Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke stood face to face with Bartholomew. Every nerve screamed at him to strike. End it here, end it now, one clean kill in front of everyone. His hands twitched with the urge to draw steel, to carve through flesh. But reason clamped down hard. Madness. To attack here would unleash chaos, Bastion’s most dangerous fighters descending at once. Allison and Mason would be dragged into the crossfire, and worst of all, the mission would collapse. They wouldn’t even reach the first mechanism.

He cursed himself silently. Bartholomew was untouchable tonight. Protected. Too much damn luck on his side.

“And you, miss,” Bartholomew asked, eyes resting on him, “what is your name?”

“Lucy,” Luke answered evenly, forcing composure.

Allison exhaled, her tone cool, cutting. “You’re standing too close.”

Gasps rippled through the guests nearby.

“Back away!” Bartholomew commanded.

The crowd recoiled instantly, retreating in a wave. A few lingered at the edges, unwilling to miss the spectacle, but they gave them space.

“My apologies, Lady Rhiannon,” Bartholomew said smoothly, his voice silk over steel. He gestured to the hall. “I wasn’t expecting your visit, but a table has been prepared for you. Please, make yourself comfortable there or anywhere else you wish.”

“Thank you,” Allison replied. “I hope we can speak later about the future of this place. Now that Marshall is no longer… an issue.”

“Of course,” Bartholomew said, lips curving faintly.

Luke forced himself to peel away, each step leaden, carrying him toward the banquet table. He needed distance. He needed to steady the riot inside his chest. He scanned the hall instead. Other doors were shut. He could slip through as mist, but too many eyes. Too much risk.

The details pressed on him: musicians coaxing elegant notes from instruments finely wrought, a bard plucking a lute with calm precision, weaving a melody that draped the hall in refinement. Guests cloaked in silks and polished fabrics, opulence that mocked the outside world, where people scraped by with secondhand rags and wondered if they could afford soap.

On a silver tray lay masquerade masks, dainty, held by sticks. Excess paraded as entertainment. Luke turned toward a pitcher of juice and wine, needing the motion, the pretense of calm.

“Excuse me,” a voice said behind him.

He spun. A man stood there, mid twenties, polished, smiling faintly, holding something in his hand.

“Did you happen to drop this necklace?” the man asked.

Luke’s blood went cold. Instinctively, his hand darted to his hair, where Artemis was hidden, then to his throat, where Allison’s necklace rested. Both still there.

He studied the item in the man’s palm, forcing control over his face. “No. That necklace isn’t mine.”

“Are you sure?” The man’s smile deepened. “Madam, I think it would look beautiful around your neck.”

A vein pulsed in Luke’s temple.

“What did you just say?” His voice strained, his jaw tight, irritation threatening to crack his disguise.

“I only mean,” the man continued smoothly, “this necklace is in my possession, but it would suit you so much better.”

That bastard’s hitting on me. He’s using my own trick against me. Son of a… he’s dead. He’s absolutely dead.

Laughter exploded in his skull. Artemis. ’Oh gods, this can’t be happening. I can’t. I’m going to cry from laughing so hard.’

Luke wanted nothing more than to grab that necklace and strangle the bastard with it until he stopped breathing.

“I already have a necklace. I don’t need another one,” Lucy snapped, irritation bleeding through despite himself.

He turned sharply back to the drinks table, desperate for something, anything, to steady his nerves.

“C-can I pour it for you, madam?” one of the men asked, leaning in with eager eyes.

“No. I’ll do it myself.” He ladled liquid into a wooden mug, used a quick botanical purification, and drained it. Plain water now, nothing that could betray him.

“I’ve never seen you around the fortress before,” said the necklace man, slipping the trinket into his pocket.

Luke clicked his tongue, tugging at the dress where the fabric scraped his skin. “This damn thing itches…” he muttered under his breath, scratching before lifting his gaze. Somehow, five men had gathered around him, watching too closely.

Great. How the hell am I supposed to disappear with this many eyes on me?

“It’s my first time stepping into Bastion,” Lucy said at last, conjuring a practiced smile.

One of them cleared his throat eagerly. “You know, I’m a sergeant here. I even live in the fortress.”

Luke rubbed his cheek. And what do you expect me to say? Congratulations?

“How wonderful. I imagine it’s dangerous work,” Lucy replied smoothly. “But having the privilege of living here must make it worthwhile.”

“I-I live here too!” another blurted.

“Same!” a third chimed in.

Now all five were staring at him, flushed and eager.

Lucy scratched his head, annoyance gnawing at his patience, but forced himself to stay friendly. “I live in the city, but I’ve always admired this place.”

That was when someone finally slid in at his side. Mason.

“Darling, is there a problem?”

Finally. About time.

Luke had been signaling for rescue, scratching head and cheek in the little code they’d agreed on.

“Did you know these five all live in Bastion?” Lucy said sweetly.

The men flicked nervous glances between Mason and Lucy.

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“So… you gentlemen want something with my girlfriend?” Mason asked.

Their eyes widened in panic. “N-no, it’s not like that!” one stammered.

Luke shifted again, the dress irritating him in every possible way. Heat crawled across his skin, yet his bare legs prickled with cold.

“Darling, I told you not to fidget with the dress like that,” Mason muttered, turning his head away.

“It’s uncomfortable!” Lucy snapped back.

Then Luke caught Mason’s expression, the flicker of color in his cheeks, and narrowed his eyes.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not wearing panties,” Lucy announced flatly.

Mason choked on his own breath.

I’m wearing boxers. Obviously. No way in hell I’d go that far.

The men surrounding them turned crimson, eyes wide, faces burning with awkward fascination.

Why are they all blushing and staring at me like that?

Luke seized the chance to stride away from the table, leaving them gaping behind him.

“I-I-I need to be elsewhere,” Mason stammered, fleeing in haste, muttering something about calming his heart.

“Perfect,” Lucy grumbled. “He ditched me.”

Still, Mason was playing his part, drawing attention back to Bartholomew, anchoring himself beside Allison. That was where all the nobles’ eyes lingered, where the guards’ focus sharpened, where every whisper of curiosity coiled. Which left Luke with one task. All he needed was the right moment to slip away.

***

The banquet rolled on, a steady hum of voices and music weaving through the gilded hall. Luke had already chosen his escape route: a side door leading into a service corridor, empty for now. No guards lingered there. Every soldier was either stationed along the main route to the banquet or inside the hall itself.

There would be men deeper in the fortress. Luke knew that. But it didn’t matter. All he needed was to slip out, change into the maid’s uniform, and he could move through Bastion like a ghost.

The orchestra shifted into softer melodies, strings floating in the air.

Just as Jack had described, this was more than a feast. It was a marketplace of influence, where alliances were whispered over wine, loyalties bought with laughter and full stomachs. From his seat among the nobles, Luke watched merchants clinking glasses with soldiers, smiles easy under the haze of food and drink.

Across the hall, Allison stood near Bartholomew, Mason, and Oswald. Guests approached her one at a time, reverent, careful not to crowd her. She accepted each word with grace, smiling faintly, the perfect portrait of noble composure. Luke exhaled slowly. He had to wait for the signal. Just one chance. He rose, weaving through the crowd. A man’s gaze lingered on him far too long, until the man’s wife jabbed him sharply in the ribs.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

The stem of Luke’s glass cracked under his grip.

’You look beautiful, Lucy.’ Artemis teased, laughter spilling like silk. ’The belle of the ball.’

Luke clicked his tongue, drifting toward the appetizer tables.

’You’re a demon, aren’t you?’ she purred.

Half-demon, he corrected, plucking up a cube of cheese.

’Did you know female demons rank among the most sexually alluring races in the multiverse?’

He nearly choked, swallowing hard. What the hell does that mean?

He washed it down with juice.

’It means, Luke, that right now you’re a half demoness. Which makes you dangerously attractive to humans. Half human, half demon, the perfect storm.’

His jaw tightened as he swept the hall with his eyes. “This is bullshit,” he muttered.

I should’ve thought of this before agreeing to the damn mission. How the hell am I supposed to vanish when every man in here is staring at me?

’You’d make a gorgeous succubus.’ Artemis purred again.

Luke ignored her, locking his focus back on Allison and Mason. Any second now, they’d give the signal. Two closed doors loomed just beyond the appetizer table, the exit he needed.

Any moment now. Just breathe.

He forced a long inhale. Normally, tension didn’t rattle him. But this wasn’t his plan. It was a machine of moving parts, and if one gear slipped, it would all collapse. And this wasn’t just any fortress. This was the enemy’s heart. Killers everywhere, eyes sharp, blades ready. No windows to dive through. No shadows to vanish into. Only walls. Only watchers. Only death waiting to pounce.

And then, at last, the signal. Allison scratched her left ear with her pinky.

It’s time.

Luke shifted, pretending to reach for another appetizer, inching closer to the door. Allison began to count down with her fingers: Three... two... one.

“I’ve had my eyes on you all night,” a voice whispered at his side.

What?!

Someone had slipped in close. Across the hall, Allison froze mid gesture, her signal dying instantly.

Shit.

“Your back is gorgeous, you know that?” a man’s voice murmured.

I’m going to kill this bastard.

Luke turned, and froze.

“Kru-kru!” The sound stuck in his throat.

The face was unmistakable. The voice even more so. Kruger.

A cough, forced and clumsy, covered the slip.

“Did I startle you?” Kruger asked smoothly.

“Y-yes. Your footsteps made no sound at all,” Lucy replied, her composure strained but intact.

A quick glance toward Allison showed Mason pale as death. Of all the people to stumble into, it had to be Kruger. Bastion’s most suspicious wolf sniffing at their door.

“You know, I…” Kruger began.

“You work in Bastion, don’t you?” Lucy cut in sharply. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that tonight?”

She jabbed a finger hard into his chest, her voice slicing the air.

“You think I don’t see the little game you men play? Flaunting your titles, bragging about living in the fortress. Maybe that works on every other silly girl in the city, but not me.”

Kruger faltered. Actually faltered. A step back, eyes flicking to the side as a few guests glanced over. For once, the predator looked off balance.

“M-madame…” he stammered.

Lucy seized his collar and yanked him close. “Try anything with me and I’ll rearrange your face.”

Sweat beaded across his brow. “I-I think you’ve made a mistake, madame.”

She plucked the glass from his hand. “This what you were going to offer me?”

He nodded quickly.

She downed it in one swallow, slammed the glass back into his chest. “There. Thanks for the drink. Now leave me the hell alone.”

She turned, striding away, only for his hand to clamp onto her arm.

“You think you can talk to me like that?” Kruger snarled.

“Not only do I think it,” Lucy snapped back, eyes flashing, “I just did.”

“No one’s ever had the guts… especially not a woman,” he muttered, something dark flickering in his gaze. “Are you… single?”

What? Luke froze, mind blank. He… liked that? Being insulted?

Then it came. A sharp sound cracked across the hall. Kruger’s head snapped toward Bartholomew. In a blink, he dashed forward, leaving her arm. Luke followed his gaze. Allison stood with a sword drawn, its point leveled at a trembling man. Her voice cut cold through the silence:

“Did you just flirt with me?”

“N-no!” the man stammered, hands raised.

The hall erupted. People gasped, guards surged, all eyes swinging toward the clash. Perfect chaos. Kruger rushed to Bartholomew’s side, soldiers converging to shield their master. The center of the hall became a storm.

Luke moved. He slid toward the door, his body unraveling into mist. Vapor seeped beneath the frame, silent, unseen. On the far side, the corridor yawned empty. He reformed, heart pounding, kicked off the heels, and slipped them into the pendant hidden in his hair. Pace quickening, he reached the janitors’ supply room. Mist again, through the crack, into shadow, and then flesh once more. Breath ragged, he yanked the maid’s uniform from storage, dragging it over the gown. Cap snug over his dark hair. Another deep breath, steadying himself.

Mist again. He slipped out the far door, silent and unseen.

Artemis, guide me to the mechanism chamber.

She had the map.

’With pleasure… Lucy.’ she purred, laughter trailing her words.

Luke strode down the corridor, pulse hammering. Time pressed against him now. The assassin was inside Bastion.