Becoming the Dark Lord

The group tore through the forest, the dense undergrowth seeming to part beneath their feet as if it sensed their urgency. Every stride snapped wet branches and crushed slick leaves, releasing the sharp scent of earth and moss. They burned every drop of stamina, driving themselves faster toward the Wild Zone. The steady rhythm of their footfalls blended with the distant cries of birds and the nervous rustle of the canopy above.

“It could still be a false alarm,” Ronan said, breath ragged with effort. “Your bird’s an idiot, right? Maybe someone’s just injured and it thought they were dead. Or it mistook some zombie corpses the soldiers dragged to the camp.”

“He might not know math,” Evangeline shot back without slowing, “but he damn well knows the difference between the living and the dead.”

High overhead, Jerry circled in a wide arc, his black wings slashing across the gray sky. He moved like an anxious shadow, eyes sweeping the terrain ahead. For the group, he was an edge they couldn’t afford to lose, especially with a destination this uncertain.

The deeper they pushed into the forest, the stranger it became. Misshapen creatures began to drift between the trunks, undead wanderers drawn like moths to the Wild Zone. Eleanor, bow already raised, loosed arrow after arrow without breaking stride. Each shot cracked like dry wood, each impact dropped a corpse silently into the undergrowth. Behind them, the path they left was a ribbon of stillness and death.

***

The smell shifted as they neared the edge of the Wild Zone. The air grew heavier, as if every breath had weight. The barricade that once blocked the path was shattered.

“Something definitely went down,” Jack muttered, his voice dropping instinctively.

They crouched low in the thick underbrush, using fallen logs and stones for cover. Fingers tightened around their weapons, eyes sweeping the ruins for the slightest movement.

“I’m sending Jerry ahead,” Evangeline said. The raven let out a harsh croak at the command and launched forward, wings beating until it vanished beyond the gate.

“He’ll need about ten minutes to circle back,” she added, ducking down beside them.

Luke barely heard her. His focus was locked on the system interface hovering in front of him, text pulsing against the backdrop of broken stone and creeping shadows. He’d barely registered the run to get here, so driven by urgency that everything else had blurred. Now, with a moment to breathe, he finally read what the system had been trying to tell him.

[Your Rank Skill is now available!]

A larger screen unfolded the instant he tapped the notification. Lines of luminous text streamed down like a living veil, painting his face in shifting light.

**Rank F Mastered! Maximum Levels Achieved!**

Congratulations! You’ve reached the pinnacle of Rank F. You rose from level 0 in the Assassin class, evolved into a Demonic Assassin, and have now become a Demonic Predator!

In your profession you began as an Herbalist, then advanced to the Botanist of Mother Freya, and now stand as the Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya!

Each peak granted you a powerful skill. But this isn’t the end. Epic Skills are only a reward meant to drive you toward Rank E.

Requirements for Rank Evolution:

: Max Level in Profession (Completed)

: Max Level in Class (Completed)

: Max Level in Race (Completed)

: Defeat a Rank E creature solo (Completed)

: Spend all Free Points (Not Completed)

: Finish the Tutorial (Not Completed)

Luke clenched his fist. He’d known for a while he was capped at Rank F—no amount of grinding or killing could push him higher. He was locked in place. But below the list another notification pulsed, its glow deeper, different. This was his Rank Skill. There would be no choosing this time. He’d learned that Rank Skills were shaped by the system itself, built from a person’s progress—their flaws, strengths, and choices combined. A reflection of who he had become.

When he tapped it open, the system flared a warning:

[All Free Points must be allocated!]

Luke yanked up his status window, eyes running over his attributes as numbers and bars flickered in the dim light.

Name: Luke

Level: 50

Race: Half-Demon

Rank: F

Class: [Demonic Predator (Lvl 60)]

Profession: [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya (Lvl 60)]

Titles: [Dark Lord]

Bloodline: [Bloodline of the Dark Demon]

Health Points (HP): 4340/4340

Mana Points (MP): 5010/(5010)

Stamina: 2789/(2950)

Soul Fragments: 104/1000

Stats:

Strength: 691

Agility: 499 (549)

Endurance: 275 (295)

Vitality: 434

Perception: 458 (468)

Intelligence: 496 (501)

Free Points: 9

Class Skills: [Advanced Blade Handling (Uncommon)], [Profane Knife Throwing (Uncommon)], [Twin Blade (Common)], [Basic Dark Dash (Rare)], [Basic Blood Regeneration (Rare)], [Predator’s Mark (Rare)], [Demonic Blade Dance (Rare)], [Wraith Form (Ultra-Rare)], [Force Infusion (Rare)], [Advanced Stealth (Rare)], [Assassin’s Tracking (Rare)], [Mana Infusion (Rare)], [Basic Archery (Common)], [Demonic Predator Hands (Epic)]

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Profession Skills: [Herbology of Mother Freya (Ancient)], [Precise Extraction (Common)], [Basic Potion Crafting (Common)], [Corrupted Plant Growth (Rare)], [Plant Sensor (Uncommon)], [Botanical Bond of Mother Freya (Rare)], [Seed Conversion (Rare)], [Plant Manipulation of Mother Freya (Rare)], [Corrupted Blood of Mother Freya (Ultra-Rare)], [Thorn Mutation (Uncommon)], [Soil Analysis (Uncommon)], [Botanical Purification (Uncommon)], [Acid Blood Arrow (Epic)]

Race Skills: [Identify (Common)], [Demonic Perception (Uncommon)], [Dark Blood (Uncommon)], [Meditation (Common)], [Demonic Endurance (Uncommon)]

Bloodline Skill: [Servant of the Dark Lord (Unique)]

Servants: [Princess Charlie (Skeleton) - Lvl 42], [Servant Slot Available]

Luke didn’t have to think long about where to dump his remaining free points. Mana was the obvious answer.

Stats Updated:

Intelligence: 496 (501) -> 505 (510)

Free Points: 9 -> 0

Mana Points (MP): 5010/5010 -> 5100/5100

That gave him enough juice for five Acid Arrows with a little left over to bail out using Dark Dash or Wraith Form if things went sideways.

Then another notification blinked into view:

[Your Rank Evaluation is ready! Accept it? Y/N]

This was it. The Rank Evaluation wasn’t just a progress bar. It was a judgment call from the system itself, weighing every flaw and virtue to forge a Rank Skill born directly from him. Pretending he wasn’t anxious would have been a joke. This was the system’s opinion of him, maybe even the multiverse’s own cosmic verdict.

Luke tapped Yes. Something massive unfolded across his interface.

**Rank Evaluation!**

Greetings, Luke Moon, or Luke Baumann, an individual split between two families. This is your Rank Evaluation. Your Rank Skill is born from you. These skills don’t follow common logic; some even reach into the machinery of reality itself. But all Rank Skills share one thing: they emerge from the essence of the individual. They are Unique not in rarity but in meaning. Only you can truly recognize their value, because they spring from both your flaws and your strengths.

Luke Moon, what stands out most in you… is your flaw.

You are dense, not from malice, but from failing to notice the feelings of those around you, especially the ones who care most. Yet even in the confusion and darkness of your soul, a stubborn streak of kindness persists. Strangely, that kindness is dense too, resisting both the good and the evil within you, dodging your twin natures.

You are sharp in some ways and hopelessly oblivious in others, a talent wasted, yet in those weaknesses your authenticity shows. You are heir to powers you don’t fully understand, marked by a strange destiny and a chaotic nature. You’ve learned to work within your limits and, despite the mess inside you, you’ve evolved.

As both punishment and reward for your emotional density, your Rank Skill arises from your virtues and your flaws, though it is born mostly of the flaw. Use it well, oh mighty Dark Lord… or should we say, oh mighty Dense One?

What? Dense? The hell does that mean?

He had to read it twice.

Is the system roasting me? What kind of cosmic nonsense is this?

Luke stared at the screen, actually reread it again. What kind of Rank Evaluation calls me dense? I’m not dense, damn it!

[You have acquired the Rank Skill: Soul Infiltration (Rank F)]

The name alone sent a shiver through him. He opened the notification immediately.

[Soul Infiltration (Rank F)]: Your dense, assassin nature has given rise to this power. You can infiltrate a fragment of your soul into a target’s body. While infiltrated, you can see and hear everything they see and hear. Perfect for espionage, lethal for assassinations. However, the link breaks if your body moves too far from the target. Use with care… and purpose.

He stared at the screen, reading it again and again, trying to wrap his head around it. For a moment he was speechless. After the system’s snarky Rank Evaluation, he had expected something useless or downright humiliating. Instead, it was disturbingly practical.

Another message slid into view:

**Rank Evaluation Complete!**

Ironically, for someone so dense, you can now see through others. Maybe this will help you one day notice the feelings that have always been around you, even if you never bothered to look. Good luck with your next Rank.

Luke stayed frozen, absorbing every word. Around him, the group moved and spoke, but it all felt muffled, as if he were sealed inside an invisible bubble. A strange current crawled up his spine at the thought of activating the new skill.

Then he heard it, a soft, distinct sound beside him.

“Meow…”

He turned his head. A small black cat sat at his feet, fur shimmering like liquid ink, eyes burning gold like tiny lanterns. No one else reacted. No glance shifted, no flicker of recognition. It was as if the animal didn’t exist to anyone but him.

He raised his hand slowly. The cat mirrored him, lifting its paw at the same moment. When his fingers stretched to touch it, the creature passed straight through his palm. A chill shot through his body. It was his soul, or at least a fragment of it. A cat, silent and predatory but still young. A perfect reflection of what he was at his core: an assassin by instinct, yet still something unformed, something capable of more.

He drew a steady breath and focused on Charlie, picturing the act of slipping inside her. The cat padded across the ground with soundless precision, as if following an invisible order. Charlie didn’t flinch, gave no sign she even sensed it. In one fluid leap, the cat dove into her body and vanished.

A sharp click went off inside Luke’s head. Suddenly he was seeing through her eyes, and it was nothing like his own vision. Everything lay in shades of gray, dim and muted, a stark contrast of black and white. Only Luke appeared in color, like a beacon. Sound reached him warped and distant, as though echoing underwater. Of course, Charlie had no living body, just bone and whatever magic animated her.

The paradox slammed into him when Charlie turned her gaze directly on him. He saw himself through her eyes and through his own at once. Pain spiked behind his forehead, sharp enough to make him wince. He shut his eyes, and the link shattered.

Okay. Found a limit.

He centered himself again. The soft meow rang out. The cat peeled away from him like a living shadow. This time, Luke kept his mind tethered to the cat before sending it. Blurred images flickered across his thoughts, no sound, only pale outlines, souls glowing like white silhouettes adrift in a dark ocean. A stripped-down vision of essence itself.

It made sense. If he could see and hear perfectly through the cat, he would never need to infiltrate souls. The cat was the bridge, not the destination.

Luke fixed his eyes on Ronan, the closest ally, and visualized the leap. The feline slipped forward, silent as a whisper, sprang, and disappeared into Ronan’s frame. Instantly Luke’s perception snapped into place, sharp vision, clear sound, the texture of another body. It was like inhabiting someone else completely. A flawless infiltration.

“Jerry’s coming back!” Evangeline’s voice cut through, just as the raven dove from the sky and landed on her shoulder with a low, throaty caw.

“And?” Allison asked.

The raven rasped softly, as if speaking in cipher. Evangeline tilted her head to catch it. “Same thing… dead bodies,” she murmured. “He can’t tell if they’re allies or enemies. Or how many.”

“We’ll have to go,” Ronan said. “Stay sharp.”

As the others rose to their feet, Luke stayed seated, eyes unfocused, gears turning in his head.

“Wait,” he said at last. Every face turned toward him.

Luke looked at the raven and a slow smile curved his lips. “Evangeline, put the bird on the ground.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Trust me. That’s all I can say.”

The cat’s meow slid through the air again as it emerged from Ronan and padded back to Luke. An idea was taking shape, bold, reckless, and impossible to ignore.