Becoming the Dark Lord

Peter glanced between the assassin and the baron.

“You have my attention,” Miles continued. “How about we settle this with a duel? A proper noble’s challenge. A war fought by only two individuals. Just you and me. No serpent aiding you, and I won’t use my soldiers.”

Peter almost smiled. The assassin was dead. The baron’s Rank Skill would save him, as it always did. Peter had seen him duel dozens of times. He always won because of that skill. It was why he became one of Peter’s father’s most trusted men, why they had pushed him as a candidate for the Reaper Court. Last Instant really was a cheat of a skill.

“A duel?” the assassin asked.

“Yes. You and I, right now. We were going to try to kill each other anyway,” the baron said. “You invaded my base, ruined months of work. But I’ll be the one ending this. I want to kill you with my own hands, not force you to run. A duel, for our honor as warriors.”

Would the assassin accept? It was obviously a trap. Anyone could see it. The baron wasn’t even hiding it.

“I accept,” the assassin said.

Peter blinked. What? He accepted?

“Then let’s begin.”

The assassin glanced at the baron’s spear. “If I win the duel, will you agree to serve me?”

What is this idiot saying?

“Serve you? That makes no sense. A duel is to the death,” the baron said.

“I wasn’t talking to you. I’m talking to the weapon.” The assassin pointed at the spear. “Spirit tools are picky. You can’t just steal one. I want the spirit’s friendship.”

The baron shifted into stance, spear lowered, posture confident.

“And you allow that?” the assassin asked him.

“Of course. If I lose, I authorize the weapon to serve you fully,” the baron said, barely keeping a straight face.

Victory was already his. The assassin flicked a coin toward Peter.

“When the coin hits the ground, we start.”

***

Miles watched as the baron tossed the coin into the air. He gripped his spear tightly, already savoring the moment. The coin spun slowly, glinting in the sunlight. The assassin tightened his grip on his twin kukris. The instant the coin touched the earth, both men dashed forward.

The assassin blurred, leaving a streak of black behind him. The baron sprinted to meet him, spear aimed for a killing thrust. For a heartbeat, the baron realized the truth. The assassin was far faster. He would die.

Goodbye, fool.

And then his skill activated.

[Last Moment (Rank F)]: Your failure to react before the final instant shaped this skill. When a blow or event would deal significant damage to you, time around you slows for a brief interval. While the world hesitates, you move freely for a few seconds, unrestrained, fully aware of the incoming impact. Consecutive uses reduce the duration cumulatively, until there is no time left to slow. Over time, the lost interval gradually recovers. Use with caution. The more you rely on this moment, the shorter it becomes.

Reality washed into a muted gray, freezing in place. For a heartbeat, the baron actually stepped back. The assassin had slipped beneath his lance, crouched low, one hand extended with a kukri aimed directly at Miles’s heart.

“You’ve lost,” the baron said, pacing behind the immobilized assassin.

There was nothing the baron could do here. Mana was locked, stamina muted, the world suspended. Only Miles could move during these windows. For ten seconds, time froze though earlier he had used the ability to survive an explosion, reducing its duration to eight. Each activation chipped away at the clock until it eventually hit zero and the skill went dormant to recharge.

Miles raised his lance, aiming the tip squarely at the assassin’s spine.

“Whoever you are, you shouldn’t have challenged me.”

He focused, ready to release the ability and let time flow again. For an instant barely a flicker the world shifted.

[Last Moment activated]

He locked up.

[Last Moment: 6 seconds]

“What? I didn’t trigger that.”

The counter floated above him, ticking downward.

[Last Moment: 5 seconds]

What the hell is happening?

It was a passive skill, always ready to activate automatically. He remained stuck, lance still aimed at the assassin’s unmoving form, as time stuttered forward for a fraction of a second before...

[Last Moment activated] ℴ

[Last Moment: 4 seconds]

Miles stepped back, a tremor running through him. The skill only activated when he was about to die. Panic bubbled up fast.

What’s going to kill me? Where? How? What’s coming?

He scanned frantically, searching for an archer, a hidden trap, anything that could explain the threat.

Damn it.

The next second hit zero, and time lurched forward again.

[Last Moment activated]

[Last Moment: 2 seconds]

He froze once more. Sweat prickled down his back.

Where? Where is it coming from?

[Last Instant: 1 second]

He gripped his lance tighter. Eyes locked on the assassin’s skull. Fine. If something was going to happen, he’d strike first. Kill the bastard. Whatever trick this was, he’d break through it.

Time resumed.

[Last Moment activated]

[Last Moment: 0 seconds]

And then the world stayed in motion. Miles lunged, lance driving toward the assassin’s neck. He knew this strike perfect form, perfect timing. The same attack he’d used a thousand times. The same attack that always worked.

He watched the assassin’s shoulder lift. The body twisted, just barely enough that it looked like he’d slip free by a single thread. The gap closed. The world regained weight. Miles shoved his lance forward to finish the strike.

And that was when the air changed.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Metal whispered past his cheek. Another gleam flashed low. A third shimmer sliced across his vision. He felt the cold rush of displaced air an instant before the pain caught up. There was no following it. Just the sensation of his attack collapsing mid-motion.

The first knife struck. Another followed. More impacts came in a blur leg, arm, torso forcing his stance to falter. His grip failed. His forward step died where it stood. The assassin finished the movement. The kukris were already in motion, carving a sharp, controlled arc. Miles stumbled as the weapon was knocked clean from his hand before he even realized he’d lost control. In the next instant, both of his hands were severed. Only then did the pain hit, fierce and blinding, as he realized his leg had been taken as well.

He hit the ground. Confusion. Pain. A shout torn from his throat. The assassin completed the spin, kukris lowered, and behind him the shadowy figure his echo mirrored the motion a half second late, like a delayed reflection.

“I win,” he said, and several more knives streaked toward Miles, but stopped midair, hanging motionless around him.

“You… lost!?” Peter screamed at Miles. He spun to run, but the serpent lunged, cutting off every escape. A kukri sliced across Peter’s leg and he crashed to the ground. The spectral snake clamped down, fangs burying into his abdomen as he shrieked.

Miles laughed to himself, unhinged. “How? How? How?”

“Telekinetic Pull. You’re a porcupine now.”

The assassin crouched in front of the baron’s broken form and lifted his face by the chin.

“Look into my eye.”

Miles didn’t want to, but the command hit something primal. His gaze locked onto a deep blue iris unnaturally vivid, hypnotic and agony detonated through him. Soul deep, scalding pain. He screamed.

Luke let go.

“I see. So that’s how your teleport skill worked,” he murmured. “But I don’t want that power.”

Miles writhed, frantic. “How!? How did you know where I’d appear!?”

“I pulled every knife I’d thrown nearby into a single point, all of them coming for me at full force from every direction,” He said calmly. “Didn’t matter where you reappeared. You were going to get skewered along with me. Difference is… I know how to dance.”

He stepped onto the baron’s face, grinding it into the ground.

“I should leave you alive so your kingdom can judge you, but…”

He leaned down until their foreheads almost touched.

“In the world I intend to build, there’s no place for someone like you.”

The kukri fell. This time, no skill slowed anything.

***

**Your class [Demonic Predator] has reached Level 80!**

[You have unlocked a Class Skill]

The baron was dead, and for safety Luke reduced the corpse to ash with a [Shadow Ball]. The system prompt appeared moments later: he could replace Henry’s [Echoes of Death] with [Last Moment].

A tempting skill.

Luke watched the ash drift, thinking back on how the baron fought. The man relied on that power like a child clinging to a parent’s hand in the dark. Every movement of his body had been late, lazy, expectant. He never anticipated. He just waited for disaster so his power could reverse it for him.

That was the truth behind rank skills. Blessing and curse bound together.

[Last Moment] saved its user and made them dependent. A reflexive, uncontrollable addiction. It gifted you perfection only when you failed, which meant it trained you to fail. Little by little, awareness dulled. Instinct rotted. Your entire style warped around waiting for danger instead of preventing it. A strong skill… and exactly the kind that makes you weak everywhere else.

Last Moment is a crutch, not a blade.

Luke kept [Echoes of Death]. More practical. More reliable.

He walked toward Peter.

“You bastard! You can’t touch a noble!” Peter yelled as the serpent released him.

Luke slapped him hard across the face and, in the same motion, sliced off his arm with a kukri.

“I just slapped you and cut off your arm. Did my hand fall off?”

Peter couldn’t answer, too busy screaming.

Luke crouched and picked up the sword. “I wanted to keep this thing, but it needs to go back to the rightful owner.”

Then he approached Peter’s severed hand and removed the ring.

“A magic-conducting ring… the future owner of that spear will appreciate this.”

***

Angie swept over the ruins of the baron’s base, wings beating steadily as she hunted down any survivors who might interrupt what her lord was doing. A man tried to crawl toward a half-collapsed house, dragging himself through the dirt. Angie dropped from the sky, planting her boot squarely between his shoulders. She didn’t crush his head. She wanted him conscious enough to understand he’d been caught. The weight alone made his body seize, breath knocked out of him, his resistance fading fast.

She stepped off him and kept walking. Another man bolted from behind a barricade. Angie didn’t hesitate. Her spear left her hand in a clean, practiced throw, and the fleeing soldier collapsed before taking his next step.

Angie continued like that, silent and efficient, sweeping over the area from above as she cleared it, until a white flare shot into the sky. The signal.

Her lord had finished.

“Right on time,” she murmured.

A notification slid across her vision.

**[You have reached Level 50! Stone Angel (Rank F)] (+2 bonus point to all attributes, +5 free point)**

[You are evolving to Rank E…]

Heat rushed through her body so suddenly she faltered in the air. Her wings spasmed. Pain bloomed under her skin, sharp and all-consuming. Gray dust drifted from her. She couldn’t hold herself aloft. Angie plummeted.

It felt as if something deep inside her something rigid and ancient was breaking apart, reshaping, freeing itself. She gasped, and for the first time she felt air flooding her lungs. A heartbeat pounded in her chest, strong and startlingly real. Emotion surged with it, too vivid, too human.

The scent of burning wood. The tang of blood on the wind. Warmth. Cold. Everything. Just before she hit the ground, she stopped. Suspended in the air.

[You have successfully evolved from Rank F (Stone Angel) to Rank E (Angel)!]

She hovered, staring at her hands as they steadied. White feathers unfurled from her wings, bright against the gray battlefield.

“An angel… I’m an angel again.”

***

Cassandra surveyed what remained of the battlefield. They had done it. The towers were gone, her army was advancing, and above them the winged creature whoever she was had torn through the enemy line like a divine storm.

“Lady Cassandra, we finally… succeeded,” someone said behind her.

Bernard stared upward, awe-struck. “I’ve seen something like that before. A dragon type, maybe. Rare.”

His family specialized in taming beasts. If anyone recognized the shape silhouetted against the smoke, it was him.

Soon after, they noticed James the mercenary walking calmly through a massive breach in the wall. He dragged Peter along beside him. The noble was barely recognizable, one arm missing, completely subdued.

“It’s over,” Cassandra breathed. “Now it’s truly over. And I’m going to make this bastard tell me what’s happening inside the Kingdom of Lagras.”

***

“It looks like this is goodbye, Layla,” Luke said.

They were in Camlann, two weeks after he’d returned from the dimensional rift, standing in front of the teleportation building. Layla would be heading back to Maine.

“You’re not coming with me?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

Layla glanced at Charlie and Angie. And at the Stone Angel now fully evolved into a striking red haired woman. Her features resembled Angelica’s just a little, but the angelic traits softened and reshaped everything into something entirely new.

“You two should go to Maine too. Before this guy drags you into more trouble,” she warned.

“We’re staying with Master Luke,” Charlie replied.

“I’m going to write letters regularly,” Layla said. “But they’re not for you, jerk. They’re for Charlie.”

“I figured,” Luke murmured.

He would need to figure out some kind of address soon, since he was still waiting for Cassandra’s letter. Payment had to arrive somehow.

“Katarina, good luck dealing with Layla,” Luke said to the plant she carried.

The plant had changed, growing stronger. Little by little, it was starting to resemble a carnivorous plant. Luke had used his profession skill, [Soil Guardian], on Katarina. A gift for his plant friend.

“She keeps changing after whatever it is you did to her.”

“It’s not my fault you keep forgetting to water her. I just made her stronger and gave her... a slightly more voracious appetite.”

He stepped closer to the plant. “If you’re ever unsure, devour Layla.”

“What?” Layla muttered. “You’re so weird,”

It was time for her to return.

“I hope the teleportation goes smoothly. It can be a little nauseating.”

“I know, I’m used to it now,” Layla replied.

“Layla, I was talking to Katarina. Why would I care about you?”

She clicked her tongue. “Fine, jerk. I’m going back to Maine. See you never. And Charlie, don’t let this man manipulate you. He’s a dangerous lunatic who attracts disaster.”

After a round of farewells, Layla had already left.

Luke adjusted the eyepatch over his face. “Who would’ve thought I’d actually need one now.”

“And not just for style, trying to look ‘cool’,” Artemis added dryly.

His right eye was a vivid blue now. The heterochromia turned heads, and controlling the eye’s power was still difficult. Mentally exhausting, even.

“What’s the next step, my lord?” Angie asked as they walked through the city.

“Accepting Azazel’s invitation.”

“You really don’t want to return to Maine, Master Luke?”

“If I went back now, I’d end up staying away from this place for a while. And I can’t afford that.”

There was too much to do. Including choosing his Witch-class evolution, something he’d been putting off.

“And it’s also time to say goodbye to Franky.”

But as they walked, something kept tugging at his attention. A system notification that had appeared for everyone on Earth, yet only revealed itself to him after exiting the rift. It never faded, never blinked away.

[Estimated Time Until Event 51: 5 months : 02 days : 11 hours : 2 minutes : 37 seconds]