Becoming the Dark Lord

There were countless kinds of demons, and Vaelor knew his race well. Some were mad, addicted to battle. Others were cold, methodical, precise. Like any race, demons had their differences. In truth, demons were among the races with the greatest number of subtypes branching from a single origin.

Common knowledge painted demons as beings inclined toward evil, and there was more than a grain of truth to that. Demons were selfish in their own way and rarely hesitated to do whatever was necessary to reach their goals. Some surrendered completely to their nature, others restrained it. Much like dragons, who were infamous for being territorial and possessive over the things they desired.

Demons could be undisciplined, chaotic even, but they could also be terrifyingly organized. Of all the beings Vaelor had encountered throughout his existence, the most reliable, the ones who honored their word most faithfully, were demons.

During his long journey toward divinity, Vaelor had traveled across all seven hells, meeting countless beings. He had ventured beyond them as well, into universes outside the infernal network. He had seen planets be born and die. He had watched universes integrate into the system and others collapse into nothingness. He had lived through entire eras.

When one lives long enough, knows too much, and possesses too much, it is the simplest things that bring the greatest comfort.

Sometimes, Vaelor remembered his childhood. Back when he was a small wraith-demon haunting a forest surrounded by powerful beasts, trapped within that land. He remembered the day the beasts of his world invaded his territory and slaughtered the other wraiths.

Alone in that forest for many years, he began to shape his revenge. He hunted weaker beasts, worked tirelessly at his small forge, and refined his craft. It was there that he used the power of the beasts themselves to create a Spectral Beast. With it, he exterminated the entire tribe that ruled the forest and began his conquest of the planet.

Many eras passed before he became known as the Demon Blacksmith. At times, he looked back on those days with a faint sense of nostalgia. But there was something else tied to that distant past. Something frightening. A legend known by every demon, regardless of age, world, society, or universe. A legend that haunted demons of that era, stealing sleep from countless nights. The legend of the Yellow-Eyed Darkness.

Once, an elder of his tribe had told the story to Vaelor and the other young wraiths. He spoke of a being older than the stars themselves, born from a place no one could name. He claimed that the darkness of the night sky was not emptiness at all, but that very creature. So vast that its presence stretched everywhere at once.

As Vaelor grew older and learned more about existence beyond that forest, he discovered the gods. Beings of overwhelming power, capable of destroying planets with ease. Even Vaelor himself had once served a demon god to ascend further in his craft. But as his power and understanding deepened, he learned a far more unsettling truth. Above the gods were other beings. Entities before whom even gods knelt. Their existence was unknown to most.

Powerful gods were nothing unusual. Vaelor himself was part of the Pantheon of Demon Emperors. Yet what he uncovered was that far above all of them existed a small number of figures so ancient they were little more than legend, and so powerful that, if they wished, they could devour gods as easily as flesh. They were called the Primordial Gods.

And among them was the most dangerous of all. Azazel. The Yellow-Eyed Darkness from the legends of his childhood. Of all the names the young demon standing before him could have spoken, it was that one.

“Hello, my son. It’s been a very long time since we last spoke.” said the Yellow-Eyed Darkness to the young demon.

Vaelor froze completely. A simple ritual of connection, and he had summoned a being many believed did not even exist.

“So I was right. Is this what you wanted me to do?” the young demon asked.

Right? The Primordial had said “my son”? What is happening?

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Vaelor didn’t know how to react. Acting on pure instinct, he tried to pull his consciousness back to his body in another universe. He couldn’t. Nothing worked. Protective magic, continuous regeneration spells, erasure rites, invisibility. Nothing responded. He was trapped.

***

Luke had summoned Azazel. He improvised it. The Demon Blacksmith had spoken about disrespect, and Luke hadn’t cared. He knew the system protected him from gods as long as he remained within his own universe. He might be inside a dimensional rift, but it was still his universe.

“Now we can finally talk,” Azazel said.

“Great Primordial,” the Demon Blacksmith stammered, voice thick with fear and reverence. “A thousand apologies for disturbing you. I-I confess I didn’t even know this was possible. I didn’t even know that you… truly existed.”

“I was waiting to be called,” the Darkness replied.

“W-waiting?” the Demon Blacksmith asked, then suddenly froze.

“Done. I’ve frozen time within this rift’s reality,” Azazel said calmly.

Frozen time?

The Demon Blacksmith was completely immobilized, along with everything else. Even the air itself stood still. The surrounding darkness swallowed everything. The chamber vanished. The Demon Blacksmith vanished. Only Luke remained. The two massive yellow eyes disappeared.

Luke’s mind flooded with questions. About everything he had experienced in that dungeon long ago. About bloodlines. About how Charlie ended up inside that coffin. About whether Azazel had deliberately sent him to that specific tutorial. But there was one question he had to ask first.

“Was I right or not, Azazel? Is this what you wanted? For me to reach this place? Or did you just want me to fix the kukris?” Luke asked, staring into the absolute darkness.

He heard a sigh.

“Azazel?” Luke tried again.

“I believe I was very clear in the letter about how you should address me,” the Darkness replied. “It’s father. Understood?”

“…Seriously?”

“Yes,” the Darkness said. “Call me father. You carry my blood. You are my son.”

Does he actually want that? Or is this sarcasm? A test?

“I want you to do it,” Azazel said, having read Luke’s thoughts.

At the same time, part of the darkness peeled away.

Luke saw a throne take shape, occupied by a towering figure. A tall, humanoid being with dark skin, horns, and four glowing yellow eyes. He wore a simple dark mantle, no ornaments, no symbols. Yet his presence alone was unsettling, overwhelming.

“Father…” Luke began, the word feeling unnatural on his tongue. “I want answers. About everything. Why I ended up in that dungeon. And why you gave me your blood.”

“Short answer, son?” the figure asked from the throne.

“Whatever you prefer.”

“You know,” Azazel said, “the system once told me I would never be able to convince anyone to truly accept my son. That thing and I have our disagreements and, well… things happened.”

That was indeed a very short answer. Azazel rose from the throne and, in the next instant, was standing beside Luke.

“I have many names across existence. More than I care to count. Most know me as Azazel. Others call me the Darkness. And for you, I am father. I would love to spend hours telling you my stories. Your old man has lived a very long life. Perhaps the longest of anyone still breathing in all of existence. But I imagine you have more questions than I have answers.”

“Did you send me to that tutorial?”

“That’s the system’s doing,” Azazel replied. “Though as a father, I’m quite proud you went there and killed a king. I’ll be sure to add the image of the first king my son ever slew to my photo album. What father wouldn’t be proud of his child becoming a regicide at such a young age?”

“And why are you appearing to me now? Why not the other two times I encountered Samael? I’m not complaining. I just find it… curious.”

“Well,” Azazel said lightly, “your father once started a small war that killed a few people. Just a few. Some important people, too. A few universes as well. They like to say I’m evil. Malignant. They even exaggerate and claim I killed all Five Administrative Beings of the System. In my defense, I showed restraint.”

He chuckled softly.

“I guess killing is part of the process when you’re trying to reach a goal,” Luke said. “But you still didn’t answer my question. Or is that part of a test?”

“I do enjoy riddles, my son. But not everything I say is a riddle. At least not intentionally. I didn’t appear to you those other times because, frankly, ninety-nine percent of the gods don’t even believe I exist. My rockstar days are long over. And of course, there’s the small issue of me being banned from reality. But that… is just a detail.”