Hitman with a Badass System

After the chaos had subsided and the remnants of the battle were cleared away, Michael and Gaya found themselves back in their room, joined by the assassin who had overseen their initiation. "Congratulations on pulling off the assassination and completing your initiation," he said, nodding in approval. "Though, let's be honest, it could've been cleaner. Using monsters... well, it tends to complicate things."

Still seething with anger and clouded by loss, Gaya barely listened to his critique. Her emotions were a turbulent mix of rage and sorrow, the criticism of her beloved monsters only fueling her anger. Unbeknownst to the assassin, he was treading dangerous ground, voicing disdain for monsters in the presence of their very goddess.

On the other hand, Michael found some merit in the assassin's words. "Yeah, it could've been smoother," he admitted, his tone reflective. Despite the success, he wasn't entirely pleased with how events had unfolded. The griffin's kamikaze strategy had strayed far from their initial plan. This was why, Michael preferred the direct approach, where he was in control, where he pulled the trigger. Orchestrating a death through a third party, especially involving creatures like the griffin, introduced too many variables. "Too many damn variables," he grumbled inside, recognizing that in the business of assassination, even the smallest detail could derail the most carefully laid plans.

"But you know," Michael continued, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "This is why I hate setting up these kinds of scenarios. There's always something or someone that goes off-script. When you try to make it look like an accident or get someone else to do your dirty work, there's just too much that can fuck it all up."

The assassin acknowledged Michael's sentiment, adding a layer of wisdom to their debrief. "It's supposed to be hard," he pointed out. "That's the difference between just killing someone and assassinating them. Anyone can kill, but it takes an assassin to plan, execute, and get away with murder."

Michael absorbed the lesson and nodded in agreement. Despite being the top assassin on Earth, he never let arrogance cloud his judgment. Instead, he embraced the opportunity to learn, keenly aware of the wealth of experience the Death Merchants Guild and the assassin before him had to offer.

With the initiation now successfully behind them, the assassin shifted gears. "Now that you've completed your initiation, it's time for you to officially become part of the Death Merchants," he declared. Then, he produced a medallion, unremarkable at first glance, resembling a simple pebble. With a deliberate motion, he crushed it, releasing a sudden burst of black smoke.

The smoke swirled around Michael and Gaya, thickening into a veil that obscured their surroundings. Moments later, they found themselves transported back to the dark, torch-lit halls of the Death Merchants Guild, the place where their journey with the guild had started.

Once inside the hall, the assassin picked up on Gaya's unusual quietness. "You've been awfully quiet," he observed, eyeing her closely. "Just relieved it's over." Gaya, her emotions a mixture of relief and contemplation, simply responded.

The assassin's chuckle broke the brief tension. "The fun's just getting started," he said, hinting at the challenges and thrills that lay ahead. Michael sensed that more demanding and exciting tasks were on the horizon, each one potentially more complex than the last.

As they were led to the center of the hall, they approached a pillar topped with a ceramic basin and a knife resting beside it. The assassin gestured towards them. "Show me your palms and give a little cut," he instructed, indicating the need for their blood in the basin. Reluctantly, Michael and Gaya complied, slicing their palms and watching as their blood dripped into the ceramic, which seemed to absorb the crimson fluid eagerly.

"This is how we keep tabs on you," the assassin explained, his tone casual yet carrying an underlying threat. "If you even whisper about the Death Merchants to anyone outside, we'll know." He then clarified the guild's hierarchy. "Until you climb the ranks, forget about bringing in new blood like I did with you. And remember," he continued. "The higher you go in the guild, the sweeter the rewards."

"Are you ready for your next jobs?" the assassin asked, his gaze sharp and assessing.

"Better pay well, though." Michael, with a half-smile, nodded and quipped. Hearing Michael, the assassin laughed, appreciating the mix of humor and seriousness. "Someone who's driven by rewards, huh? You'll fit right in here," he said approvingly. Then, shifting to business, he tossed a space ring to Michael. "Inside, you've got half a million gold coins, plus a little trinket that might save your ass one day. Though, if you're as good as you claim, you probably won't need it."

"Thanks," Michael responded, catching the ring and feeling its weight and potential.

"There's one more stop we need to make, and then I'm done with you two. You'll be on your own, running your own show," the assassin concluded, indicating that their time under his direct guidance was coming to an end.

The assassin, with a familiar motion, crushed another pebble, and in an instant, they were teleported to a new location. They found themselves in what appeared to be a tavern, a place that hummed with a unique blend of secrecy and casual revelry.

The bartender, a man with a cyclical bar mustache interwoven with strands of gray, surveyed his domain with experienced eyes. The patrons varied widely in attire and demeanor, from those cloaked in dark hoods lurking in the shadows to others in colorful noble dresses, exuding a sense of flamboyant mystery.

Most of the patrons seemed to prefer their own company, sipping their drinks contemplatively, while a few were engaged in quiet, intense conversations in pairs. Beautiful elves glided between the tables, their grace unmatched as they attended to the guests. One elf, leaning over to serve a patron, her voice dripping with a seductive lilt, inquired. "Another round, or perhaps something... stronger?" Her smile was inviting, a promise of secrets shared in the dim light.

A patron, captivated by her charm, flirted back with a grin, "Stronger sounds tempting, but it's your company that truly intoxicates." At another table, a conversation took a darker turn, laced with gallows humor. "You know," one hooded figure mused to another, "I once told my target I'd let him go if he made me laugh. Poor soul couldn't even muster a giggle before the end."

"Ah, but it's the last laugh that counts, doesn't it?" His companion chuckled, the sound low and sinister. As they navigated through the tavern, Michael and Gaya noted the curious glances from some assassins. These glances were brief, as most quickly returned to their drinks and whispered conversations. However, a few eyes lingered on Damien, their expressions mixing fear and respect.

Reaching the bar, the bartender greeted the assassin familiarly. "Seems like you've brought in some new blood, Damien," he remarked, eyeing Michael and Gaya with a mix of curiosity and appraisal.

"Yeah, they did pretty well in their initiation," Damien responded with a nod.

The bartender, Clint, let out a knowing chuckle. "Let me guess, Borgin Ironfist?" This caught Michael and Gaya off guard. They were in a place that was clearly not Sagespire, yet Clint was well informed about their recent exploits.

"Name's Clint," the bartender continued, "I'm your bartender, guide, and contract giver." He laid out his roles with a casual ease that belied the importance of his position within the guild.

"Clint's the guy who bridges the gap between you low-rankers and the higher-ups." Damien looked at them and explained. "The more jobs you complete, the less you have to see his old face." He then added with a hint of humor, Clint laughed at that, the lines in his face deepening with amusement. "Don't forget where you came from, Damien. You were once a newbie just like them. And this 'old man' here taught you the ropes... maybe a bit too well." His tone was light but carried an undercurrent of pride.

Damien smiled at the friendly jibe and turned back to Michael and Gaya. "Clint will answer any questions you have and give you your guild cards. Those are your keys to get in and out of here, so keep them safe."

Finally, Damien turned around to leave as he looked at them both.

"Adios. Do better next time, and we'll meet again soon," he said before turning away and leaving the tavern.

After Damien's departure, Clint's attention turned back to Michael and Gaya. "If that guy recruited you, you must be quite the pair," he mused, sizing them up. "Makes sense, though. Not many could take out Borgin, especially with a griffin involved."

"It didn't go exactly as planned." Michael gave a half-smile, admitted.

"But you did it, right? Any assassination is a good one if you walk away alive and leave no trace behind." He then leaned over and picked up a pink card adorned with delicately embossed flowers. "Here, take this. These runes will let you in and out of here. Just don't flash it around if you're in hot water; that's not how we assassins roll."

"A pink card with flowers? Really?" Gaya took one look at the card and couldn't help but comment. "What's next, glitter and unicorns on our assassination contracts?"

"What did you expect? Black and dark with a skull? Come on, that's too damn obvious. We're assassins, not cliché merchants. Subtlety, remember?" Clint chuckled at her reaction. Clint then produced a stack of parchments, each one detailing a different contract, and spread them out before Michael and Gaya. "Pick something that suits your style," he advised, his voice serious now, underscoring the gravity of their choices. "But remember, the tougher the job and the higher the priority of the target, the quicker you'll move up the ranks. Aim to become a Reaper of Death, like Damien."

As they leaned in to peruse the contracts, contemplating which path to choose in their burgeoning careers as assassins, Michael's attention was momentarily diverted. In the reflective surface of a glass on the shelf behind Clint, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. His eyes narrowed in recognition. It was none other than Jin himself.