Becoming the Dark Lord

Angelica ran through the tunnels, her knees buckling with each step against the uneven ground. The faint glow of her lantern trembled in rhythm with her, casting frantic shadows across the cracked stone walls. Screams echoed in the distance—sharp, warped by stone and death. They wouldn’t stop. People were being slaughtered. She didn’t need to see it to know. The sound alone was enough.

Sweat poured down her temples, soaking the strands of hair plastered to her forehead. Her hands trembled so violently she could barely hold onto the lantern. Her heart pounded like a war drum—too hard, too fast, as if it were trying to shatter her ribs from the inside.

“It’s happening again... it’s all happening again…” she muttered, legs dragging, breath faltering.

The roar echoed from somewhere deep ahead, and panic surged through her chest like lightning. She saw it again. The fortress. The blood. Her brother.

“This is my fault... again... I brought everyone here…”

Angelica suddenly stopped running. Her feet locked into the dirt, like her body had finally given up. She clenched her eyes shut, teeth grinding together, trying to push the pain down—deep, far, away—like she could seal it there forever. Every nerve screamed in agony, but she couldn’t collapse. Not yet. She had to go back. She had to pull the Wardens toward her. Give the others a chance.

But then—

“Angelica!” A voice behind her. “Finally found you.”

She turned fast. “Paul…?” Her eyes blinked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got a tracking skill,” he said, stepping closer. “Can mark people nearby. I tagged you before leaving the group.”

He kept walking toward her.

“The Haven is still holding. The chaos at the Safe Zone’s under control. I came alone... figured I’d try to help with the Queen.”

He paused. “Then I heard the screams…”

“You have to run, Paul. The Midnight Wardens—they’ve entered the mine. They came from the Wild Zone!”

He didn’t respond right away. Just took another step. Then it happened. Angelica felt something cold and sharp punch into her stomach—like the world itself had stabbed her. She looked down. Her entire body froze. Paul’s hand gripped the knife tightly. The blade was buried to the hilt. Warmth began to spread across her robes. Blood. So much of it.

“W-what…?” The words barely left her mouth before he shoved her back. She hit the ground hard.

Paul stared at her with a soft smile—almost kind. Like he’d just delivered good news.

“Of course the Wardens came,” he said gently, tilting his head. “I’m the one who brought them.”

Angelica’s world stopped. Her eyes widened. The blood in her veins turned to ice. “What…?”

The knife came down again. She screamed, kicking, trying to crawl. Paul laughed—a sound that echoed through the tunnels.

“What are you doing?!” she screamed, stumbling, blood soaking through her tunic.

“Why…?” Her voice cracked and tore at her throat as she collapsed onto her side, the pain lighting up every nerve in her body.

Paul just laughed and opened his arms, as if explaining something obvious to a stubborn child.

“Why?” he repeated with mocking sarcasm. “Because no one should ever leave this world, Angelica. Here, reality bends. Here... I can be whoever I want.”

He stepped forward, smiling. “This world is perfect. No bills. No bosses. I’m not a failure here. Here... I’m somebody.”

Angelica tried to reach for her bow, her trembling fingers instinctively seeking the quiver. But her muscles wouldn’t respond. Her hands felt like they were made of lead. The edges of her vision began to darken, like the world was closing into a funnel. Everything throbbed: her head, her gut, her chest. Something burned in her veins like a slow fire.

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“It’s poison,” Paul said casually. He kept walking toward her, calm and steady.

“You should’ve been dead a long time ago. You knew too much. Always been a liability. No more nostalgia, Angelica. Although... I admit, it was poetic. It happened exactly like last time.”

She froze. “What do you mean…?” she whispered.

“I was the one who lured the Midnight Warden that night. I’m the reason your brother died.” Paul tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming with pleasure.

Angelica pushed herself up with everything she had. Her muscles screamed. Her body refused. But rage carried her forward. Staggering, she advanced, her eyes burning, her face tight with fury. Pain had no room left inside her—only hate. Paul dodged easily. A sharp movement. She collapsed to the ground, shoulder slamming into the gravel. Her body was breaking down. But her fury wasn’t.

“Marshall gave me the greatest gift in the world! After today...” Paul said, stepping toward her again, “they’ll be so broken, so pathetic, they won’t even think about completing the mission. The only ones who could’ve done it... will be dead.”

He crouched beside her. His face was so close she could feel his breath—warm, metallic. Or maybe that was just in her head.

He tilted his head and spoke with that gentle, almost sweet tone. “The brave? Dead. The prepared? Dead. All that’ll be left are the weak, Angelica. The ones with no courage. No faith. No strength.”

He smirked. “That’s the world I’ve always dreamed of. A world where no one tries to escape.”

“B-Bartholomew won’t allow it...” she gasped, her voice torn. “When he defeats Marshall, he’ll... he’ll save everyone…”

Paul laughed. A real laugh, full, loud—as if she’d just told the best joke of the night.

“You really think I’d do all this knowing Bartholomew might stop me?” he said, smiling, full of venom.

He raised a finger slowly, wagging it side to side. “Angelica… he gave me a free pass. Years ago.”

His tone stayed soft. Almost affectionate. But the cruelty in his words was ice-cold.

“He always knew. Always let me do it. Because deep down, he wants the same thing I do.”

Her eyes widened.

“Who do you think helped Marshall survive this long? Who gave him time, space, even strategy—through ‘captured’ or ‘fallen’ soldiers?” Paul’s voice was calm, but sharp as a blade. “Bartholomew was always ahead of him. Always wanted this war to keep going.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because he doesn’t want anyone leaving this place.” Paul stepped even closer. “And now… I’ve made him the sole ruler of it. By the end of the night, the other two faction leaders will fall. And you? You’ll become a martyr for all of us—while Bartholomew becomes the hero who unites the survivors.”

Angelica bit her lip, the sharp taste of blood flooding her mouth. Her hands trembled.

“We don’t want anyone completing the mission,” he said, rising to his feet. “That’s why both of us—Bartholomew and I—lured the Midnight Warden to the second fortress.”

Her eyes widened. Her stomach twisted violently. Paul folded his arms, feeding off her silence.

“Yes,” he said, savoring each word like poison. “We’re the ones who killed your brother.”

The sentence sliced through her like a blade. For a moment, the physical pain disappeared. Everything inside her collapsed into silence—a scream buried so deep it couldn’t escape. Reality and truth collided all at once.

“No!” she screamed.

She lunged forward, dragging her body, fingers clutching her bow. Her arms shook, barely functioning, but with the last spark of strength, she drew the string and fired. The arrow screamed through the air, and froze in place.

It hovered mid-flight, suspended by a glowing hand made entirely of mana. The translucent fingers gripped the shaft with unnatural precision. A second later, the arrow ignited, bursting into controlled flames, dissolving into sparks that vanished into the thick air of the tunnel.

Paul stepped back. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed behind him. A distant roar. A Midnight Warden closing in. He looked down at Angelica, lying on the ground. Wounded. Weak. Alone.

“I would never let anyone finish this tutorial.” He gave a small, mock bow. “And don’t worry about the Haven. I’ll take good care of it… in your absence.”

He walked calmly toward the stone wall, as if it were a curtain. He pressed a hand to the surface, and it shimmered with faint energy. The rock vibrated slightly, rippling like disturbed water.

“Goodbye, Angelica,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. His voice was firm, detached. “Consider this a gift. You’ll die just like your brother—crushed by a Midnight Warden.”

His body dissolved slowly, vanishing into the stone like smoke pulled into the dark. Angelica lay there, on her side, staring blankly at the ceiling as it began to spin above her. Blood pooled beneath her, warm and thick, flowing between the cracks in the stone. She was alone. Broken. Barely breathing.

And the footsteps kept coming. Louder. Heavier. Like buried thunder, steady and merciless. Each step echoed in her chest, like the beating of a war drum announcing the end. And for the second time in her life...

She was about to watch everything fall apart.