Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke moved through the collapsed tunnels of the mine like a ghost, shifting into mist to slip through narrow paths and blocked corridors. But no matter how far he walked, no matter how many names he called, there was no one. No answers. Only corpses — many of them beyond recognition.

He searched for Allison. For Jonathan. For Cecilia. All he found was silence. The chamber where they had fought the ant queen no longer existed — buried beneath rubble. Entire Wild Zone structures had caved in on top of it. There was no telling what remained under all that stone.

As for the Midnight Wardens… nothing. No trace. They had done their job. Appeared, killed, and vanished like a plague. Maybe it was the hour. Six in the morning. They had likely returned to whatever hellhole they came from.

When Luke finally emerged from the mine, he spotted Bartholomew’s soldiers entering the tunnels. He tried to approach, but they mistook him for a renegade. He had to flee — slipping through alleys, vanishing into the shadows once again.

Even so, he heard enough. Some of the wounded had been taken to the makeshift infirmary in the city’s central square. Bartholomew had issued a public order: heal everyone. A generous decree, thinly veiled behind political intent. But Luke didn’t head to the square. Not yet. He had something more urgent to do. He wanted to kill Paul.

The Safe Zone was waking beneath the wreckage. Archers lined the rooftops. The streets were streaked with blood and ant carcasses. Fighters and civilians worked to clear the ruins, their faces hollow. Others simply tried to survive another day.

When Luke turned onto the street leading to the camp, conversations stopped. People stared, eyes wide with disbelief. But no one moved toward him. His pace quickened. And then he saw him. Paul. Sitting on the hotel steps.

“Paul,” Luke said, approaching.

Paul slowly looked up. “What are you doing here?” His voice was calm. “You still have the nerve to show your face here?”

Luke didn’t answer. All around, people began to gather. Some held weapons. From the rooftops, archers trained their bows on him. Then a voice tore through the air.

“YOU KILLED HER!” It was Jonathan.

His missing arm hung like a phantom limb, a reminder of what he’d lost. His body was ruined. But his eyes… his eyes burned with hate.

Luke looked straight at him, unmoving. “I’m glad you survived.”

“You bastard…” Jonathan limped toward him. “You killed Angelica!”

Luke took a deep breath. “I did. But not the way you think. She was poisoned. She asked me. She wanted—”

“Liar!” Jonathan grabbed him by the collar and, with his one arm, punched Luke in the face.

Luke staggered back two steps, but didn’t strike back. He had reinforced his face with stamina. He let Jonathan hit him.

The crowd circled in. “TRAITOR!”

“MURDERER!” The voices rose from all sides, a jury without a judge.

Luke turned his head, scanning the faces — once familiar, now twisted by rage.

“You were with the renegades the whole time, weren’t you?” Paul’s voice came from atop the stairs.

“You’re the one who stole Bartholomew’s crates!” someone shouted.

Luke pointed up the steps, at Paul — standing there holding a healing potion. One of the very ones Luke had given him.

“It was him,” Luke said. “Paul killed Angelica.”

Jonathan stepped forward again, ready to strike. “Liar! You’re the one who was stealing supplies! It was you all along!”

“No!” Luke shouted. “I told you where those potions came from! And you all know the thefts started before I even got here!”

But no one was listening anymore. And Paul, standing at the top of the stairs, simply watched—like a conductor before his chaotic orchestra. He clutched the potion in his hands, pretending to be nervous, but his eyes were gleaming. The crowd wanted blood. And Luke… was alone.

“But you escalated things,” Paul said, his voice steady, though laced with false regret. “Maybe you didn’t work with the Renegades directly, but you stole. You made everything worse for this place… and you killed Angelica.”

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He stepped forward, eyes locked on Luke. “You’re a fucking psychopath.”

“You killed Angelica!” Jonathan shouted, blind with fury. “You killed her!”

“It was all a setup by Paul!” Luke shouted back, struggling to be heard. “He and Bartholomew planned everything! This was all part of it!”

But no one wanted to listen. Someone lunged at him with a knife. Luke dodged and shoved the attacker to the ground—but before he could even breathe, an arrow whistled past his face, slicing the air. Jonathan was next, grabbing Luke by the neck with his only arm. Luke used the imbalance, twisted, and threw him down.

“Listen to me!” Luke yelled again. “You need to hear what I’m saying!”

Another arrow flew. He dodged.

“STOP!” The voice cut through the crowd like a blade.

Allison.

She pushed through the people, stepping in front of Luke with her arms spread wide. “What are you doing? You said you’d listen before acting!” she shouted, turning her head toward the crowd. “He’s telling the truth. Luke is not a bad person. I’m vouching for him with my own name.”

Paul responded before anyone else. “So you’re on his side?” His expression was loaded, but his tone stayed almost calm. “Jonathan… where was she when Angelica died?”

Jonathan, panting, shook his head. “I didn’t see Allison. I only know what I saw with my own eyes. Luke killed Angelica. He did it to level up!” He pointed with his remaining arm. “Look at him! Not a scratch on him, even after going through that hell in the mines!”

“I killed a Midnight Warden,” Luke said. “That’s why.”

Some people laughed—not in amusement, but disbelief.

“I’m going to kill you, Luke,” Jonathan growled, eyes burning red. “You murdered her!”

Luke took a slow breath. “But you’re right,” he said, locking eyes with him. “I’m only alive because I killed Angelica.”

Silence slammed into the square like a hammer.

“He’s admitting it,” Paul said, triumphant.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Allison warned, placing a hand on the hilt of her sword. She felt it—the shift in the crowd. The moment before the storm.

Luke felt it too.

He remembered what Angelica had asked of him. The trust she gave him, the mission she left behind—to finish the tutorial and save these people. And in that moment, he moved. The kukris flashed into his hands. In one swift motion, he grabbed Allison from behind and pressed a blade to her neck.

“What are you doing?!” she gasped.

“I killed Angelica,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Just like you think. And I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way. Anyone I find in the Wild Zone… will die.”

Jonathan growled with hatred.

“Luke…?” Allison whispered, confused.

Fog erupted around them. Luke pulled her away, disappearing into the mist. Now, he controlled that power completely, shaping it to his will.

When they were far enough, he whispered in her ear, low and urgent, “If I get you out of this tutorial, will you keep your promise? Will you help me find out what happened to my mother?”

“What are you—? Why now?” she asked, confused but not resisting.

“Just answer me.”

“…I will. I promised.”

“Then take care of the Haven.”

Without hesitation, he channeled Force Infusion into the hilt of his kukri and struck her on the side of the head. She dropped instantly.

The fog began to thin.

“He killed Allison!” someone shouted as they spotted her unconscious on the ground.

“GET HIM!” Paul roared, finger pointed like he was sealing the verdict.

Arrows rained down. Luke ran, eyes sharp. Jonathan was already coming again, sword in hand.

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” he shouted, limping but fast.

Luke responded with a quick throw. The kukri spun through the air and struck Jonathan in the leg — hilt-first. The impact knocked him off balance. Luke was on him in a flash, pressing the blade to his throat.

“If you want to kill me, then get stronger. Level up. Because right now… you’re too damn weak.”

He stomped on Jonathan’s leg. The bone cracked. The scream tore through the air. Then came more arrows.

Luke moved before the next one hit. He sprinted, every reflex synced with the rhythm of his heart. The street ahead was blocked — people waited for him. A trap. He veered off at the last second, dove through a shattered window, slipped through a hole in the wall, and turned to mist.

The brush swallowed him. He kept moving through the low vegetation, the sounds of voices and arrows fading behind. He used Dash in a steady rhythm, measuring every step. When he finally felt safe, he slipped into an abandoned house and took a deep breath.

He knew exactly what he had done. He was now the number one enemy of the Safe Zone. But that was what they needed. Motivation. The Haven had lost its leader. Paul was a traitor wrapped in the mask of a savior. There was no more faith, no more direction. Only rage. And if they needed a villain to become stronger — so be it. He would be that villain.

But now, Luke no longer had a place to belong. Staying in the Safe Zone was suicide. Paul wouldn’t rest until he was dead. Neither would Bartholomew. They’d hunt him like a wounded beast.

Luke stepped through the back door of the house and looked toward the horizon. Beyond the crumbling buildings of the Wild Zone… there it was. The castle. That supernatural mirage projected by the barrier, hiding the gate no one had ever crossed. The final boundary of the tutorial.

He touched the Artemis necklace around his neck and mentally accessed his storage dimension. There, among the few remaining items, was something: the severed arm of the Midnight Warden he’d killed. It was the key to the gate. A symbol of what he was leaving behind — and what he was about to face.

Without looking back, Luke started walking. The weight of Angelica’s death still pressed against his chest. But now, there was only one direction left. Forward. He was heading for the place no one had ever gone. The other half of the tutorial. Luke was walking into the unknown.