Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke’s new class was right there waiting for him, the notification pulsing in front of his eyes while he was stared down by a deity that looked like a living black hood. Out of all the absurd things that had happened in the last few minutes, including Angelica’s resurrection as a stone angel, surviving the end of the tutorial, and coming face-to-face with a god that looked like death itself, that notification still managed to leave him stunned.

[You have acquired the Second Class: Witch]

Witch? A witch? What the hell?

Some part of him had been absolutely convinced his second class would be Archer.

He touched the notification without thinking, feeling the word echo across his mind. The Guide, the hooded entity, kept observing him with an unreadable calm, a faint sense of amusement radiating from its silhouette.

[Second Class]: A Second Class emerges when an innate talent awakens within you. This power, long dormant, reveals itself in a crucial moment, granting access to new skills and unlocking new evolutionary paths. A Second Class isn’t something you choose or learn, it’s a natural manifestation of a talent that’s always been there, opening a new road for development.

He knew that explanation by heart. He’d seen this exact text when Charlie first acquired the Pugilist class. But even knowing all that, something still didn’t fit.

Witch? How the hell do I have the talent to be a witch? A witch is… a women’s class, right?

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Sigil answered. “A class usually given to women, though a man obtaining it is rare… which makes this interesting.”

I forget this guy can read minds. I wasn’t talking to you

Luke’s hand instinctively went to the pendant at his neck. He’d been waiting for Artemis to react, to say something, anything. But there was nothing. The necklace felt completely inert.

“Only your soul was brought here,” Sigil explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You are still inside the teleportation portal. Time flows very slowly in this place. For your body on the other side, you are still just disappearing, returning to Earth.”

When Luke focused on the class again, another notification unfolded.

[Witch]: The Witch is a conjurer of dark arts, devoted to forbidden knowledge and the forces that linger beyond death. Driven by an insatiable hunger for understanding and power, her magic manifests as curses and malignant spells that torment and destroy her enemies. On the battlefield, the Witch is the lurking shadow that twists conflict into fear and uncertainty, always seeking new secrets to claim.

Attribute Bonuses per Level: +5 Intelligence, +3 Wisdom, +1 Agility, +1 Endurance, +1 Vitality, +1 Perception, +1 Willpower, +2 Free Points

Luke frowned as he reached the end. Another detail caught him off guard: the attributes Wisdom and Willpower. Completely new, meaning the system itself had changed. And that was just as intriguing as it was unsettling.

“It relates to your rank change,” Sigil said, absolutely unfazed. “When you ascend a rank, you take a step toward divinity. Your body can now withstand greater power. The emergence of the divine spark is translated by the system into new attributes and abilities. You are no longer human, not in race, but in mortality. You are drifting away from your Mortal Self and walking toward your Immortal Self, your God Self. So, congratulations. You now have more attributes to learn, to understand, and to master.”

[Basic Magic Conjuration (Common)]: A Witch learns to summon mana, gaining instinctive control over arcane energy. With it, she begins to channel and manifest that force in a deliberate way, awakening natural abilities tied to magic. This foundation allows her to manipulate mana for different purposes and activate spells stored in scrolls. When channeled through wands, grimoires, other foci, or magic caster weapons, mana becomes sharper and more potent, amplifying both effect and stability.

Before Luke could even respond, Sigil snapped his fingers.

The air behind him rippled like water struck by a falling stone. A moment later, a door began to form, first as thin strands of blue light, then as blocks of black stone rising out of that same glow. It looked less built and more born, as though the world were assembling it piece by piece right in front of them.

“You need to make a decision, Luke Moon… or should I say Luke Baumann?” Sigil teased with a soft laugh. “Choose from the list of beings interested in speaking with you. Which one do you accept? Lakarion, the God who granted you that delightful attire? Or the Bee Queen Mikhayla, famous among assassins, master of brainwashing and enslavement. They’re among the most famous deities assassins tend to cling to.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Sigil tilted the hood slightly, studying him despite having no visible eyes.

“Or perhaps you prefer Black Raven? The spy god of ravens? I’m only mentioning the ones whose domains fit your class style. But the list is long. The God of Alchemy, the Bogeyman. Or… your old acquaintance, Samael. Or maybe P, the founder of the Grimhart family. You even befriended one of his descendants, Anne Grimhart.”

He drifted toward the newly formed door, the edge of his mantle shifting even in the absence of wind.

“Of course, if none of them interest you, we continue as usual,” Sigil went on. “I am the Guide and the host of this space. Those beings would appear only as Advisors to interact with you, some to exchange words, others to attempt recruiting you into their Orders. Seeing a god is not something mortals simply get to do, much less speak with several. It is an opportunity nearly nonexistent for most. But Luke Moon, or Luke Baumann, is… peculiar.”

The hood didn’t turn, yet somehow he felt Sigil’s full attention on him.

“What will it be?”

Luke didn’t hesitate. “I choose to speak with Samael.”

He didn’t need to think. The list was massive, the reputation of each deity varied wildly, and Divine Orders meant very little to him. There was only one thing that mattered, the one thing that had burned in his mind his entire life. The truth about his mother. And Samael had promised him that answer.

“Excellent choice, Luke Moon or Luke Baumann,” Sigil replied.

The door shuddered. White lines ignited across the dark stone, weaving runes and symbols Luke couldn’t begin to decipher. The entire frame pulsed with an intense glow, and then opened. It stood alone in the void, anchored to nothing, floating on nothing. From the brilliance inside, a silhouette emerged. Luke’s heartbeat kicked into a frantic rhythm. This was the moment he’d waited for his entire life. He was finally going to hear the truth he’d chased for so long.

The figure moved forward, the blinding light behind it hiding most details, but Luke didn’t need to see. He knew. He felt it in the air. Each quiet step across that impossible threshold pulled the moment closer, tightening the gravity around his chest.

As the door dissolved into scattering fragments of light, the visitor stepped out fully. Samael.

The demon looked like a tall, middle aged man, his horns curving backward as if they were a natural extension of his skull. He wore a flawless black suit, modern, sharp, entirely at odds with every popular image of demons. No chaos, no smoke, no torn robes or extravagant ornaments. He looked more like an executive stepping out of a Manhattan skyscraper, someone who could negotiate millions with a calm, calculating expression.

He was composed. Silent. Refined. But his eyes… those were something else. Vertical pupils, serpentine and cold, cut straight through Luke like blades. There was judgment there. And something deeper, something Luke didn’t have a name for.

“Very well done, Luke,” the demon said, voice steady and controlled, but tinged with unmistakable satisfaction. “To think you would fulfill the deal to kill the serpent and still outsmart the Midnight King so neatly. In truth, you deceived and manipulated both enemies. Quite a demonic feat.”

Before Luke could answer, the hooded god, Sigil, glided through the air, coming to a stop beside them. His presence slipped into the exchange without force, as though he had always belonged there.

“Hello, Samael,” Sigil said.

“Hello, Sigil.” Samael dipped his head just slightly, a restrained greeting. “It’s been a while since anyone has known where you were.”

“As always, I walk along the line of those who cannot see me,” Sigil replied, his voice quiet, enigmatic. “I linger among the ones who do not perceive me… and I pursue what is still unknown.”

Luke blinked. He had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. And he wasn’t here to decipher divine riddles.

He fixed his gaze on Samael again. “And my answer?”

The demon inhaled, ready to speak, but Sigil moved first. With a fluid shift, he placed himself between the two, raising a hand wrapped in dark, heavy sleeves.

“Whatever the two of you intend to discuss,” Sigil said, voice cold and firm, “Samael’s role is that of a Counselor. The matter requested by the system must be addressed first. Priority must be respected.”

He drifted back a few steps through the air, floating as naturally as someone walking across solid ground.

The hooded god halted, anchoring himself in the empty space. With a slow motion, he rested his ancient scythe on the non existent floor. The blade tapped the dark mist below as if it had true weight. Everything around them stilled, even the once shifting hood froze in place.

“My role, Luke, is to serve as a Counselor,” Samael said. “To continue the function of the Guide.”

“And my role as the Guide, now acting in the background, is to stand witness so that the god does not attempt to deceive the mortal,” Sigil added.