Becoming the Dark Lord

Vaelor Vath’Ironak was seated at a council within the Goethe Empire. The table was vast, and around it sat several demon lords, each bearing a form shaped by their own lineage. The word “demon” itself was broad, misleading even, since countless demonic races existed. Some appeared almost human, others grotesque or monstrous beyond reason. Vaelor, however, was something else entirely: a wraith-demon.

“The great Mephisto still wishes for us to continue the war against Onix,” remarked Barath, a four-meter-tall demon whose hulking, scaled body resembled a humanoid reptile.

“Among the Orc Kings of that universe, it was… peculiar that one of them turned out to be a Son of Onix,” added Gargantua, a demon with skin like blackened coal. His kind thrived in volcanic regions.

Demons loved war much like they loved fine wine, and to Vaelor, war kept the gears of existence turning. He was a smith, after all. Not just any smith, but one capable of forging living, sentient weapons.

He had attained the title of lord ages ago, the moment he became the God of the wraith-Demons, after creating a weapon exclusive to his race. A soul-bound weapon. His talent was so extraordinary that it drew the attention of one of the Demon Emperors themselves, the great Mephisto Pheles.

Then Vaelor felt it. A notification surfaced in his awareness.

Hm. Someone has entered one of my temples.

Not just any temple. He had many built by his followers, scattered across worlds. This one was a legacy temple. Long ago, Vaelor had spread such temples deliberately, each one a chance for recruitment into his Path. It was like casting bottles with messages into an endless sea. He let the system scatter his Legacy Temples across the multiverse at random. In truth, the system itself demanded this of him, if he wished to gain something special in return.

When you desire greatly, you must also give. That was how the system worked. That was how legacies worked. Gods did not create Paths for nothing. Certain knowledge had to be shared, especially by those who sought followers. And Vaelor Vath’Ironak loved the ancient, honest art of the forge.

While the meeting with the demon lords continued, he focused inward, following the connection and allowing a fragment of himself to cross over. His consciousness awakened, now seeing through the statue he had crafted to serve as a physical anchor. Vaelor surveyed the chamber. It had been so long since he had built these temples that, for a fleeting moment, he found himself criticizing the architecture.

What kind of dimension is this one in?

He expanded his perception, letting it flood the entire world, sensing everything and everyone within it.

An oni-type dimension.

Onis were a form of demon. Vaelor had filled this world with them, along with other beasts. Across the multiverse, existence could be reduced to two broad categories: those with intelligence, and those without. Demons, orcs, aquatic beings, humanoids, insectoids, it did not matter. Some were driven by irrational, bestial force. Others possessed reason. The more rational a being was, the more the system favored it, unlocking greater resources and potential.

Vaelor’s gaze sharpened as he focused on the figure standing before the statue.

In appearance… a human?

Humans were a weak and common race across the multiverse, the most widespread among humanoids. What made them special was not strength, but compatibility. They were blank slates, capable of aligning with countless species. They reproduced easily, died quickly, and could be fielded in massive numbers for armies.

But Vaelor sensed something else. He is also a demon, I can feel it. A young one.

Vaelor focused and realized the young demon wasn’t using any illusion or trick to disguise himself. That was his true appearance, which meant he was likely some kind of human-demon hybrid.

“Who dares disturb me…?” Vaelor asked.

“My name is Luke, Demon Blacksmith. I requested your presence,” the young demon replied.

“Hm. Someone bold enough to attempt contact with an ancient demon?” Vaelor muttered to himself. The boy showed no etiquette, didn’t kneel, didn’t even pretend to show reverence.

Foolishness or audacity?

Vaelor leaned toward foolishness.

He rose from his throne.

“You’d better have a good reason, little demon. You are not even my follower,” Vaelor said.

The youth had entered his temple, refused to kneel, and hadn’t even accepted entry into his Order. A reckless fool, Vaelor concluded.

“I do,” Luke replied calmly. “How do I forge a core to obtain a Spectral Beast?”

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A Spectral Beast core?

His greatest masterpiece. A legacy shared only among the chosen of his clan. And this young demon had just asked about it, so casually. When Vaelor looked at him more closely, he froze.

A lord title? How does someone so young, and so low-ranked, possess one? What kind of idiot would name him a lord?

“Where are you from?” Vaelor asked.

“Earth.”

“Earth?”

Vaelor focused inward, querying the system for that dimension’s placement.

“I see. A newly integrated universe. Your universe hasn’t even passed the 51 mark yet.”

That world hadn’t completed the Yggdrasil process yet, and this demon’s dimensional layer was among the most recent additions to the system.

“You summoned me through blood, right beside the reward of my legacy. I’m curious. Why didn’t you accept it?”

“I have no interest in becoming a blacksmith. Much less in inheriting your legacy.”

Vaelor didn’t believe him. Not because the boy was lying, but because of how calmly he rejected the path of a god while standing before one.

“And you say that so casually,” Vaelor said. “That’s an impressive level of audacity, little demon.”

“I figured you wouldn’t want to waste time on someone who took your Path with zero interest or talent to follow it properly,” Luke replied.

“You have a point.”

Vaelor stepped closer, silently trying to intimidate him.

“Now answer me, little demon. Why did you summon me here if you had no interest in my Path? My time is valuable, and I expect your answer to be worth it.”

“My master sent me to your dimensional rift to find something,” Luke said. “I want power. Here, I managed to turn my main weapon into a Spirit Tool, but I believe he wanted me to find something else as well.”

He took a step forward.

“I once learned that witchcraft is the art of understanding how reality works, but only those who genuinely enjoy something can truly deepen and evolve in what they specialize in. So I focused on finding something here that actually interested me. Something I wanted. And I became curious about the Spectral Beast.”

Luke paused, eyes drifting as his thoughts aligned.

“No weak being builds a temple like this, or creates a dimension. And according to the story carved into the corridor walls, you reached the throne only after forging a core that granted you a beast.”

He looked back at Vaelor.

“That gave you power. So of everything here, that’s what interested me. I intend to face increasingly powerful beings. Can I create a core to obtain a Spectral Beast?”

Vaelor settled back onto his throne. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. You enter my temple without reverence, without fear. You reject the gift I left behind. You summon me despite not being my follower. And then you ask me to teach you the secret that made me a great demon?”

“Yes,” came the immediate reply.

Vaelor tapped his fingers against the armrest. “Your foolishness manages to surprise me more with every passing second. What makes it worse, and oddly fascinating, is that there isn’t a trace of deceit in you. It makes the whole thing even more absurd.”

“You said in the rift notification that whoever opened the temple could inherit your legacy. Instead of a profession, I only want to know how to create a core. In a way, it’s still part of your legacy’s treasure. Just not the one you placed on the first shelf.”

Vaelor rose from the throne.

“There is cunning in you, and audacity, using the condition I set against me. But the disrespect… you’ve crossed every boundary imaginable. I will not reprimand only you. I will reprimand you and your master,” Vaelor declared.

He pointed toward the chalice, which began to glow as he activated the magic.

“Bring your master’s presence here. I want to know which bastard sent you to me without even telling you who I am. You speaking to me like this out of ignorance is one thing. Foolish, but tolerable. The true audacity lies with the one who knew exactly who I was and still failed to guide you properly. That one will be punished. I will beat him until he remembers me for eternity, followed by several years of penitence.”

No demon dared belittle Vaelor.

“This chalice will summon my master here?” the young man asked.

“Yes. Spill your blood into the chalice again and speak your master’s name. If he accepts the connection, his presence will appear here,” Vaelor replied. “I will grant you a choice before the penitence. But only after I give him a proper beating. And I will. I swear it upon all Seven Hells.”

The young man rushed toward the chalice, startling Vaelor. There was no fear in him at all. And Vaelor meant every word. By his honor as a demon lord, he would teach both the fool and his master a lesson.

The young man pierced his palm, letting blood drip into the chalice, and spoke the name clearly.

“Azazel.”

Vaelor had been smiling as he turned back toward the throne. Then he froze.

“What did you say?” Vaelor demanded.

“Azazel,” the young man repeated, as the chalice began to shine brighter.

“How do you know that forbidden name?” Vaelor asked, his legs beginning to tremble. The chalice was responding. It was connecting to the name. That was impossible. There was no way this young man was truly invoking the tyrant, the conqueror.

“You said you were going to beat my master. That’s fine. Now you’ll get your chance,” Luke said calmly.

Vaelor lunged for the chalice, activating every spell at his disposal, even divine-tier magic, trying to sever the connection. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

He forced himself to calm down. It was impossible for magic this crude to reach the tyrant. The idea was absurd. Unless, of course, Azazel himself had been expecting this call from that very person, which was unthinkable. Still, it was dangerous. To toy with a force like that was to invite annihilation.

Then the chalice flared again.

The connection had been answered.

“You!” Vaelor shouted, turning on Luke. “You’ve doomed us! You’ve awakened something that should never have been awakened!”

Vaelor’s system began to flicker with interference. The chamber shook. A living darkness seeped into the space, swallowing the walls, the floor, the air itself. Reality began to bend and collapse.

A grave transgression had been committed. The impossible had occurred. The darkness stretched into a vast smile, and within it opened two enormous yellow eyes.

“Hello, my son,” Azazel said, his voice warm and terrible all at once. “It’s been a very long time since we last spoke.”