gaze whipping around the room, searching for the unseen assailant. The figure was gone, but the sound of laughter, cruel and mocking, echoed through the ancient stone walls, seeming to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once.

She knew she had to move, had to find the source of the torment. Without hesitation, she ran, her boots pounding a frantic rhythm on the stone floor. Ignis, perched on her shoulder, cast long, frantic shadows that danced and writhed across the walls, mirroring the chaos in her own mind. To her astonishment, the objects within the castle seemed to come alive, shifting and flying of their own accord. Zariel, the manipulative bastard, is toying with me, she thought, her jaw clenching. But backing down wasn't an option. Not now.

A chair came hurtling out of a side room, wood splintering as it slammed against the opposite wall. She dodged it by a hair's breadth. A heavy oak table slid across the floor towards her, its legs scraping against the stone with a screech. She ducked low, narrowly avoiding the collision.

She bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time, her movements fluid and honed by years of brutal training. Leaping onto the banister, she vaulted over it, her body twisting in mid-air, her gaze locked on the shadowed corridor above. She was fast, but the disembodied laughter, a constant, taunting reminder of her quarry's elusiveness, suggested he was faster.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she muttered under her breath, her voice low and ragged. "Or are you too much of a pussy to fight me face to face?!"

After what felt like an eternity spent chasing the phantom laughter and flickering shadows, Cindy saw a fleeting glimpse of the figure darting through a set of massive, double doors. She reached them a moment later, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her hand gripping the cold metal of the doorknob.

She pushed the doors open. They groaned in protest, their hinges stiff with age and neglect. Stepping through the threshold, she found herself in a vast throne room.

Imposing. The high ceiling vanished into the shadows, the walls adorned with faded tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles and long-forgotten conquests. A long, crimson carpet, its color dulled by time and dust, stretched towards a raised dais where a throne sat, its dark, unidentifiable surface exuding an aura of cold power.

And on that throne sat the merchant. Edgar Crosswood.

Or rather, what was left of him.

He was still tall and slender, but grotesquely twisted, distorted as if seen through a warped lens. His skin, once smooth and unblemished, was now pale, almost translucent, stretched taut over the sharp angles of his bones. His eyes glowed with a malevolent green light, and his lips were pulled back in a grin that was too wide, too knowing, too inhuman.

Zariel.

Cindy, her gaze locked onto the grotesque figure on the throne, kept her sword at the ready, its blade catching the meager light. Her other hand moved deliberately behind her, fingers wrapping around the familiar grip of her crossbow. A sharp crack echoed through the silent throne room as she rotated her neck, loosening the tense muscles.

"Nice parlor tricks, asshole," she drawled, her voice steady, betraying none of the frantic pounding of her heart.

The lack of fear in her demeanor seemed to momentarily short-circuit Zariel's smugness. A flicker of surprise, quickly replaced by annoyance, crossed his distorted features.

Ignoring the shift in his expression, Cindy began to move, circling the throne room with a deliberate, assessing gait, taking in every detail as if conducting a leisurely inspection of her own property.

"You know," she continued, her voice casual, almost conversational, as if discussing mundane affairs rather than confronting a homicidal, body-snatching fiend, "it wasn't exactly a walk in the park tracking you down, Zariel. You're slippery. Like a greased-up eel. In a sewer."

She paused, her gaze lingering on a tapestry depicting a faded battle scene, its colors muted by age, its threads frayed and worn. "But I'm persistent. And I had help. See, I've learned a few things about you. Your habits. Your… preferences."

Coming to a stop before a dusty table, she ran a finger across its surface, leaving a clean streak through the grime. "You like expensive things. Castles. Mansions. You enjoy playing the lord of the manor. Living out your pathetic little fantasies."

She turned, her eyes meeting Zariel's, her gaze hard and cold. "You always leave a mess. A trail. It wasn't easy, but I followed it. From Kethen to Pen town, all the way to this shithole." A sharp, predatory smile touched her lips. "And now, here we are."

"You think you're smart, don't you, little bitch?" Zariel growled, the merchant's voice warped and distorted. "Think you're tough? Is that it? Because of that fancy armor? Those little runes?"

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped Cindy's lips. "I was taught to use every advantage I have, Zariel," she countered, her voice even despite the electric tension in the air. "And this armor, this sword—they're advantages. Over you."

Zariel's grin faltered as he slowly rose from the throne, his possessed form a grotesque mockery of the man he'd stolen. Seven feet tall, gaunt and skeletal, his eyes burned with a malevolent green light.

"Where is the boy, Zariel?" Cindy's voice was hard, devoid of emotion. "What did you do with him?"

A dry, rasping chuckle echoed through the throne room. "Perhaps I'll tell you, little bitch. If you beg me. Nicely."

Cindy's lips curled into a predatory smile. "I don't beg, Zariel," she said, her voice soft but laced with steel. "I make others beg. And soon, you will be begging."

She raised her crossbow, the bolt aimed directly at Zariel's heart, her finger tightening on the trigger. And she fired.

Zariel, his arrogance blinding him, didn't even flinch. He simply stood there, a smug grin plastered on his distorted face, as the bolt hurtled towards him.

The grin vanished as the bolt pierced his flesh. He staggered backward, his eyes widening in shock and pain. The runes etched into the bolt flared with a fierce, white light. It wasn't just piercing him; it was burning him, agonizingly. Not just the stolen flesh, but something deeper. Zariel himself. His very soul.

"You think you can hurt me, little bitch?" he gasped, his voice strained, the grin twisting into a grimace of agony.

A cold, merciless chuckle was Cindy's only reply. "Did you really think I'd come here unprepared, Zariel? Bitch, I grew up with the God of fucking Darkness and the Goddess of fucking Monsters. I've got plans for my plans. And backups for my backups. You're not the first monster I've hunted, you fucking asshole. And you sure as hell won't be the last."

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