Becoming the Dark Lord

As the others filed out of the chamber, Bartholomew sank back into his chair and called upon the Death Painting. The effort made the image waver, but the black panther in the darkness remained, always there, a silent omen of his death.

Is that it? Will I die in a rebellion? If Luke is still alive, I need to know everything he knows. And if he’s found the other fortress in that new area, I’m in trouble. If word gets out that I’ve had the first mechanism all along… I’m finished.

He would send the assassins after Luke. The tutorial must never be completed. Luke had to die. No one leaves this world.

Only one person lingered in the room with him. No one else would dare. No one else would be allowed. But this man was used to breaking those rules, Bartholomew’s newest pawn, his latest tool: Jonathan.

“Why, Bartholomew?” Jonathan’s tone dripped with irritation.

Bartholomew took a slow drink of water. He needed it. That meeting had been tense, and far too much important information had been exchanged.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the damned gate?” Jonathan demanded.

Bartholomew shot him a sidelong look. “Do I look like a messenger boy to you?”

Jonathan stepped closer. “I’ve been out there in the Wild Zone hunting people for you, doing Kruger’s dirty work.”

“And while you were doing that, I had Ronan handling other matters. That’s what a leader does, Jonathan. He delegates.” His tone was sharp enough to cut.

“But why keep the gate from me? We’re working together!”

Bartholomew set his mug down with a soft thud. “How was I supposed to guess the gate being opened had anything to do with this Luke? You’re the one who didn’t tell me he killed a Midnight Warden.”

Jonathan froze, his expression cooling. “I didn’t take him seriously when he told me. I thought he’d just escaped the mine. But now it all makes sense. Luke’s been to that gate before, and now he’s hiding there.”

“At least your revenge is complete,” Bartholomew said. “From what I’ve heard lately, I can assure you no one could survive a single night there alone. There’s a giant snake in that place, one that spits acid. Your target is dead.”

Jonathan chuckled darkly. “Dead? No. Luke’s a rat. He’s holed up somewhere, hiding like a coward. He’s alive, he has to be. Things can’t end like this.”

Bartholomew sighed. “Either way, you’re free from our arrangement. No reason for us to keep working together. Luke’s dead. Go live your life.”

“No!” Jonathan stepped in, voice low but firm. “Not yet.”

“If you want to keep working for me for free, that’s your choice. But I’ll keep giving you the nastiest jobs. You’ve gotten good at them,” Bartholomew replied with a faint smirk.

“I need to be ready,” Jonathan said. “Even if I have to cross over myself to hunt Luke down.”

With that, Jonathan turned and left. Bartholomew smiled faintly as the door shut behind him. That was how it worked. He had manipulated Jonathan perfectly, letting the man convince himself to stay.

He had plenty of soldiers, some even willing to do the dirtiest work. But Jonathan was different, blinded by the need for revenge, and because of that, completely manipulable. That made him useful, since leaving this world was no longer his goal.

***

Jonathan walked the halls of Bastion, his steps echoing against the cold stone. All the time he’d spent working for Bartholomew had left him with a question he hated admitting to himself: Was Luke right when he said Paul let Angelica die?

The possibility gnawed at him. Weeks had passed since her death. His rage had cooled just enough for doubt to seep in, but it hadn’t dulled the edge of his vengeance. Angelica had been too good for any of them. She had given him back the hope he had lost in this world. He remembered the moment he met her as if it had happened an hour ago.

When Jonathan first arrived in the tutorial, he’d been weak, bleeding, and half-delirious after wandering the Wild Zone alone. For two endless weeks, he’d crept through the forest, hiding and shaking at every sound. At night, the black-armored warrios appeared, the ones he later learned were called Midnight Wardens. He’d thought he was trapped in some kind of purgatory.

In those days, he had cried. He had screamed. More than once, he’d thought about ending it. And then he stepped through a thin line of trees and found himself looking at a street. It was so mundane, so absurd, that he was sure it was a hallucination. People were walking. Talking. Laughing.

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Still trapped in his own head, he wandered deeper, dazed, waiting for the nightmare to reassert itself. No one spoke to him, and he said nothing back. Somehow, without realizing it, he had crossed into the Safe Zone.

He kept moving, barely believing the people around him were real, until he stopped in front of a statue. A quest statue. He read the inscription and felt something inside him collapse. He had barely survived the forest, boars, wolves, even the teeth of scaled lizards, and now this? His mind teetered on the edge of panic.

That was when a hand landed on his shoulder. He could still hear the voice, word for word: “Hey, rookie. Wipe that sad look off your face and put on a smile. Auntie Angelica’s got a place for other strays like you.”

It was her.

Jonathan had fallen for her in that instant. She was the hand that pulled him out of his private darkness, a beautiful woman with a wild glint in her eye, hair somewhere between blonde and red, a dusting of freckles. She had a brash, energetic way about her, like she never let the world pin her down. She radiated life.

From that moment, he’d decided she was the one he’d follow, the one he’d get out of this cursed place, and maybe even marry when they made it home. But she died.

Angelica…

Luke had probably been telling the truth. She’d been attacked by Paul. And somewhere, behind it all, Bartholomew’s shadow loomed. Jonathan had learned enough working for the man to recognize Bastion’s way of doing things. But Luke? He never forgave Luke. No, if anything, his hatred had only grown.

Why had she chosen to die by his hands?

He knew Angelica would never kill someone just to level up. She was good, pure even. It was entirely possible she’d wanted Luke to kill her so he could gain the experience and heal. That was her way.

Why him? Why save him… and not me?

That question burned through him like fire. He had done everything for Haven. Braved the forests while terrified out of his mind. Helped the wounded. Stepped up as a leader. Guided people through invasions. All of it, every risk, every wound, just to catch Angelica’s attention.

Then Luke showed up.

In no time, the bastard killed an orc captain leading an invasion and got a celebration thrown in his honor, by Angelica herself. Later, the two of them took down a manticore together during another attack. It was always him. Always Luke.

Jonathan had even seen her invite Luke for a drink. She had never made that kind of personal gesture to anyone, and the tone she’d used… it had been almost intimate. In all the years he’d known her, she’d never let anyone that close.

It was always that miserable bastard.

Even when Luke vanished into the Orc Forest, Angelica had worried about him. Plenty of people had gone missing over the years, too many to count, but why care about him? Did she see something of herself in Luke, some shadow of her own past? Or did she feel something for him?

Jonathan’s fists tightened as he stalked the hall.

Luke had even saved her from Kruger once. And Jonathan, Jonathan had done the same. He’d taken a lightning strike from Bartholomew’s crown for her. He had practically confessed his feelings in the middle of the chaos. She hadn’t thanked him the way she thanked others. Not with that warmth. Not with that look.

He knew her well enough to see the truth. Even after Paul had attacked her, she somehow ended up near Luke again. That could only mean one thing, she’d gone back to help him.

His Angelica had gone back for Luke.

Jonathan had hated the man before, but that sealed it. Luke had been nothing but a rookie, while Jonathan was a leader of Haven. And then he’d seen it, Angelica dying in Luke’s arms. He had refused to accept it at the time, but deep down, he’d known. She’d let herself die. For him. She had chosen Luke to be the last face she saw, not anyone else from the Haven. She had given him her experience points.

She felt something for him. Maybe not romantically. Maybe like a younger brother. But she had chosen him. Chosen to die in his arms. And she had smiled. Smiled for him. Jonathan wanted to kill that bastard with every shred of strength he had. Because Luke had stolen her heart, and the fool didn’t even realize it.

Did Angelica love Luke? Jonathan didn’t know. But he knew one thing: He should have been the one she saved, like she had in the past. Not Luke. Never Luke. And that was why he would crush him, destroy him, and take everything from him.

As he made his way down the corridor, he spotted Ronan, one of Bastion’s four strongest. The meeting had decided he’d return to guard the barrier gate.

Jonathan considered going himself, but no. He’d keep hunting down other criminals, keep getting stronger. Why waste time standing watch over an empty gate when Luke hadn’t shown his face there once?

His time with Kruger and the other assassins had taught him the value of patience, of moving carefully. Luke would slip up eventually, and when he did, someone would catch him. Until then, Jonathan would focus on his own advancement.

There was something else he hadn’t told Bartholomew. Angelica had confided in a few members of Haven about the second mechanism, especially Allison. Bartholomew had no idea. Jonathan suspected Allison and the rest of the Haven were working quietly toward triggering the mechanism without the so-called King of Bastion ever knowing. And that suited him just fine.

Soon, Bartholomew’s precious utopia would crumble. Haven would push forward, clinging to their hope. And Luke, Luke more than anyone, wanted out of this world. He’d gone to the barrier himself in the past, and now he’d vanished beyond it.

Good. Let it all keep moving. Let Bartholomew stew in frustration as everything unravels. Let Haven dream. Let Luke believe.

Because when the time was right, Jonathan would crush all of them at once. He wouldn’t let a single one leave this place alive, not even the weaklings from Haven. They were just as guilty for Angelica’s death. She had died trying to save them. If they’d been strong enough, if they’d stood with her, she might still be alive.

That was his new resolve. Let things play out. Let Luke climb higher, blind with hope. When the moment came, Jonathan would tear it all away. Grind that hope into dust. The same way Luke had done to him, when he stole the heart of his Angelica.