HITMAN WITH A BADASS SYSTEM

Michael, puppeteering Eldoran’s body, practically sprinted down the grand staircase. Each footfall was a calculated risk in this increasingly precarious game. The lobby pulsed with its usual nighttime energy, the throngs of elves a chaotic camouflage. He navigated the crowd, a wolf in elven robes, his focus laser-sharp on the bench near the kebab stall.

His borrowed eyes locked onto his own, his real body still slumped on the bench, feigning sleep. The halfling, ever the shrewd businessman, launched into his spiel.

“Juicy kebab, sir? Best in Luxor! Only two gold pieces!” his voice chirped, sickeningly eager.

Michael, through Eldoran, ignored the vendor’s entreaty. His attention was solely on his physical form.

“Arrogant prick,” the halfling muttered, his cheerful façade momentarily slipping as he returned to tending his sizzling skewers.

Michael seized the opportunity. He willed the Transference of Consciousness to break.

Eldoran’s awareness, like a startled bird released from a cage, fluttered back into his own body. His eyes snapped open, wide with disorientation. He blinked, his gaze darting around the brightly lit lobby, a sea of unfamiliar faces.

Before Eldoran could fully process the jarring shift, before he could question the dizzying change of location, Michael’s will slammed back into his mind. Control reasserted, the brief flicker of elven confusion extinguished as Michael’s consciousness reoccupied Eldoran’s form.

The halfling, positioned just a few feet away, witnessed the unsettling transformation. One moment, the elf appeared lost, utterly bewildered, like a child separated from his parents in a crowded market. The next, that vacant confusion vanished, replaced by a sharp alertness. A smirk, knowing and self-assured, played on the elf’s lips. It was unnerving.

“Two kebabs, please,” Michael said, Eldoran’s voice now smooth and confident. “One to eat now, and one to go.”

“Yes, my lord! Right away!” The halfling, his earlier annoyance evaporated, practically tripped over his own feet in his eagerness to fulfill the order. He snatched two skewers, and loaded them with sizzling meat and onions, presenting one on a large, round leaf serving as a makeshift plate and wrapping the other in parchment paper.

Michael, still piloting Eldoran, accepted the offered plate. With a casual grace that belied the intricate dance he was performing, he strolled back to the bench where his physical body remained, feigning sleep. He settled onto the bench, the savory aroma of roasted meat filling Eldoran’s nostrils, and took a deliberate bite of the kebab.

It was good.

He subtly slid his hand, the one concealing the space ring containing the explosives, across the bench, nudging it toward his other self. His real hand, under the guise of adjusting his position, closed around the ring. A silent exchange, unnoticed in the lobby’s lively atmosphere.

Now, for the next phase.

He needed to maneuver Eldoran inside the data center, plant the explosives, and create an entry point for his physical body. Then, the real fun would begin.

He could almost taste the impending chaos. The guards, jolted by the explosion, would swarm to evacuate the area, their movements panicked, their voices a chorus of shouted orders. And amidst the pandemonium, a few predictably heroic elves would charge into the smoke-filled room, determined to rescue any souls trapped within.

And he, Michael, would be among them. A concerned bystander, risking his neck to help. Perfect.

Of course, the nagging possibility that Eldoran might recall something lingered. He might recognize the missing minutes, the feeling of being… occupied. But Michael was banking on the ensuing confusion, the sheer panic of the explosion, to obliterate any lingering memories.

And if that failed, well, he possessed other methods of persuasion.

He finished his kebab, discarding the remains in a nearby bin. With a casual stretch and a theatrical yawn, he stood.

“Time to get back to work,” he announced, Eldoran’s voice loud, clear, carrying a slight slur, as if he had already indulged in a few too many drinks.

He turned, heading back towards the staircase, his movements slow, measured, granting his real body a precious few extra seconds to prepare. He knew that once the explosives detonated, he needed to act decisively, and swiftly. It would be a messy affair, undeniably loud. But with a generous dose of luck, they would be in and out before anyone understood the sheer audacity of what just transpired.

Meanwhile, Eldoran, a space ring safely tucked into his pocket and a paper bag containing a kebab clutched in his hand, ascended the grand staircase. Michael, still piloting the elf’s body, chuckled inwardly.

“Last supper, Lyra,” he mused, a smirk playing on Eldoran’s lips. “And it is going to be a greasy fucking kebab.”

He reached the door and rapped twice, their prearranged signal. Lyra, her expression tight with tension, cracked the door open, peering out.

“Did you fill your bottomless pit, you gluttonous oaf?” she asked, a familiar, teasing annoyance coloring her voice. But the sharp edge was gone, replaced by the lingering warmth of a shared past.

Eldoran, or rather Michael, chuckled, holding up the paper bag.

“Of course, my dear Lyra,” he replied, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “And I even brought you a peace offering.”

Lyra’s eyes widened slightly as she took the offered bag, peeking inside. The spicy, savory aroma of the kebab wafted into the corridor.

“You remembered,” she murmured, a hint of surprise softening her features. “You know, for a guy I dated and dumped, you do still spoil your ex.”

Michael’s mind reeled at this unexpected revelation. So, they dated. Broke up. That explained a hell of a lot. The underlying tension, the easy familiarity, the subtle currents of resentment that ran beneath their interactions. It also explained why Lyra had not suspected Eldoran of being the mole; she knew him, perhaps even trusted him, on some level.

Fucking perfect, he thought, a knot of unease tightening in his gut.

He just hoped Eldoran’s ex-girlfriend would not become a problem, a liability in his carefully orchestrated plan.

“Enjoy it,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “Before all hell breaks loose.”

Lyra, misinterpreting his ominous words as concern for the impending mole hunt, sighed and nodded.

“Do not worry, Eldoran,” she replied, her voice softening. “We will find the rat. And when we do…” Her voice trailed off, a dark glint in her eyes.

Michael simply nodded before stepping back and giving her space. Then he watched as she closed the door, the click of the lock echoing in the silent corridor.

While Lyra enjoyed her last meal, blissfully ignorant of the impending chaos, Michael, still inhabiting Eldoran’s body, moved with a purposeful stride towards the blind spot he identified earlier. He reached into his space ring, his fingers closing around the cold, metallic surfaces of his specially crafted explosives.

These were not just ordinary bombs; they were his creations. A potent fusion of earthly ingenuity and his own divine power. He designed them himself, the Inventor trait providing the blueprint, his Alchemy skills enhancing their destructive potency.

They were small, fitting snugly in the palm of his hand, yet packed a hell of a punch. Each one was a miniature sphere of compressed energy, encased in a shell of obsidian-like metal. A digital timer, its red numerals glowing faintly in the dim light, was embedded in the surface, counting down the seconds until detonation.

But the explosive force was not the only thing that made these bombs special. He infused them with a corrosive agent of his own design, a nasty concoction that would eat away at the very foundations of this place. Walls would crumble, ceilings would collapse, and anyone unlucky enough to be caught in the blast would have their skins peeled or have some serious injuries.

He could not be entirely certain that these bombs would be enough to kill a being from the realm of gods; he had not exactly tested them on deities before. However, he felt confident they would inflict serious damage, enough to destabilize the structure, to create widespread chaos, and, most importantly, to give him an opening.

Michael, still inhabiting Eldoran’s body, moved through the hall with practiced ease, his footsteps making no sound on the polished floor. He placed the first explosive device near the base of one of the large, blue crystals, tucking it out of sight behind a cluster of smaller, pulsating ones. It was a carefully chosen spot, a blind area where the surveillance systems and magical wards were likely less potent.

The second device went beneath a nearby table, positioned strategically near a ventilation shaft so the airflow would maximize the spread of the corrosive agent.

“Hope you fuckers have good insurance,” he thought, a grim sense of satisfaction settling in his chest.

He placed the third explosive near the entrance, concealed behind a gaudy tapestry depicting a particularly unattractive elven ancestor. This one was insurance, a distraction to draw attention away from the real target.

The red crystal.

He was carefully positioning the fourth and final explosive near the base of the glowing red crystal when a voice, sharp and laced with suspicion, broke the silence.

“Eldoran? What are you doing?”

Michael froze, his hand hovering over the device. Slowly, deliberately, he turned, forcing a casual smile onto Eldoran’s face.

It was one of the elves from the backup team, the one who seemed so eager to impress Lyra.

“Just checking the energy flow,” Michael replied, his voice smooth and unhurried. “Making sure the crystals are functioning properly. You know. Safety first.”

He paused, letting his gaze linger on the elf’s face for a moment before adding with a hint of authority, “What are you doing away from your post? Is the backup complete?”

It was a classic deflection tactic, one he had employed countless times in his previous life. When caught somewhere he did not belong, doing something he should not be doing, he would counterattack, putting them on the defensive.

And it worked.

The elf, visibly flustered, stammered, “Uh… almost, Eldoran. Just a few more minutes. We were just… uh… checking the perimeter.” He gestured vaguely towards the door, his excuse sounding weak even to his own ears.

“Right,” Michael said, nodding slowly. “Well, get back to it, then. Wouldn’t want to disappoint Lyra. Or worse, Seraphene.” He turned away, dismissing the elf with a wave of his hand. “I will finish up here.”

The elf, clearly relieved to be dismissed, hurried away, his footsteps echoing in the silent hall.

Michael waited until the elf was out of sight before finally placing the last explosive. He stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Perfect. Subtle. Almost invisible, unless someone knew exactly what they were looking for.

“Backup complete, Eldoran,” one of the elves at the table announced, his voice tinged with relief.

“Excellent,” Michael said, forcing a smile onto Eldoran’s face. “Good work.”

He started walking towards the door, his movements casual and unhurried, but inside, his heart pounded against his ribs. As he was walking, he activated the detonator, the tiny device in his hand vibrating silently.

“Sixty seconds,”

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