Hitman with a Badass System - #1169 - 1169 Ritualistic Murder

Michael swiftly made his way to the bamboo forest, leaving Pink to meet with Officer Barug. As he approached the dark alley, he took to the sky, flying towards the hidden location of the Vilnius gang’s hideout nestled deep within the dense bamboo forest. The forest canopy swayed gently in the breeze, the dark clouds overhead, setting a somber mood.

Landing quietly in the quaint camp, surrounded by small houses and shelters crafted amidst the thick bamboo, Michael’s presence immediately drew attention. Vilnius, in the midst of beating the hell out of two of his gang members, froze mid-action, his fists still raised. For a brief moment, shock registered on his face before recognition set in. 

A look of unease and surprise flashed in Vilnius’s eyes as he straightened up, his gaze fixed on Michael. 

“You’ve returned,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Michael, without a word, gestured towards one of the more secluded buildings, indicating his desire to speak in private. Vilnius nodded, understanding the need for discretion, and signaled the others to continue without him.

As they walked toward the secluded building, Vilnius couldn’t help but recall vividly the day when John had overpowered him. The memory of being subdued with a potent poison and subjected to a private, intense torture still lingered in his mind. That encounter had been a pivotal moment, reshaping the dynamics of the Vilnius gang and his role within it.

But after Michael’s departure, Vilnius regained his position as the unchallenged leader of the gang. Freed from answering to him, Vilnius had steered the gang according to his own vision, enjoying the autonomy and power that came with his role as he did before Michael came into the picture. However, with Michael’s unexpected return, that sense of unchallenged leadership seemed to be on the brink of change.

As they entered the building, a sense of inevitability hung in the air. Vilnius knew that whatever the reason for Michael’s return, it signified a shift, a potential end to his time as the gang’s uncontested leader.

Once Michael entered Vilnius’s room, he confidently took the gang leader’s chair and leaned back comfortably. Vedora, the three-headed serpent, leaped down onto the table, fixing its gaze on Vilnius. The gang leader felt a hint of unease under the serpent’s scrutiny but managed to maintain his composure.

“So, what were you up to while I was away?” Michael inquired casually, his eyes on Vilnius.

Vilnius, trying to mask his discomfort, responded, “Just the usual heists and some recon work. I assume you won’t disclose what you’ve been doing during your absence,” his tone was cool, almost challenging.

Michael, however, momentarily ignored Vilnius’s question. His attention was drawn to the window, where he observed the dark rain clouds. “Has it been raining?” he asked, seemingly out of curiosity.

Vilnius, puzzled by the abrupt change in topic, frowned before replying, “Hmm, no.” He couldn’t fathom why Michael would ask such a question. For Michael, this observation confirmed a suspicion. The world might indeed have lost rain since he had eliminated the god of rain, Rainar.

Despite this startling realization, Michael’s focus remained on uncovering Gilrut’s murderer. The absence of rain was significant, but he knew the Pantheon would address it, or perhaps a new God of Rain would emerge.

Returning to the matter at hand, Michael commented, “I expect you’ve stored my share of the heists separately.” Vilnius, slightly irritated, pointed towards a drawer. Michael, with a smile, opened the drawer and found a space ring filled with stacks of gold coins.

“Good,” Michael noted, pocketing the space ring.

Vilnius then cautiously broached a topic of concern. “Did you come back to start a new heist? After what happened in Eden’s Garden, we’ve been under a lot of scrutiny. So, try not to target anything as high-profile as Eden’s Garden again, at least for now,” he warned.

Michael, however, was not there to initiate another heist, much to Vilnius’s relief. His return to Durran had a different purpose, one that was yet to unfold.

Michael, shifting the focus of their conversation, brought up the topic that had been weighing heavily on his mind. “I need to know more about Gilrut’s death,” he stated, his voice carrying a sense of urgency.

Contemplating Michael’s words, Vilnius leaned back. 

“I’ve heard rumors too,” he began. 

“There are whispers in the underworld that his death is more than just a murder. It’s being talked about as if it’s a message of some sort.”

He paused, choosing his words carefully. 

“Even the big players in the underworld seem to be steering clear of this one. It’s like they know something we don’t. It might be wise for us to avoid getting involved,” Vilnius advised, a hint of caution in his tone.

However, Michael was resolute. “Ask about it discreetly. I need information on this murder,” he insisted.

“Why? What’s so important about this murder to you?” Vilnius asked, raising an eyebrow. Curiosity was evident in his expression.

Michael’s response was straightforward, tinged with a personal sentiment.

 “Gilrut was important to me. I need to get to the bottom of this, find out who’s responsible,” he declared, his determination clear.

Vilnius, sensing an opportunity, probed further into Michael’s interest in Gilrut’s murder. He was always on the lookout for any leverage that could give him an upper hand, even against someone as formidable as Michael.

Before Vilnius could delve deeper, Ayag interrupted with a chuckle. She began to tell a short story, one that seemed to be a warning wrapped in a fable.

“Once in a dense jungle,” she began, “there was a curious little fox. This fox had a habit of poking its nose into every affair, every mystery it came across. One day, it heard a loud roar deep within the forest. Driven by its curiosity, the fox followed the sound, hoping to discover something exciting.” Ayag paused for a moment before continuing.

“The deeper it went, the louder the roar became, until it found itself at the mouth of a cave. Inside, there was a sleeping lion, the king of the jungle. The fox, unable to control its curiosity, crept closer. But in its eagerness, it stepped on a twig, snapping it. The sound woke the lion, who, in his anger, caught the fox and ended its life.”

Ayag’s voice was steady as she concluded her story. 

“The moral of the story? Sometimes, curiosity can lead you to danger, especially when it involves matters that are best left alone. It would be wise, Vilnius, not to be too cunning against us.”

Vilnius, taking in the story and its implicit warning, nodded slowly, a newfound caution in his demeanor. He realized delving too deep into Michael’s reasons might not be in his best interest. In the world they inhabited, some curiosities were better left unsatisfied.

“Find out whatever you can about Gilrut’s murder. And send Elmer to meet me.” Michael gave Vilnius his final instructions, a firm tone in his voice.

As the orc walked away, Ayag pondered aloud, “Who would have killed Gilrut to make even the underworld shy away?”

“I have a bad feeling about this. It’s like we’re groping in the dark here.” Cain, usually the more reserved one, voiced his unease. 

Michael shared Cain’s sentiment, feeling the weight of the unknown variables in this situation. Yet, he chose to remain silent, his thoughts kept to himself.

Suddenly, Pink’s voice, filled with horror and fear, broke through the silence in his head via the earpiece. 

“Ghost…” she began, her voice trembling.

Hearing her voice, Michael’s expression turned serious. 

“Are you in trouble?” he asked, concern evident in his tone.

Through the earpiece, he heard Pink’s response, choked with emotion. 

“It’s Gilrut’s body…” Her words were abruptly cut off by the sound of her vomiting, a clear sign of distress.

Michael’s frown deepened at this turn of events. Without a word, he stood up decisively, ready to leave the room and meet Pink. Whatever she had discovered about Gilrut’s body was serious enough to shake her usually composed demeanor.

Listening intently, Michael stood still as Pink’s voice, laced with horror, came through the earpiece. 

“I’ve seen many bodies, many deaths, but this… this is different,” she confessed, her voice quivering with emotion.

Michael remained silent, giving her space to continue.

“This wasn’t just a murder,” Pink stammered, struggling to articulate the gruesome details. 

“It’s something else, something far more sinister. Gilrut’s eyes… they were gouged out while he was still alive.” Her voice was a mix of shock and revulsion.

She took a deep, shaky breath before continuing. “The killer didn’t just kill him. He tortured him. There’s a smell of healing potion on his body, which suggests the killer was healing him… to keep him alive for more torture.” Her words painted a picture of a chilling, calculated brutality.

“Gilrut’s limbs were methodically cut, and he was gutted…” Pink’s voice trailed off, and Michael could hear her vomiting once again, the gruesome details overwhelming even her seasoned composure.

Michael’s expression hardened as he processed the information. 

“Sit tight, Pink. I’m coming there,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a grim determination. The nature of Gilrut’s death was not just a murder; it was a message, a cruel and barbaric one, and he was intent on uncovering the truth behind it.

After ending the communication with Pink, Michael stood in contemplative silence for a moment. He finally broke the quiet, speaking more to himself than anyone else. 

“The rumors in the crowd were right. This wasn’t just a murder, it was a ritualistic killing,” he said, his voice reflecting a mix of realization and concern.

The air around them seemed to grow heavier with the gravity of his words. A ritualistic murder suggested motives far more complex and sinister than a simple act of violence. It hinted at darker forces at play, ones that they were only beginning to understand.

Cain, who had been quietly observing the exchange, spoke up again, his voice tinged with a sense of foreboding. 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he repeated, his warning more urgent this time.