Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke and Mason scaled the outer walls of the castle. The wind howled violently, cold and sharp, slicing through the air and battering the ancient, frost-covered stones. Each step demanded balance and strength. Luke’s hands burned, his body tense, muscles trembling under the strain. Above them, the sky was a storm of black and white, swirling snow and shadow around the silhouette of the Midnight King. The light from his spells flashed through the blizzard, illuminating the ruins as he soared above the main bridge, hurling his stone-speared projectiles.

Down below, the stone golems moved with weight and purpose, crushing soldiers and walls with the same indifferent force. The explosive impacts of the spears reverberated through the corridors, each hit causing the ground to shake. The people hit by the petrifying energy stood frozen in place, transformed into grotesque statues of pain and shock. None of them had returned to normal.

”We’re almost there,” Mason said over the wind and the sounds of battle. His voice was urgent, but controlled. His Rank Skill reduced his own weight to impossible limits. He moved as if the air itself held him, light as a feather, while pulling Luke upward.

When they reached the edge of the roof, the sound of the archangel’s wings echoed above them, a deep, rhythmic beat that made the air vibrate. They ran across the slick tiles toward their goal. The Midnight King hovered high, his four wings spread wide, balancing on an unsettling equilibrium. A long chain hung from his leg, gleaming under the flash of lightning, stretched to the floating throne beside the fortress. That chain was the boundary, the tether that bound him to the castle.

An invisible force seemed to struggle with the archangel itself, pulling the throne back, as if the castle were trying to reclaim what it believed was rightfully its own. The air hummed with magical tension. The archangel tilted his head, his sickly golden gaze descending toward the two invaders.

“DON’T GET IN MY WAY!” The creature’s voice tore through the air, vibrating in the windows and their bones. Stone spears began raining from the sky, crashing through the roof in shards. Luke and Mason sprinted, instinctively dodging. The sound of stone hitting tiles formed a chaotic and deadly symphony.

Soon, the ground beneath them began to shift. Shapes rose, taking form: stone golems, heavy, animated by the castle’s own energy. Luke unsheathed the kukri with his right hand and an iron dagger with his left. His body moved fast, each step precise.

[You have slain a Stone Golem - Lvl 40] ℯℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

[You have slain a Stone Golem - Lvl 40]

[You have slain a Stone Golem - Lvl 40]

[You have slain a Stone Golem - Lvl 40]

The messages echoed in his mind, almost drowned out by the sound of spears crashing down. Even though he was immune to the magic of the spears, Luke knew one direct hit would be enough to destroy him. The creature was powerful, far beyond any enemy he’d faced so far. A Level 137 monster, Rank D.

Are you there? he thought, calling out to the angel in his mind. Silence. She didn’t respond. She’d fallen asleep again.

The archangel dove from the sky, fast, like an arrow shot from hell.

“Quick, quick!” Mason shouted. They ran to the edge and leaped toward the throne.

“I told you not to get in my way!” The archangel’s voice was thick with rage, his spear gleaming with energy as he descended in a straight line. Luke reacted instinctively, pulling Charlie from his soul.

The three of them gripped the chain binding the archangel and, without thinking, launched themselves off the wall. The wind pulled them in, the abyss yawning below, black, endless. Luke’s body spun, heart racing, the sound of the archangel’s wings vibrating above them.

The creature tried to resist but was dragged downward. The throne descended with it, creaking against the chain, held back by the spell that prevented it from going further. When it reached the limit of its pull, the throne snapped back violently, crashing into the side of the castle. The wall cracked like glass under pressure.

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“Go, Charlie, go!” Luke shouted.

“DAMN YOU!” The Midnight King’s voice echoed, doubled, as if two entities were screaming within the same body.

The creature charged, spear in hand. Charlie leapt, the impact of her fists making the air explode around them. Her blow struck the wall where the throne was anchored, cracking the stones. The structure then gave way with a deep rumble, and they were all sucked into the castle by the throne’s magnetic force.

The chain tightened, vibrating with a metallic sound that cut through the air. Luke made Charlie vanish, returning her to his soul, while he and Mason held on tightly. The throne yanked them violently, tearing through walls, toppling doors and furniture. Each new room shattered like paper under the impact, and the castle groaned beneath the weight of the magic.

Bricks fell from the ceiling, shattering against the floor. The sound of the chains blended with the distant roar of the archangel. With each crash, the throne’s pull grew stronger, more ravenous, sucking everything into the heart of the fortress.

Finally, the throne slammed into a thick wall and got stuck. The impact reverberated through the hallway.

“Fools!” The archangel’s voice returned to its usual tone, cold, controlled, threatening. He advanced, his eyes burning beneath the shadow of four outstretched wings.

Mason reacted, his hands glowing with fiery energy. Several fireballs formed in the air and were launched one after the other. The sound of the spells ricocheted through the narrow hallways, echoing off the stone walls. The flames hit the archangel, exploding in heat and smoke, but he kept moving forward. The embers extinguished before they could scorch him completely. Mason staggered back, fear rising in his chest, and tried to cast another spell, but his arm began to stiffen. His skin turned the grayish color of stone.

Luke leapt forward, kukri in one hand and dagger in the other. His sharpened perception pulsed in his eyes as the Demonic Blade Dance began to take form. Dark energy coiled around him, warping the air. The creature emerged from the smoke, roaring. In a single motion, it hurled its spear at Mason. The impact slammed the knight against the wall. He tried to scream, but the sound was swallowed by a distorted vibration, and then his body turned to stone.

Luke locked eyes with the archangel. The broken stone face of the Midnight King was revealed beneath the cracks, a visage ravaged by scars and ancient burns.

“This mask...” the King said, his voice vibrating with hatred. “This is the damned face of that angel.”

The archangel vanished. A quick flash, and the space before Luke distorted. He reacted instantly, launching himself to the side, activating the dance in full. His body moved before his mind could catch up. The creature reappeared behind him, launching its blade. Luke spun, dodging midair, feeling the blade skim his clothes, the wind whistling as it passed.

The metallic sound echoed through the hall. Luke responded with a counterattack. The kukri slashed through the air, leaving a thin cut across the archangel’s stomach. A moment later, he kicked, not to push it away, but to propel himself toward the wall.

His body collided with it with force. He took a deep breath. Seeing the enemy up close, he confirmed what he suspected: the Midnight King was sick. The open wounds still smoked, his face disfigured by acid, one eye hollowed out, pierced through.

Franky, hidden beneath Luke’s clothes, had turned to stone just from being near that presence.

“So, you’re immune to my power,” the archangel said, his voice low, studying him as he watched his own dark blood drip from the wound. A new spear began to form in his hand.

“Dangerous...” the Midnight King murmured, his gaze fixed on Luke. “Not even my soul analysis works. What race are you? Maybe... maybe I should tear off that mask and discover something interesting.”

“Come try and find out,” Luke retorted, throwing the kukri with force. The blade spun, colliding with the wall where the throne was anchored. The impact finished shattering the structure.

The throne was thrown backward, pulling the archangel with it. The kukri returned to Luke’s hand, drawn back by magnetism, and he leaped after it, falling back into the throne room. Luke landed on the ground, his body immediately alert. The throne room was suffocating in dense darkness, almost tangible. Below, the throne slowly returned to its original position. The crystals embedded in its base began to glow, one by one, until the bluish light overtook the room. The metallic clink of chains echoed through the air, vibrating like a trapped heart.

High above, the Midnight King floated. His wings spread wide, casting living shadows, and from his throat came a rough laugh, rising into a crescendo before falling silent. When he spoke, his voice was cold and clear, like the edge of a blade:

“Oh, I see. You, the would-be vessels, plan to activate the portal, escape, and leave me here to die. But there’s no way any of you will even get close to me. You’ll turn to stone. Unless, of course... it’s you. You’re the one I’m going to kill.”

He tilted his head, his gaze fixed on Luke.