Hitman with a Badass System

1418 Cindy vs Zariel Final

"What what did you do?" he gasped, clutching at the bolt embedded in his shoulder, his body convulsing in protest. Each bolt, a masterpiece of anti-possession engineering from the depths of the Blacksmith Guild, was crafted from a rare, earth-mined metal. Nithroel's own divine energy pulsed within them, the intricate runes etched by Wulfric himself gleaming faintly. The Dark Army, since Skyhall's fall, had amassed a chilling arsenal – ancient texts of forbidden knowledge and powerful forges humming with so many resources one could only dream of. These bolts were more than weapons; they were keys, specifically designed to unlock a possessed body.

Zariel's arrogance had been his downfall. He'd dismissed Cindy as just another mortal—weak, vulnerable, ripe for manipulation. He was, quite demonstrably, wrong.

His possessed fingers, thick and clumsy, scrabbled for purchase on the bolt. The moment his skin grazed the metal, a sizzle echoed in the dim room, drawing back with a sharp intake of breath, surprise, and a flicker of raw fear twisting his features.

"It's imbued, you fucking idiot," Cindy's chuckle was a low, cold caress of sound. "With runes. Designed to hurt things like you. You can't pull it out. Not without consequences."

A roar ripped from Zariel's throat, pure, unadulterated fury shaking the very air. He charged, a blur of motion, impossibly fast.

But Cindy was ready, a coiled spring about to unleash. She leaped back, fluid and graceful, his grasping hand missing by a hair's breadth. Her sword flashed in the air, a spinning arc of steel caught effortlessly in her other hand. Simultaneously, another crossbow bolt snaked from her quiver. The loading, aiming, firing – a single, unbroken movement.

"Cool move, for a brat," Zariel snarled, the merchant's voice warped, a grotesque echo.

A smirk played on Cindy's lips. "Thanks. Yours isn't bad, either. For an old-ass, washed-up Reaper." She aimed. Fired.

Zariel, his senses screaming with preternatural awareness, reacted instantly. He moved, a ripple in the fabric of reality, and was suddenly there, right in front of her, hand outstretched, ready to strike. Even for a Reaper, the speed was terrifying. The merchant's body, unassuming as it had been, pulsed with unnatural strength.

But Cindy was quicker. The familiar weight of her sword settled in her grip as she raised the blade, its surface shimmering in the meager light, meeting his attack with a jarring clang. The impact vibrated through the weapon, numbing her hand, sending her stumbling back a step.

He didn't allow her a moment to recover. His hand glowed with a sickly, green light as he ripped a portrait from the wall, the heavy frame hurtling towards her like a deadly projectile.

Reflexes honed through countless hours of training kicked in. Cindy leaped, her body a twisting arc of controlled motion, bringing her sword down in a clean sweep. The portrait split in two with a satisfying crack.

A low chuckle rumbled in Zariel's chest, surprise widening his eyes. "Not bad, little bitch," the voice a disturbing blend of the merchant's and something ancient and cruel. "You've gotten stronger. Faster. Since the last time we met."

He was attempting to unnerve her, dredging up the memory of their last encounter, of possession, of violation.

But Cindy just smirked.

"I learned a few things, Zariel," the words, sharp and cold, sliced through the tension. "About possession. About Reapers. About you." She paused, her gaze unwavering. "You're in a mortal's body, Zariel. And that body's cultivation level? That's all the power you've got. You're masked. Hidden. But you're not strong. Not here."

The truth in her statement hung heavy in the air. Despite Zariel's theatrics, his power was leashed, tethered to the limitations of the mortal realm, specifically to the cultivation stage of his host. This merchant, this Edgar Crosswood, was a weakling, barely past Core Strengthening, a cosmic nobody. Zariel had projected an aura of terrifying invincibility, a clever deception, but Cindy had pierced the illusion. He was fast, undeniably. Strong, for a mortal. But not the unstoppable force he pretended to be.

The realization seemed to physically deflate him. The smirk wavered, a flicker of uncertainty betraying his eyes. He lunged then, his movements now frantic, desperate. And the room itself seemed to turn against Cindy. The portraits on the walls – landscapes, still lifes – stirred, animated by dark magic. Frames became airborne missiles, canvases tore free, swirling around her like razor-edged ghosts.

A roar, small yet fierce, erupted from Cindy's shoulder. The tiny dragon, usually content as a miniature tattoo, expanded abruptly, its scales blazing with fiery light. A torrent of lightning-infused fire erupted from its maw, incinerating the attacking portraits in a flash of ash and smoke.

Cindy moved with the dragon's fury. Her sword left her hand, a spinning disc of silver death aimed unerringly at Zariel. Simultaneously, her hands glowed with a soft, white light, and shimmering, translucent duplicates of herself sprang into existence around her. Each one raised a crossbow, each one loaded a bolt, each one aimed.

Zariel, his concentration shattered by the dragon's explosive attack, barely had time to register the multiple threats. He twisted, his body contorting in an unnatural manner, narrowly evading the whirring sword, though the blade still grazed his shoulder, leaving a thin, crimson trail. He launched himself into the air, attempting to escape the barrage of crossbow bolts raining down from her ethereal clones.

Cindy, however, was already in motion, rising to meet him, her fist crackling with golden energy – a spell learned from Michael. She punched him. The force of the blow, amplified by the magic, connected squarely with his jaw, sending him hurtling backwards with bone-jarring force. He slammed into the stone floor, the impact creating a crater where he landed, the resounding crash shaking the very foundations of the chamber.

"Not so tough now, are you, Reaper?" she snarled, her voice dripping with venom.

Zariel's power was rooted in fear. He thrived on it, fed on it, used it to control, to manipulate, to break. He could possess even powerful beings at the Half Immortal stage if fear held them in its grip. But Cindy? Cindy wasn't afraid. Not anymore. And her armor, enhanced by Elidyr's runes, stood as an impenetrable barrier against his insidious touch. He'd lost his advantage. His edge.

His control over the merchant's body fractured. Zariel flickered, his form becoming translucent, unstable. Then, with a frustrated snarl, he abandoned his failing host, his essence a wisp of smoke, darting towards the door.

As Zariel neared the doorway, an invisible force slammed into him, an unexpected gust of pure power that sent him reeling. His smoky form scattered, struggled for purchase, then coalesced once more.

Harry stepped into the throne room, a faint blue light emanating from his eyes, his outstretched hand still extended. Relief mingled with determination etched on his face.

"Took you long enough," Cindy called down from her hovering position, a playful edge to her tone. "Waiting for the dramatic entrance, were you?"

Harry's cheeks warmed. He shrugged, a sheepish gesture. "Sorry," he mumbled, his gaze fixing on Zariel, who was solidifying back into the merchant's form, rage blazing in his eyes.

"You made a mistake, boy," Zariel's growl resonated with the merchant's distorted voice, his hands clenching into fists.

"Don't even think about it," Cindy warned, descending to stand beside Harry, her voice hardening. She gestured towards the armor beneath Harry's shirt. "See those runes?" she directed at Zariel. "Same ones on my armor. They prevent possession. So don't even try it."

Despite the looming danger, a flush crept up Harry's neck. He could feel his pulse quickening, a rapid thump-thump-thump against his ribs. He'd faced down monsters, survived battles, but this was different. This was Cindy. Her chin lifted in defiance, her eyes blazing with a fierce light that sent a shiver down his spine. Fearless. A badass. A warrior. And he was smitten. Back at Mazeroth, girls had flocked to him, blushing, giggling, whispering his name, vying for his attention. But Cindy was different. No swooning, no flirting. Just challenges, pushes, inspiration. An alpha, and he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. The way she'd stood against Zariel, a creature of nightmares, without a tremor – it made his heart do a little dance, a frantic skip-beat-skip.

Enraged, and insulted, Zariel roared, a sound ripped from the depths of pure fury. He surged towards Harry, his movements jerky, unpredictable, the possessed body a violent blur.

Harry, reacting instantly, thrust out his hand, unleashing a spell learned from Elidyr. "Leo's Roar!" he called out, his voice ringing with newfound confidence. Three ethereal lions, shimmering with golden light, materialized and lunged at Zariel, their roars shaking the chamber.

Simultaneously, Cindy moved with fluid grace, a deadly dance across the floor, evading Zariel's flailing attacks. She landed behind him, her sword glinting in the gloom. Harry, however, held his ground. He wouldn't attack directly. The lions served their purpose – distraction, diversion. They couldn't risk harming the host, not yet.

Cindy hovered a few feet above the ground, her feet barely touching the floor, her sword aimed at Zariel's exposed shoulder, her stance precise, calculated. Just as the lions engaged, she fired. A crossbow bolt, launched with deadly accuracy, streaked through the air and struck Zariel squarely in the shoulder.

He froze, the runes on the bolt flaring to life, their power stunning him, immobilizing him for a precious few seconds. "I'll be back!" he shrieked, the merchant's voice warped with pain and fury, his body convulsing as he abandoned his host. A wisp of smoke, black as midnight, shot towards the ceiling, seeking escape.

But they were ready this time. A melodious ding echoed through the castle, a single, pure note that vibrated in the very air, striking Zariel's escaping essence like a physical blow. The smoky form flickered, and dispersed as if caught in a sudden hurricane.

Acting on instinct, Harry flung a metal card etched with glowing runes toward the weakened Reaper. Cindy, never missing a beat, followed suit, her aim unerring. A cage of brilliant blue light sprang into existence, trapping Zariel within its shimmering confines.

Then, she appeared. Lailah stood in the center of the throne room, her veena held delicately in her hands, her fingers still resonating from the note she had just played. It was her music, her power, that had weakened Zariel, thwarting his escape. After all, thanks to Skyhall's resources, she had ascended to the Half Celestial stage. And her music? It was more than just melody; it was unadulterated power..

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