Becoming the Dark Lord

“Exactly!” the Midnight King said, his laughter ringing through the hall like metal splitting apart. “You, dragon woman, possess a body that is both powerful and compatible. I want that body for myself.” His gaze locked on Allison, hungry and possessive, as if she were some ancient prize waiting to be claimed.

“Don’t worry,” he added with a cruel smile. “I was a woman once. This wouldn’t be my first exchange. As I told you before, I was powerful, unimaginably powerful. And now I’m trapped inside this shell. Even though it belongs to my own kind, it’s a pitiful echo of what I once was.”

His distorted laughter lingered, vibrating low in the thick, stagnant air. His presence was suffocating, not just because of his voice, but because the air itself seemed heavier around him, as if the very space in the hall bent to his will.

Luke already had the arrow nocked. Every muscle in his body was locked, his breathing steady and deliberate. He could hear his heartbeat, slow and disciplined beneath the tension. His body screamed to act, but his mind whispered restraint. That old, primitive thread within him, the one born for survival, was shouting at him to step back. It told him this wasn’t a fight worth having, that the creature before them wasn’t merely strong, but something beyond strength. Something ancient, predatory, from another age or another plane entirely.

Still, Luke held his ground. His fingers trembled on the bowstring, not from fear but from defiance, from the urge to silence that cowardly instinct clawing at the back of his mind. He wanted to fight. He wanted to end this thing, even knowing death was the likeliest outcome.

A faint crack echoed somewhere in the distance. Someone shifted. Someone breathed too loudly. Luke froze, eyes fixed on the creature. He would not falter. He was crushing that instinct beneath his heel.

Evangeline, just cast the damn spell!

The words screamed inside his head, silent but deafening. The tension in his chest burned alongside the flood of adrenaline. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He was ready to fire.

The archangel turned back to Allison. “In your body, I’ll be rid of the disease. When I began transferring between vessels, it was in a world where all souls eventually succumbed to corruption. But in this era, the corruption is gone. Your souls are pure, untouched. Perfect for me to absorb and claim.”

His tone was eerily calm, almost gentle, yet beneath it lurked something vile. The Midnight King took a single step toward Allison. The sound of his foot striking stone reverberated like a heartbeat through the floor. Instinctively, everyone else backed away, weapons raised, muscles tight.

In his hand, a spear materialized from nothing, black energy condensed into solid form, as if darkness itself had been forged into a weapon. He held it with an effortless grace.

“So, children,” he said, voice dripping with mockery, “will you honor my offer and hand over the dragon woman’s body, or…” He snapped his fingers.

The sound was delicate, almost polite. What followed was not. An invisible wave surged through the hall, a sharp, crushing pulse that made the ground tremble. Luke felt it first in his chest, then his legs. The weight hit like gravity itself had multiplied.

He tried to move his fingers. Nothing. Tried to breathe. No air. His body stiffened, starting at the feet, climbing upward in a cold, relentless tide. His skin hardened, cracking into stone.

What?! He stood frozen, bow still raised, eyes locked on the throne. Every muscle refused to move.

Just a few meters away, the same fate unfolded for the rest of them. Bodies turned to stone, motion ripped from them as if it had never existed. Within seconds, the entire group was petrified, except one.

“Oh, such quick reflexes you have,” said the Midnight King, his gaze shifting toward a corner of the hall.

Erza Grimhart had moved at the last possible moment, surviving through sheer instinct. But half her body was already encased in creeping gray stone, climbing like a living plague, consuming both flesh and metal alike.

“Localized area spell…” Erza muttered, voice rough and muffled by strain. She dragged her heavy body, feeling rigidity spread through her limbs. Every inch she gained came with double the weight. The sound of cracking stone followed her shallow breaths. Slowly, painfully slowly, the petrification began to recede.

Luke saw everything, trapped inside his own body. Flesh turned to stone, but his consciousness remained, suffocating inside its mineral shell. He tried to move, a finger, a muscle, anything, but nothing answered. The sensation was torture. He could see, hear, feel, yet not act. Each heartbeat, if his heart still beat at all, echoed faintly, a ghost of sound.

“There’s no point in running,” the creature said, watching Erza.

The Midnight King’s voice carried a weight that didn’t belong to any living being. It came not just from his throat, but from the space itself, vibrating through the air.

Erza began to turn to stone again. She stumbled, dragging a half-rigid leg, her movements jerky and desperate. For a moment, she vanished from Luke’s sight. Inside, he screamed. Begged his body to move. To lift the bow. To loose the arrow. Anything. But nothing happened. Despair ate at him from the inside, until the archangel did something he didn’t expect.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The monster simply vanished. A flash. A flicker in the light. And then, gone.

Teleportation!

The thought detonated in Luke’s mind, more instinct than realization. The air rippled, and a heartbeat later, the creature reappeared, walking calmly forward, as if he’d taken only a single step through empty space.

“Problem solved,” the Midnight King said, tone casual, almost bored, as though finishing a minor chore.

Luke strained to move, to breathe, to do something. His efforts were useless, like trying to breathe through solid rock. Panic surged in waves, each one heavier than the last.

The thing before them wasn’t just powerful, it was impossible. Beyond reason. Beyond rules. Luke understood then, with brutal clarity, the abyss between that being’s power and their own. They had been defeated in seconds. No resistance, no chance. Just the effortless whim of a creature playing with their lives. His heart thudded faintly inside its stone cage, a sound barely real.

And then, a voice. “The mask… use my power.”

Soft, feminine, distant. The angel’s voice echoed inside his mind, clear as a whisper carried by the wind. And with it came something even stranger: a screen.

A translucent pop-up shimmered into existence before his eyes, glowing faintly in the stillness of his immobility.

[Mask of the Fallen Stone Angel (Unique)

Description: In the final moments of its forsaken life, the angel, abandoned by its own kind, was offered something it never expected: mercy. And that mercy came from a demon. In her final breaths, moved by unimaginable compassion, she sealed all the power she had left into this relic. Not for redemption, but for hope.

“May my Lord realize, when the moment is right, the value hidden in something as simple and frail as this.”

Enchantments:

[Statue Form (Ancient)]: While wearing the mask, you take on the form of the Fallen Stone Angel, becoming indistinguishable from a statue.

[Angel Soul Fragment (Unique)]: A slumbering fragment of an angel’s soul resides within this mask.

Requirement: Soulbound.]

Statue form!

The thought arrived like a reflex. Luke clung to that single possibility. He focused, called the mask’s enchantment, feeling mana respond even inside the stone cocoon. The change was slow at first, then a crack, then another. Stone skin began to flake away. Breath returned, blood flowed, and the crushing weight eased. In an instant he was free.

Air exploded into his lungs and he threw himself behind the pillar, breathing hard and forcing himself to stay silent. The mask had it been what kept the archangel from sensing him? Relief and suspicion threaded together in his head. The Midnight King returned to the throne as if nothing had happened. He sat with insolent calm, leaning his weight on the spear planted in the steps, a quiet gesture that spoke more loudly than any threat: I am still in control. He raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

The air shifted. A dry, almost inaudible click seemed to exhale through the hall. Movement rippled outward. Statues cracked, stiffness dissolved, and in seconds Luke’s companions staggered back to life, gasping and dazed but breathing. The chamber filled with hurried footsteps and overlapping voices, a raw noise that felt obscene after the heavy silence.

“I’m fine,” Erza said, her voice ringing off the stone. “He turned me into a statue.”

Luke drew a slow breath; his body still thrummed with adrenaline. Escaping death left no room for relief, only another hard truth: the monster remained, perched on its throne, watching them with the same arrogant serenity.

He settled further behind the pillar and readied the bow again, fingers still trembling from the mana that lingered in his veins. He peeked out. The archangel looked relaxed, eyes half-lidded, like a predator that knows the prey has nowhere to run.

Get off that throne, damn it.

The thought surged through him, pure instinct. His body held fast under training and discipline. The Midnight King’s voice rolled through the hall, louder now, heavier, as if the space itself vibrated with it.

“I showed you a fraction of my power so you would understand. Decide quickly: give me the dragon woman, or die.”

The words tunneled through bone and stone. Luke raised the bow. The mana arrow began to coalesce in his hand, pulsing like a compressed heart of light. He poured everything into it, rage, fear, a stubborn strand of courage. He could not allow the monster a single step. This being teleported, petrified, commanded energy as if it were an extension of its own flesh. One wrong move and they were finished.

He breathed slow, focused. The arrow was almost ready; the energy swelled like a tide held on a leash. He could not let this parley last another minute.

“I accept the agreement.”

The voice cracked through the air like a shot. Luke froze. It came from the group, Allison.

Time froze. Even the sound of breathing vanished from the air. What?

He barely had time to think. Allison moved past him in quick, steady strides, not sparing him a glance. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes fixed on the throne.

“I accept the deal and offer myself as sacrifice,” she said.

No. No, goddamn it, no.

Luke felt his stomach twist, heat flooding his veins. His mind screamed, but he forced himself to stay silent. One sound, one wrong step, and the monster would notice him.

He looked toward Evangeline.

Use the spell. Now.

But she didn’t move. Her eyes were tense, expectant, as if waiting for something. Allison had to be stalling. She had to be. This couldn’t be real.

“Oh? You accept? How unexpectedly convenient,” the archangel said, leaning back in the throne, his voice thick with cruel amusement.

Allison stood firm. The cold torchlight shimmered in her eyes, but her voice didn’t waver when she spoke.

“None of you will interfere.”

She was speaking to Luke and the others without turning around, a silent order, a farewell disguised as command.

Luke’s fingers ached from how tightly he gripped the bow. He wanted to shout, to run to her, but reason screamed louder. If he broke cover now, everything would be lost.

“You all have a reason to return to Earth,” Allison said. Her tone was quieter now, but steady, unwavering. “I don’t. I have no home to go back to. My family and I… we don’t get along. So between being trapped forever or making my own choice, I’ll take the second. Live trapped, or die free. I choose freedom.”

Her gaze rose to the archangel. Defiance burned there, and acceptance too.

“I accept the deal, but only with the system as the official intermediary.”

Shit. No. Don’t.

The thought sliced through Luke like a blade. He knew exactly what that meant. And he knew that from this moment on, one mistake would cost far more than a single life.