Becoming the Dark Lord

Princess Charlie’s bones turned to ash. Even the last fragment of her shattered skull dissolved—swept away by the wind.

She was gone.

“Princess Char—” Luke called out, his voice cracking, as if words alone could stop the inevitable. But there was nothing left. Only dust.

Princess Charlie is dead.

Luke stood completely frozen, his mind blank as the weight of the loss crashed into him like a collapsing ceiling. His breath caught in his throat, unmoving, unbelieving.

He had lost his servant.

“AAARGH HAHAHA!” the Guardian howled, its laugh echoing through the crypt like rolling thunder.

Luke looked up.

The floating skeleton loomed above, its empty sockets radiating with burning malice. Around it, new fireballs materialized—glowing like miniature suns.

“You son of a bitch,” Luke growled, fury boiling up in his chest.

The Guardian raised one skeletal hand. The fireballs launched.

Luke sprinted forward with everything he had, dirt and stone erupting behind him in fiery bursts as each fireball struck, lighting the crypt with flashes of destruction. Flames roared, clawing at his heels. He dove behind the crumbling edge of an ancient tomb, just in time to dodge the final fireball. It detonated just feet behind him, sending heat and shockwaves crawling across his back. Pain seared his arms.

The stench of burning flesh filled the air.

More skeletons advanced slowly, waiting for the barrage to end before moving in. Above, the Guardian hovered—conjuring more spheres of fire, circling like a fiery halo.

Luke burst from cover, hurling throwing knives in a flurry. They duplicated midair, slicing through skeletal torsos as he sprinted. Explosions erupted around him. He dove behind a pillar, lungs burning.

But then—arrows. A volley whistled toward him from the side.

Skeleton archers.

Luke summoned his kukris from his inventory and flung them. Even before they hit the ground, he called them back with Magnetic Return—and threw again.

“AAARGH!” A skeleton lunged from the side, slashing with a rusted sword. Luke dodged, sliced off its arm, and grabbed it by the ribcage—

Boom! Another fireball landed close. The blast threw him backward.

“AAARGH!”

The Guardian was preparing something bigger. A massive fireball formed above its head—pulsing with raw, dangerous energy.

Luke felt a chill crawl up his spine. He had no options left. In a desperate move, he grabbed the skeleton still writhing in his hands and hurled it to the far side of the chamber.

The Guardian fired.

The unfortunate skeleton was obliterated.

Luke bolted in the opposite direction, sprinting for a closer angle. Then—the Guardian turned. Their eyes locked.

Luke dove behind another tombstone, barely making it in time. He held his breath.

His fury seethed.

Charlie’s death burned inside him like hot coals, but beneath it—fear crept in. His hands trembled. He noticed it when he looked down, fingers shaking, adrenaline and dread weighing down his body. He bit his lip until it bled, trying to regain control.

He had to focus. He had to become the assassin. A predator doesn’t let rage take over. A predator waits. He calculates. And when the moment is right, he strikes.

Luke lifted his head just enough to see over the tomb.

The battlefield lay before him in ruins. The Guardian hovered at the center, fireballs orbiting him like tiny, unstable stars—waiting to fall. The other skeletons still wandered nearby, their weapons gleaming in the flickering firelight.

Luke gripped his kukris tight. If he didn’t come up with a plan—he’d die here.

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There was no way out. The gate was sealed. He couldn’t run. So there was only one choice left.

He charged.

Assassin’s Dash.

Luke rocketed into the middle of the skeleton horde. Fireballs exploded all around him—but he moved too fast to be hit. Skeletons shattered one by one, caught in the Guardian’s friendly fire as Luke weaved between them, evading at the last second.

He bit down on one kukri, freeing both hands to throw knives at the floating Guardian. The blades soared—

But they clattered uselessly off its skeletal body. It didn’t even flinch.

Luke threw himself behind a half-broken tombstone, the roar of fire sweeping overhead. The heat licked across his scalp as the air sizzled, the blast barely missing its mark.

He clenched both kukris tight. Then—he moved again.

Assassin’s Dash.

He leapt into the air. The Guardian lifted a blazing hand and pointed. Luke hurled a kukri midair, the blade intercepted the fireball—

BOOM!

The explosion rocked the crypt. But Luke didn’t stop. He tackled the Guardian from the air, and both of them crashed to the ground.

The Guardian rose immediately, fire surging through its hands. Luke rolled just as a fireball blasted the ceiling overhead. Chunks of stone rained down.

He struck.

His kukris slashed with precision—but the Guardian blocked them with its bare hands. Its bones were as hard as steel. Each impact sparked against the creature’s limbs.

Luke gritted his teeth. This wouldn’t be easy.

“AAARGH!”

The Guardian roared, flames coiling wildly around its arms like a spell gone mad.

It pointed one hand—Luke dodged, slashing upward. The fire blast missed, striking the ceiling.

But the other arm was too fast.

A fire beam surged toward him. Luke rolled back, skidding across the floor, then hurled a kukri at the Guardian’s skull. The blade embedded deep.

The Guardian ripped it out with a snarl, but Luke activated Magnetic Return.

The kukri shot back into his hand, slicing through air.

The Guardian, furious, began forming another fireball—bigger than anything so far.

Luke didn’t let it finish. He threw both kukris, and in midair—duplicated them. The Guardian tried to dodge, but that’s when Luke grabbed a nearby gravestone and hurled it like a projectile...

CRACK!

The heavy stone slammed into the Guardian, knocking it to the ground.

Luke didn’t hesitate. He pulled out two throwing knives and flung them. They duplicated into four blades, which pinned the Guardian’s robes to the floor.

The monster writhed, struggling to rise, but it was stuck—trapped by its own clothing.

Luke dashed in. Kukris in hand. No mercy.

The Guardian’s arms were like iron. But the rest of its body—wasn’t.

Luke realized it the moment his blade sank into its skull—not deep, just enough.

Enough to kill.

With a clean, precise slash, Luke cut the Guardian in half. The bones scattered across the stone floor like a collapsing house of cards.

“AAARGH!” the skeleton roared, its skull clattering and rolling away.

Luke didn’t waste a second. He sprinted straight for the head—ready to finish it for good.

But just before he could close in, one of the disconnected arms twitched.

The scorched bones stirred. A faint blue glow sparked in the open palm—unstable fire forming in midair.

The spell… it’s charging on its own?

At the same time, the other arm—still attached to the Guardian—was casting the same spell.

They cast together.

Luke’s eyes widened.

Even when they’re apart, they act as one!

The fireball launched.

BOOM!

The explosion hurled Luke backward. His body slammed hard against the ground. Pain screamed through every nerve. The air stank of scorched flesh.

Luke groaned, trying to stand—his hand brushed against something solid: one of the Guardian’s severed arms, half-buried in rubble. It tumbled behind a broken slab as he pushed himself up.

Then his eyes locked on the real problem. The Guardian’s bones were reassembling.

“Shit.”

He snatched two throwing knives from the floor and launched them into the air. The blades struck moving bones mid-formation, halting the process.

Luke clenched his jaw. This fight wasn’t over.

He ran.

The Guardian’s disembodied arm continued firing fireballs, rapid and reckless. Luke dodged left and right, using Assassin’s Dash to stay ahead of the blasts.

Behind the chaos, the Guardian’s torso was almost completely rebuilt. Its skull floated into place—clicking into the spine with a dry, mechanical snap. The empty eye sockets blazed with pure, hateful fire. Then the arm flew toward the torso, magnetized, and snapped back into place.

Fire erupted around it.

A massive blue fireball began to form, glowing violently.

Luke’s blood ran cold.

He recognized that spell—the same one that had killed Princess Charlie.

Getting close would mean suicide.

The Guardian started laughing, its voice echoing with cruel triumph.

Luke turned to run, but the skeletal mage tracked him, keeping the burning hand pointed in his direction. The fireball grew.

No cover nearby.

Even with Dash, he wouldn’t make it in time.

“Shit… I’m cornered.”

“ROOOAR!” the Guardian roared again, laughing through charred teeth.

Luke spun—grinning. He raised something in his hand: the other arm of the Guardian. He had grabbed it earlier, waiting for the right moment.

The skeletal mage’s eyes flared in confusion as it saw the other arm in Luke’s hand—already starting to conjure the fire spell.

“Goodbye, you bastard.”

Before it could react, both arms fired the blue fireball—the one still attached to the Guardian’s body and the one Luke was holding.

BOOOOM!

The blast swallowed the Guardian in a sea of flame.

The second fireball surged toward Luke—the heat slammed into him, knocking him off his feet, fire engulfing his body. He hit the ground rolling, screaming through gritted teeth as he tried to smother the flames.

And then—

[You have slain the Guardian of the Burning Crypt: Lvl 12]

*Your class [Assassin] has reached Level 7! (Class Bonus Points Acquired)*

Luke collapsed on his back, panting.

“I… won.”

His voice came out hoarse, cracked. He coughed—blood hitting the stone floor.

Even though he’d avoided the center of the blast, the heat had still scorched him. His skin burned. His body screamed.

But he was alive.

He rolled once more, putting out the last flickers of fire on his clothes.

Silence swallowed the crypt.

*The Room Reward has been made available*