Marvel Ultimate Gacha

Michael walked up to the massive steel doors of the bunker. The reinforced structure loomed ominously, a testament to the nation's attempt to protect their leaders from outside threats. But against him, it was no more than a minor inconvenience.

He placed his hand on the surface of the door, channeling his mana. The faint glow of black energy spread out from his palm, and the air around him grew cold. With a slight push of his will, the door began to groan and creak. The sound of metal straining against itself echoed loudly, until with one final burst of energy, the hinges shattered, and the door collapsed inward with a deafening crash.

Inside, chaos erupted. Soldiers scrambled to their feet, alarms blaring in the background. Michael stepped inside with calm, deliberate steps, his dark suit absorbing the dim light of the bunker's interior.

"Oh! Mr. President!, I am here~~," he declared playfully, his voice amplified by the symbiote. "I am here to just meet you I promise."

A squad of elite guards stepped forward, each armed with advanced weapons and body armor. One of them, clearly the leader, pointed a high-tech rifle at him.

"This is your final warning! Surrender now!" the guard commanded, his voice trembling slightly despite his attempt to sound authoritative.

Michael smirked. "You should know better than to point toys at a reaper." He raised his hand, summoning a swirling spear of dark energy—Dark Spear—that materialized in an instant. With a flick of his wrist, the spear shot forward, piercing the ground between the guards with enough force to send them stumbling back.

"Stand down," Michael said, his tone carrying an edge of finality. "I have no desire to kill you. My target is deeper inside. If you value your lives, stay out of my way."

The guards hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. But before any of them could muster the courage to fight, Michael raised his other hand and conjured a faint mist of Poison Mist, sending it swirling harmlessly around them, it was just an Sleeping poison mist, he can create various type of Poison mist and this was simple sleeping Mist.

That was enough. The guards dropped soon, falling asleep, allowing him to continue deeper into the bunker.

As Michael advanced through the winding corridors, he encountered more resistance, but none of it proved to be a significant challenge. He relied on his new spells sparingly, incapacitating his enemies without causing unnecessary deaths. His mind was focused solely on his mission: reaching the president and killing him.

Eventually, Michael reached the central chamber, where the president sat behind a fortified desk, flanked by two heavily armed guards. The man looked more afraid than defiant, his face pale as he stared at the imposing figure before him.

"You... you won't get away with this," the president stammered, trying to sound brave but failing miserably.

Michael stepped forward, his presence commanding. "Blah blah, Now please die," he said coldly. "No amount of lies or power can shield you from the consequences of your actions."

The president's guards raised their weapons, but Michael's Bone Armor formed instantly, encasing him in a protective layer of dark, jagged bones. He raised his hand, summoning Soul Submission, his dark energy coiling around the guards like serpents. They froze, their weapons falling to the ground as their minds succumbed to his will.

"You'll pay for this!" the president shouted, scrambling to activate a hidden alarm. But before his hand could reach the button, Michael's Touch of Deceased lashed out, his mana-infused hand gripping the desk and instantly corroding it into dust.

Michael loomed over the trembling man. "Your reign of terror ends now."

Michael touched the president with his Touch of Deceased, watching as the man began to cry and scream in agony. His voice echoed throughout the chamber, but it was futile. Soon, his body started to decay, turning black and brittle, until it crumbled into ash and fell to the ground.

"Well," Michael muttered, looking at his hand still swirling with dark mana, "this is certainly a powerful and... painful way to kill someone." He nodded to himself, satisfied with the display of his newfound ability.

Without wasting any more time, Michael summoned a portal. The orange red, swirling gateway formed before him, casting an vibrant glow across the room. He stepped through it, leaving the bunker behind as he set his sights on the next target.

Michael stepped out of the portal into another fortified compound, the headquarters of a notorious leader infamous for exploiting his nation's resources while his people suffered. Guards scrambled as they spotted him, raising alarms and drawing their weapons.

"Another group of puppets," Michael said, his voice devoid of emotion. He raised his hand, and a wave of Poison Mist spread across the area. The guards choked and collapsed, their bodies twitching as the toxic mana seeped into their lungs.

He walked toward the opulent mansion, ignoring the chaos behind him. Inside, the leader cowered behind his security detail. Michael didn't hesitate. With a single cast of Dark Spear, the weapon pierced through multiple guards and embedded itself in the wall behind them. The men crumbled, their eyes lifeless.

The leader trembled, holding up his hands. "W-wait! I can pay you! Whatever you want!"

Michael tilted his head, a cold smirk playing on his lips. "Do you think this is about money?" He summoned a Corpse Explosion, detonating the bodies of the guards. The shockwave flung the leader into his desk, leaving him groaning in pain. Michael stepped forward, placing a hand glowing with Touch of Deceased on the man's chest.

"No more games. Your corruption ends here." The leader screamed as his body began to rot, dark energy spreading rapidly. Within seconds, he was reduced to ash.

Michael repeated this grim process across nations. Each portal led him to another symbol of greed and tyranny: a president who hoarded wealth while his citizens starved, a warlord who thrived on bloodshed, a councilman who sold his people's freedom for personal gain.

In every encounter, Michael was relentless. Guards fell to Bone Armor, their bullets bouncing harmlessly off the dark, skeletal shield that enveloped him. Leaders were incapacitated by Increased Fatigue, their strength draining until they collapsed in helplessness. Those who dared to fight back were struck down with Dark Spear or driven mad by his Touch of Deceased.

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