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Becoming the Dark Lord - Chapter 132
🕑 Added 2025-06-27 03:20:15 +0000 UTCLuke moved through the devastated streets of the Safe Zone, heading toward the Ant Colony. Unlike the group led by Angelica, he followed an alternate route—not out of stubbornness, but strategy.
Alone, his footsteps were nearly silent. His cloak fluttered gently in the wind, cutting through the scent of smoke, overturned earth, and blood. The streets were littered with rubble, ant carcasses, and the wreckage of buildings that had collapsed during the invasion.
His goal was clear: find a less exposed path—one with fewer ant hordes and fewer Renegade patrols. That way, he could return to the group and lead them safely. The Safe Zone had become a living trap. No one could be trusted on sight anymore—many “civilians” turned out to be Renegades in disguise. Worse, crossing paths with Bartholomew’s soldiers often meant having to retreat or reroute entirely; mistaken for Renegades, they’d be attacked on sight.
With the aid of [Demonic Perception], Luke scanned the shadows. He could hear the faint scraping of claws on stone from far away. He felt slight tremors through his boots—heavy patrols. The ants passed like living tanks, some carrying bodies.
The Renegades, though numerous, were already beginning to pull back en masse. Their real objective had been achieved: delay Bastion’s reinforcements and disrupt any hope of retaliation while the ants secured control.
Most of them weren’t seasoned warriors. They were thieves, outcasts, and criminals pulled from the margins of society—people who had lived hidden in the Wild Zone. Men and women who, out of desperation or opportunity, had chosen to follow Marshall.
It was said he promised them a place in the new army once Bastion fell.
But Luke sensed something deeper. He remembered what he had heard during interrogations of captured prisoners: Marshall told every one of his recruits that Bartholomew never intended to escape the tutorial. That he lied to his people, feeding them false hope to keep them obedient and trapped.
For many of the Renegades, that explanation made perfect sense: take Bastion, secure control of the weekly Event Reward chests... and come up with a plan to escape the tutorial.
But there was something no one ever mentioned.
Not once did the Renegades—or even Marshall—talk about the mechanisms.
That was what disturbed Luke the most. Marshall never told his followers that Bastion itself had housed a mechanism, and that it had already been activated. Maybe he feared that if they knew the truth, they’d stop relying on him. Maybe they’d unite and try to reach the second fortress on their own—no war required.
Luke looked up at the smoke-filled sky. That cold, quiet thought returned.
Is it possible to destroy a mechanism?
He didn’t know what the mechanisms really were. Only that one had been activated—and that’s what had enabled the Safe Zone to exist in the first place.
If that was true… then all it would take is for something to happen to it, and everything would fall apart.
Placing the only escape route from this world in the hands of a man like Marshall… was far too dangerous.
A man who, out of vengeance, lured an entire colony of mutant ants just to bring down the Safe Zone. A man willing to burn the world—so long as his enemy burned with him.
Luke kept moving, still separated from the group, scouting a side street for a potential route.
“DIE!!”
Renegades burst from buildings, silhouettes emerging from the shadows.
Luke moved.
No hesitation.
No retreat.
A blade came down. Luke caught it on one kukri and parried to the side. With the other, he channeled energy.
[Force Infusion] activated.
The edge hissed through the air—clean, precise. The renegade’s hand flew off in an arc of red. A scream followed. Luke didn’t wait. He brought the kukri down in a single, decisive strike. Bone cracked. The skull split open.
[You have slain a Human – Lvl 15 (Knight – Lvl 23)]
[You have gained +1 Soul Fragment]
Another enemy charged with a warhammer raised. Luke sprinted up a nearby wall, pushed off, twisted midair, and kicked the man full-force in the chest. The warrior staggered back. Charlie was already behind him, arms locking his shoulders. Luke advanced without a word, a single slash across the neck—quick, merciless. Blood sprayed.
[You have slain a Human – Lvl 5 (Heavy Warrior – Lvl 11)]
[You have gained +1 Soul Fragment]
Luke frowned. “That guy was ridiculously weak…” No time to think.
Something shifted in the air. His perception screamed. An arrow sliced past his ear and detonated behind him. He rolled, barely escaping the blast. Smoke and flame erupted. Charlie ducked behind a pillar while Luke slid behind rubble. A sniper. He was being hunted.
He scanned the rooftop and found him—an archer with cold eyes and a calm draw.
“Bartholomew will fall!” the man shouted, nocking another arrow.
“I don’t give a damn. I just want to pass through!” Luke shouted back, lobbing a stone in distraction. The arrow struck where it landed and exploded instantly. A cloud of smoke billowed—his opening.
Luke ran.
More arrows followed, each one exploding on impact. Fire and debris tore across the rooftop. Three new figures appeared—crossbowmen, positioned and ready. They fired in sequence, a chain of explosions lighting the skyline as Luke dove flat, narrowly avoiding the barrage. He cursed under his breath, then vaulted up the side of a building. The archer had already drawn again.
Luke sprinted along the rooftop. Another shot fired—this one wasn’t flame, it was light. The bolt struck him like a hammer of radiance, flinging him backward. He rolled through dirt and debris as pain bloomed across his ribs.
“They’re coordinated…” These weren’t reckless fighters. This was a trained squad.
Luke shut his eyes. He inhaled. The world slowed. His senses narrowed—became lethal. Every vibration pulsed like a drumbeat under his skin.
Then he moved.
He climbed the wall again, eyes closed this time, body tuned to the rhythm of battle. Arrows detonated around him, but none hit. He slipped between the shots, dashing and sidestepping with shadow-like grace. When he felt the distance vanish, he opened his eyes and jumped.
His body flickered into mist mid-leap. The arrows passed through nothing. He rematerialized in the middle of the rooftop, right in their formation. Kukris drawn.
The archer turned and aimed. Luke dropped, rolling across the tiles. Crossbow bolts fired again, forming radiant nets. He slid beneath them, barely escaping the trap. He lunged, delivered a brutal kick to the first crossbowman’s chest. The body flew off the roof and hit the stone street below with a crunch. Charlie was already in pursuit to finish him.
The second enemy lunged with a dagger. Luke sidestepped, clean and tight, and turned—but a third bolt struck his leg. Pain lanced up his thigh. He hissed and threw himself aside to avoid the follow-up.
Above them, the archer fired again—but this time, the bolt wasn’t for Luke. It shot into the sky.
A flare.
Luke’s eyes widened. The explosion that followed blinded him, a burst of pure light washing over the rooftop.
And then hands. Rough. Unrelenting.
The archer tackled him, dragging him down. They both plunged through a broken hole in the rooftop, crashing through wood and dust. Crossbow bolts chased them, but before impact, spectral chains snapped from the shadows and yanked the attackers away.
Now, only Luke and the archer remained.
The man drew twin knuckle-knives. His stance was relaxed but sharp. He moved like someone who knew how to kill. He spun low. A kick slammed into Luke’s ribs. Luke stumbled, breathing hard.
“I just want to get to the Ant Colony,” he said. “I’m not with Bartholomew.”
The man didn’t flinch. “I don’t care.” He stepped forward, blades glinting.
“You’re going to die.”
And then, the fight began.
Blades clashed in a blur, steel ringing through the ruin. Close combat. Violent. Relentless. The archer sprinted along the crumbling wall, spun mid-step, and drove a kick straight into Luke’s chest. The impact knocked him flat.
Before he could rise, hands closed around his legs. He was slammed back down, the wind ripped from his lungs, and a blade came for his skull. Luke caught the man’s wrist just in time, glove pulsing with stamina reinforcement.
The archer’s eyes blazed. “The Bastion will fall—and you with it!”
Luke didn’t answer. Instead, he drove a kukri into the attacker’s thigh. The scream was instant. Luke rolled to his feet.
The archer was already coming again, faster now.
They collided. Steel met steel. Step for step. Slash for slash. Every strike a near-kill. The archer launched off a wall, kicking again. Luke staggered back and let go.
[Demonic Blade Dance] activated.
Darkness erupted around him. His body spun, blades flowing with demonic rhythm—elegant, sharp, final. He hurled both kukris. The archer dodged, twisting just as a pillar exploded behind him in a cloud of dust.
Luke moved through the smoke without sound. One strike, a punch square to the chest, sent the archer flying. Then the kukris returned. They struck true, both blades burying in the man’s back, drawing a guttural scream of pain.
Luke gritted his teeth and closed the distance again. Another strike. This time, a clean punch to the jaw. The archer reeled. Luke followed, spinning with both blades in hand and slashed. One clean line cut across the man’s face. Blood spilled freely. The left eye was gone.
The archer stumbled, disappearing behind a shattered column. He reemerged with an arrow already loosed. The explosion blinded the rooftop.
But Luke wasn’t blind.
[Assassin's Mark] activated.
The red outline burned into his vision, tracing every motion. The archer nocked another arrow, aura pulsing red.
Luke dashed low, moving faster than the eye. A kukri flew, precision-engineered for the kill. The archer twisted, evading it, but his hand glowed again. He dropped to the ground and fired.
The shot split in midair—five arrows of compressed mana, burning red. They screamed across the rooftop. Luke hit the dirt, rolled, breath tight as each impact blasted behind him in rapid sequence.
He burst through the cloud of smoke, ran, leapt, drove his shoulder into the archer. The man raised his bow like a shield, but it only absorbed part of the impact. He was thrown back, skidding across broken stone. But he recovered fast. Knuckle-knives drawn, he lunged forward.
Close quarters now.
Exactly what Luke wanted.
Another kukri flew, charged with [Force Infusion]. Midair, it split, duplicating in a flash of dark light. The archer caught one blade with his forearm—the other slammed him into the wall. Before he could react, a kukri stabbed clean through his hand, pinning it to the stone. He screamed again.
Luke dropped low into a slide. One fluid motion. He drew a throwing knife from his holster. No hesitation. He flung it like a serpent strike.
It struck the throat with a sickening thud. The archer collapsed.
[You have slain a Human – Lvl 17 (Archer – Lvl 36)]
[You have gained +1 Soul Fragment]
Your class [Demonic Assassin] has reached Level 26! (Class Bonus Points Acquired)
He climbed out of the building, scaling the wreckage without haste. He didn’t need to rush. The system notifications told him everything he needed to know.
[Princess Charlie has slain a Human – Lvl 8 (Crossbowman – Lvl 18)]
[Princess Charlie has slain a Human – Lvl 7 (Crossbowman – Lvl 19)]
[Princess Charlie has slain a Human – Lvl 11 (Crossbowman – Lvl 22)]
Luke kept running through the ruined streets, weaving between debris and corpses as he made his way back toward the Haven’s advance group. Charlie followed close behind, her heavy footsteps pounding with relentless rhythm.
He ascended a collapsed structure and launched himself across the rooftops, dashing through the air, leaping from one vantage point to another until he reached higher ground. There, he paused.
The scene in front of him was a portrait of collapse.
The street below was blanketed in snow—remnants of Allison’s magic. Farther ahead, the squad leading the advance had overpowered the ant horde. Dozens of bodies littered the ground, still burning, frozen, or torn to shreds.
But what caught his attention was further in the distance.
On Bastion’s side, Bartholomew’s soldiers were sprinting through narrow alleys, trying to regroup. Others were locked in direct combat with Renegades. The clash of steel, cries of pain, and bursts of magic echoed like a relentless storm.
And in the middle of it all, he saw them.
Beast Captains.
The warrior ants were moving through the city—hunting specific targets. Not civilians. Not Haven members. Renegades.
Luke narrowed his eyes. He recognized the pattern. The Renegades were luring the monsters straight into Bastion.
“These guys are insane…” he muttered, watching the chaos unfold with a mix of disbelief and growing unease.
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Níels salomon Águstsson
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