Becoming the Dark Lord

An infinite void stretched before Luke. He was floating in the dark. Time didn’t move. Or maybe it did, and he just couldn’t feel it anymore. Sometimes, he was aware—lucid, almost awake. Other times, he drifted, half-dreaming in an eternal sleep. Until, inside that dream, a strange heaviness pulled at his vision… and he closed his eyes.

Then—he woke up.

His eyes snapped open as if jolted by electricity, his body flinching like a startled cat. A small cry of pain escaped his lips before he could stop it, pure reflex from the last thing he remembered.

When Luke looked at his body… he froze.

”Did I die?”

Both hands stretched in front of him, whole. Untouched. Not a single wound. His head ached faintly, like a fading echo, and his thoughts stumbled through the last memories. But one image remained sharp—his torso split open. His insides spilling out.

He looked down again. His body was whole. No cuts. No pain. His clothes were torn in the same places where he had been wounded, but the skin beneath them was perfect. Clean. Unscarred.

His mind jumped to the boss—but he remembered the demon falling into the abyss. Gone.

Luke slowly turned his head and took in his surroundings.

”The Forgotten Temple...”

He was inside. Sitting.

Somehow, the temple had been rebuilt. The shattered walls were pristine again—reinforced, restored, better than before. The torches were no longer crude metal stubs; they were mounted in carved sconces, burning with quiet, regal fire.

Then he looked down—and nearly jumped.

The statues… they had moved. All of them now knelt. In front of him.

He turned, his breath caught in his throat. He had been sitting on the throne.

Luke staggered to his feet, nearly stumbling off the stone seat. His eyes scanned the room as realization dawned. The throne itself had changed. It wasn’t the same cracked and ancient seat he remembered. Now it stood taller, darker, crafted from deep gray stone with polished, jagged edges. The worn carvings were gone—replaced by something harder to define. Something rawer.

“What the hell happened here…?”

He began to walk, careful not to step too close to the statues, still bowing in silence. As he moved past them, something caught his attention—just ahead sat a chest.

At first, he thought it was the one that had once held the key. But as he got closer, Luke realized it was a completely different chest. And something told him… this one held something else entirely.

Luke couldn’t make sense of what had happened inside the temple. And, for the first time, he didn’t care.

He broke into a sprint, rushing out of the grand stone hall. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the marble floor and passed through the forest trail beyond. But even the trail had changed.

The forest… was beautiful. The shattered, warped landscape was gone. In its place stood tall, lush trees, vibrant leaves glowing with life. He even spotted fruit hanging from their branches—fresh, untouched, almost glistening.

And then he reached the edge. Where the abyss used to be. He stopped cold.

“The abyss is gone…”

There was no floating island. No endless void. Just forest.

Thick, green, vibrant forest.

The island... merged with the dungeon?

He stepped onto the grass, dumbfounded. His eyes landed on something oddly familiar—his shoes. Right there, resting on the edge of the clearing where he’d first stepped barefoot onto the bridge. He bent down and picked them up, glancing back toward the temple. His heartbeat quickened as a memory surfaced—that thing, formed entirely of darkness. That massive face in the sky, watching as he bled out.

“The demon bloodline…” he whispered.

He needed to know if it had truly happened. There was only one way to be sure.

He willed the system to open. And it did.

But when he opened his notification history, he froze. There was nothing. No record of the final boss. No mention of the sacrifice. Not even the system logs for clearing the three trials. The last message… was the one where he’d selected Assassin’s Dash.

“No. That’s impossible. I didn’t imagine it. My clothes are still torn where I was wounded…”

But then, a worse thought crossed his mind.

“The key.”

He had to know if it was really with him.

When he opened his system screen, Luke was shocked.

Name: Luke

Level: 2

Rank: F

Class: [Assassin (Lvl 5)]

Race: Half-Demon

Profession::

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Titles: [?]

Bloodline: [Bloodline of the Dark Demon]

Health Points (HP): 200/200

Mana Points (MP): 110/110

Stamina: 90/90

Stats:

Strength: 15

Agility: 23

Endurance: 9

Vitality: 20

Perception: 16

Intelligence: 11

Free Points: 0

Inventory: [Throwing Knife Holster], [Smoke Bomb (x1)], [Statue Key]

Class Skills: [Basic Blade Handling (Common)], [Knife Throwing (Common)], [Twin Blade (Common)], [Assassin Dash (Uncommon)]

Race Skills: [Identify (Common)]

“Half-demon?!”

Luke’s eyes widened. He blinked, closed the screen, reopened it. Tried again. And again. The words didn’t go away.

Bloodline.

That part was new.

He remembered the moment right before everything went black—the voice, the offer, the system prompt. Do you accept the demonic bloodline?

“I actually accepted it,” he whispered, horrified.

His first thought was...

Did I sell my soul?

Luke spun around in panic, checking for a tail. He ran his hands over his scalp, searching for horns. Nothing. Still human.

He frantically checked every inch of his body, looking for changes. Red skin? Claws? Glowing eyes? But no. Everything was normal. Except... his skin was paler than before. Almost unnaturally pale. Like something inside him had changed. Quietly. Permanently.

Am I going to turn into some kind of monster?

Luke stared at the temple behind him, unease crawling through his chest. A part of him didn’t want to step foot in that place again—afraid some insane new trial would rise from the shadows. But he glanced again at the key icon sitting in his inventory. He had it. He could turn his back and move on. Leave all of this behind.

But...

Do I go back?

He opened his status screen again, eyes drifting to the bloodline section, trying to understand what the hell had happened to him. And then, as if answering his thoughts, a new notification appeared:

[Bloodline of the Dark Demon]: The blood running through your veins carries the weight of a lineage both cursed and privileged. Born of chaos, destruction, and the raw essence of the abyss, you are the heir to uncontrollable forces. Your power is vast and untamed—a reflection of the ancient darkness that birthed you. Let your journey be marked by greatness... or eternal damnation.

Luke blinked.

“What the hell did that thing do to me?” he muttered.

He turned his gaze to the temple once more. And without waiting for the fear to return, he stepped forward.

The moment he crossed the threshold, everything inside was exactly how he’d left it. The statues were still kneeling before the throne, their heads lowered so deeply they almost touched the floor.

But Luke didn’t head for the throne. He began exploring. The walls no longer bore signs of the chaos that had ripped them apart during the fight. Everything had been repaired—no cracks, no rubble, no scorched stone. Just pristine architecture lit by ornate torch sconces.

Eventually, he returned to the front of the throne. The statues remained frozen, heads bowed. Between them was a metal chest—solid, heavy, as if it had been placed as an offering.

Luke remembered the image he’d once seen engraved on the throne: humanoid figures kneeling before the demon, offering something. Maybe not a sacrifice after all. Maybe a gift.

Do I open it?

He hesitated.

Then took a breath.

Screw it. This situation was already insane—he needed answers.

The lid was absurdly heavy. Luke gripped it with both hands, bracing his body and pulling with all the strength he had left. It gave in with a loud metallic clang as it fell back, the echo booming through the chamber.

“God, this thing weighs a ton...”

He looked inside—and froze.

Darkness.

Not shadows.

A deep, infinite void.

It looked like space without stars. Like he was peering directly into the abyss once more.

Then the blackness began to shift. It rippled. Shrunk. Pulled inward, almost as if it were folding itself out of existence.

And once it was gone, the torchlight revealed what had been hidden beneath it all.

“…Knives?”

At the bottom of the chest sat a pair of large black blades. Not quite swords, but definitely too long and too curved to be normal daggers. Luke recognized the design instantly—kukris. They were heavy just by looking at them. Their edges curved forward like a predator’s claw.

But it wasn’t the shape that unsettled him. It was the feeling. The moment he laid eyes on them, he felt the same sensation that had overwhelmed him in front of the boss’s blade.

Weight. Presence.

Luke stepped closer, hesitant. He extended his hand—slowly—and focused. He activated Identify.

[Demonic Twin Kukris (Rare)

Description: These blades were forged as a gift for the rise of a demon. Symbols of the horns he never grew, these twin kukris are bound to their master, walking beside him on his path to the throne of tyranny.

Enchantments:

[Magnetic Return (Rare)]: A demon should never be without his horns. These blades are bound by a magnetic link, allowing them to return to the user’s hand after being thrown. The effective range scales with the Perception stat.

[Shadow Presence (Uncommon)]: The blades passively absorb ambient light, becoming harder to detect in dark environments. Increases the effectiveness of stealth attacks.

Requirement: SoulBound]

Luke stared at the screen, stunned. They weren’t just powerful—they were a perfect match. Compared to his throwing knives, these kukris made everything else look like a child’s toy.

Is this a coincidence?

No. It wasn’t.

Thanks to his class and the first skill he awakened, Luke had the innate ability to wield light one-handed weapons. And now, in his hands—literally—was a pair of weapons made for an assassin.

Not a massive sword. Not a warhammer or an axe. But dual blades. Quick. Precise. Efficient. It’s not a coincidence.

He touched one of the kukris—and it vanished into black mist.

[An item has been added to your inventory]

SoulBound? What does that mean?

He didn’t know yet, but something about the term made it feel permanent. Like these blades weren’t just his now—they always would be.

“Thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly, glancing at the kneeling statues. Part of him felt ridiculous talking to statues, but he still said it.

Nothing else in the temple called to him. Outside, he summoned the pair of kukris into his hands. They materialized in a flash of dark light, as if stepping out from the shadows themselves.

“Whoa.”

They were heavy—heavier than his usual weapons—but they fit him well. When he moved them, the air whistled from the sharpness of their edges. The entire blade, from tip to hilt, was black. Not painted—truly black metal, like it had been smelted from the void itself.

He wanted to test the enchantment: Magnetic Return. He had no idea how it worked.

“Maybe I just… point?”

He set one kukri down on the grass and backed away. Slowly, he raised his hand toward it. The blade trembled.

Then—

THUMP!

The kukri launched through the air. His eyes widened in horror. The damn thing was flying at him—tip-first. For a split second, he was sure it was going to take his fingers off.

But at the last moment, the kukri twisted midair, flipped, and landed in his hand—perfectly aligned, hilt-first, with zero impact.

“Okay… that’s badass.”

The kukris vibrated faintly in his grip. Like they agreed.

He turned to face the temple one last time. A ruined memory. A place of death and survival.

“I don’t know what happened here…” he whispered. “But thank you. For letting me keep going.”

Even if the only reason I ended up here was because I got forced into this mess…

That last part, he kept to himself.

He stepped into the forest, blades in hand, alert for any new danger.

His next goal awaited.

And this time… he’d be ready.