Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke ran like a shadow through the crumbling ruins of the city, leaping over shattered rooftops and sliding across rotted wooden beams. He had mapped this area dozens of times. He knew every corner, every hidden path used by the Midnight Wardens, and every spot where the Reward Event chests appeared.

The event came once a week. The chests glowed in the darkness like the bait of a deep-sea predator. They also emitted a high-pitched tone, something between an alarm and a distorted chant.

That was what attracted the creatures. Giant insects. Centipedes, crickets, mutated rats. And monsters that looked like kobolds, only green and scaled.

It also drove the Midnight Wardens into maximum alert. They became agitated, reactive. It was an event, but it was also a trial.

Risk and reward.

Luke landed on another rooftop. The wood beneath him groaned, nearly gave way, but he didn’t stop. At the end of the street, there it was: a chest, glowing like a bonfire in the darkness, surrounded by a nest of abominations.

What Luke was about to attempt wasn’t something even a full team could pull off easily. He would have to fight through all those monsters, reach the chest, open it, grab everything, and escape—before a Midnight Warden arrived.

But he knew. If he ever wanted to fight one of them, this was the first step.

With HP and mana potions, humans could last longer. They could fight, use stronger abilities, recover faster. With strategy, with planning, they might someday isolate one of the Wardens and bring it down.

But everything started there. That street. That chest

It began.

Luke dropped into the middle of the horde, and the moment his boots hit the ground, his body moved on instinct.

[Demonic Blade Dance: Activated]

[Afterimage Created: Dancing Mimic]

No hesitation. No mercy.

The first cricket raised its leg. Luke was already moving—slipping through the swarm like smoke through cracks. He jumped, spun, dashed. His kukris sliced through the air, carving crimson arcs in the darkness. Behind him, the mimic mirrored each strike a beat behind, finishing what Luke left breathing. Legs, jaws, limbs, skulls—everything was cut down in fluid, lethal motion.

[You have slain...]

[You have slain...]

He split a mutant rat clean in half. Sprinting across the armored back of a centipede, he vaulted into a spinning dive that carried him straight through a pack of monstrous hounds. A scaled kobold lunged at him with a spear. Luke kicked off a collapsing beam, dodging the thrust mid-air. The mimic landed the counter, driving its blade through the kobold’s chest without pause.

[You have slain...]

[You have slain...]

[You have slain...]

He came down hard, kukris embedding into another creature’s neck, then spun again—trailing blood through the air like paint across canvas. Behind him, a trail of mangled bodies marked the path of his assault.

[You have slain...]

[You have slain...]

He had reached the chest.

It glowed faintly, vibrating in place. That hum—piercing, constant—sank into his bones, syncing with the pounding of his heart. He approached, drawn in by instinct more than thought. His fingers reached out.

The lid opened with a subtle click, releasing a stream of golden light that spilled across his blood-smeared face.

“There’s a lot in here,” he muttered, eyes scanning the depths. The problem with these enchanted chests was always the same: bottomless magical storage. Too much, too messy.

He shoved aside heaps of gold, digging through cascading coins that rang out against the stone floor. His hand swept deeper.

“Come on… where are you...” he murmured.

Then—glass. Cold. Familiar.

He pulled.

[Simple Healing Potion: Restores 150 HP]

Potions!

Without wasting a second, he tossed the potion into his storage necklace. The vial vanished. One, two, three, four—he filled it with healing and mana potions, only the essentials.

But that wasn’t all. Cans of food. Cheese. Seeds. Cartons of eggs.

And then…

Sausage and bacon.

Luke’s eyes widened.

How long has it been since I had this?

But now wasn’t the time for nostalgia. He shoveled everything in, stacking and clearing space as fast as he could. The inside of the chest was too narrow for tossing things out—the quickest method was dumping it straight into the necklace.

Seeds. More potions. Coins shoved aside. He kept pulling out vials without pause.

That was when he felt it.

Eyes.

He looked up.

A Midnight Warden stood atop a rooftop—massive, silent, glowing with primal intent. The air vibrated. Then the creature roared. The sound tore through the street, rattling his bones, sinking deep beneath his skin. Luke didn’t wait. He turned—and saw another one. At the far end of the road.

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Two!

Before he could move, the first spear came.

A blur of motion, steel cutting through the air. Luke dropped and rolled, shadows wrapping around him as he activated Basic Dark Dash. The projectile tore through the space he’d just occupied, obliterating the wall behind him. A house crumbled under the force.

He caught his balance just in time to see the first Warden leap from the rooftop—its landing cracked the stone and sprayed debris through the air. Even before its feet touched the ground, it was already charging, a living battering ram wrapped in black fury.

No weapons. Not yet.

Luke dove through the nearest window, crashing into a side room just as the impact hit. The Warden’s fist shattered the wall behind him. Luke was thrown like a ragdoll, smashing into furniture and crashing to the floor. He scrambled to rise. The roof split apart as the second Warden crashed through it, the house buckling under its weight. Stone and timber rained down. Luke rolled beneath a half-shattered table, lungs burning, every instinct screaming.

Two Wardens. At once. it was a hunt.

He vaulted out through another window just before the next spear arrived. The projectile hurtled past and detonated into the side of another home, sending a plume of dust and smoke into the night sky.

He staggered to his feet. Breath ragged. Kukris in hand. The first Warden advanced—unarmed. That was the moment.

He called it.

[Demonic Blade Dance: Active]

[Afterimage Created: Dancing Mimic]

Luke charged in, spinning through the chaos. Kukris flashed in both hands, a trail of dark smoke curling behind him like shadow made flesh. He moved like a phantom, until the Warden slammed its fists into the ground. The shockwave struck like a hammer. Luke was launched into the air, disoriented, and before he could adjust, the creature appeared behind him. A blow collided with his back—everything went numb. His vision blinked out for a second.

He crashed through a wall, skidding across shattered stone and splintered furniture. Blood spilled from his lips as he forced himself upright. The Warden was already descending, fist raised. Luke rolled just in time. The strike obliterated what remained of the structure, hurling debris in every direction.

The second Warden arrived, spear in hand, and charged without hesitation. Luke pivoted, brought his blades up to block—the impact tore through his arms like fire. His bones felt moments from snapping. He vanished mid-motion, reappearing behind the creature in a burst of shadow. A slash across its helm, then a dodge—barely clearing the next strike as the spear crashed down where he’d just stood.

The Warden ripped the weapon free and hurled it. Luke was mid-dash, airborne—no footing, no time. His eyes locked on the incoming projectile. And then—she came.

Charlie exploded from the side like a missile, Iron Fist igniting on impact as she punched the spear mid-flight. It deflected, ricocheting off course and embedding into the dirt with a thunderous crack. She landed in front of him, barely staying upright. Her right arm was gone—crushed, shattered. White light pulsed from the stump as regeneration began, but her armor was ruined.

The Warden roared and charged. Luke moved with her. Charlie surged forward, Spectral Charge flaring through her as she drove her remaining fist into the beast’s side—but it didn’t budge. A countering elbow hit both of them clean. They flew in opposite directions.

Luke struck the ground hard. The Warden was on him before he could move. A fist drove into his abdomen, knocking the air from his lungs—he felt something tear. Another kick caught him mid-air and hurled him. The second Warden was already waiting, spear drawn. It struck.

The shaft tore through Luke’s gut, pinning him to the stone wall. Bone cracked. Blood rushed out. He screamed, choking, as his kukris fell from his hands. The Warden stepped forward, power coiled in its fist, and punched. The blow tore him free from the wall. He slammed into another building. Then another.

Before he could even collapse, the second Warden caught him mid-fall and threw him again. He hit stone. Then wood. Then floor.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see straight. Pain devoured him. He tried to rise. Another roar. Another charge.

Then Charlie was there, between him and the monster. She took the full impact. Her body crashed through a wall.

The Warden followed with no pause, hammering blow after blow into the rubble. Luke forced himself upright, leg screaming with every step. Another punch came—a blur of steel—but he triggered his dash just in time, slipping past the blow by inches. He activated the Spider Pants boost and launched skyward, kukris flashing. Both blades plunged into the Warden’s visor with brutal force.

The steel cracked. Flesh gave way. A tremor rolled through the air as the creature screamed in agony, twisting violently. Ahead, the second Warden advanced. Spear in hand. Eyes glowing like coals from some hellish furnace.

Then the first Warden ignited.

A red aura erupted from its body. Its visor burned crimson as it roared—a primal, deafening sound that cracked the air. From its inventory, it drew a massive greatsword.

Luke didn’t move. He couldn’t.

That blade came down like the end of the world.

But before it landed, a spectral chain yanked him sideways—Charlie’s last act of strength. It tore through her, launching her body into a building. Bone snapped. Steel shattered. Her skeletal form crumbled on impact. She didn’t move. Luke recalled her instantly—her broken body drawn back into his soul like fading light.

Breath ragged, Luke pulled a healing potion from his storage necklace and drank as he ran. The pain dulled—but didn’t fade.

Another roar. Another blade.

He dove through a window just before the greatsword shattered the entire structure. Rubble exploded behind him. He hit the ground coated in dust and blood, leg healing slowly, abdomen still torn open. No time to rest. The house trembled—already being ripped apart.

He hurled himself through the back window, landed on a crumbling ledge, and climbed. At the rooftop, gasping for breath, he spotted the second Warden across the street—already scaling another building. Spear in hand.

He dropped flat. A second later, the rooftop vanished behind him. He rolled, hit the ground running. The stomp of armored feet echoed behind him like drums of war. He skidded down a dirt slope, body half-limping, half-sliding—only to find the first Warden waiting. That blade again—lifted.

He dodged with a desperate burst of Dark Dash, vanished through a narrow side alley, lungs burning, legs trembling. Alive. Barely.

Luke didn’t slow. He hurled himself through another window, rolled into the next room, burst out the back door without pause. His hand found a blade. His eyes scanned the cluttered alley. He threw it.

A sack fell. Metal clattered across stone—chains, screws, rusted nails. Another alley. Another trap. More scrap launched into the shadows. False leads. Sound trails. A dance of distraction.

Then—he saw it. The river. The canal that wound through the broken remains of the city.

He didn’t think. He jumped.

Cold water consumed him, cutting through the pain. The current dragged him under. He reached for the bamboo tube—something he’d scavenged back in the plant zone. Now, it was salvation. He placed the tube in his mouth. One end poked through the surface; the other filled his lungs with air. He sank deeper into the murk.

Still. Silent. Hidden.

Above, the chaos didn’t stop. Roars echoed over the water—low and endless. The footsteps of armored titans shook the stone canals. Spears tore through walls. Screams twisted through the alleys. The wrath of the Midnight Wardens was unleashed in full.

He stayed underwater. Bleeding. Breathing through bamboo. The current numbed his body. The cold dulled the pain. His only anchor was the soft, rhythmic pull of breath through the tube.

And time passed. He waited.

Until the bell rang. Until the footsteps stopped. Until the first rays of morning light reached the ruined streets—

And 6:00 a.m. arrived.

***

The bell rang.

6 a.m.

But Luke didn’t move. He waited thirty more minutes, still breathing through the bamboo, still floating in silence. Only when he was certain—absolutely certain—they were gone...

“Hhuuufff...”

He surfaced, gasping, collapsing on the wet bank. His body was wrecked. Muscles screaming. Bones grinding. But the metallic steps were gone. The roars had faded.

The city was quiet again.

Luke lay there, staring at the gray morning sky, blinking through pain and exhaustion.

“I... made it...” he muttered as he struggled to his feet.

His trembling hand reached for the necklace. He pulled out a can.

Canned sausage. Warm. Salty.

He opened it, lips cracked, chest still heaving.

“I told you...” he said, smiling with one corner of his mouth.

“I told you I’d feast like a king tonight.”

Surrounded by ruins, blood, and mud. Alone. But alive. He ate. Like a king.