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Becoming the Dark Lord - Chapter 148
🕑 Added 2025-07-05 03:48:51 +0000 UTCCecilia ran through the tunnels like a broken doll, each step a jolt of pain in her knees, each breath a sob trapped in her throat. Her body moved without will—arms flailing awkwardly, as if her very bones were about to snap. Her feet kept going by pure instinct. There was no strength left. No direction. Only the hollow throb of loss and the cruel echo of memory.
Tears streamed without end, hot and bitter, blurring her vision until the world ahead became nothing but shifting shadows. She couldn’t see the path anymore—only pain. A living thing inside her, burning, expanding. Anna… her best friend, her anchor, her only constant in this waking nightmare—gone. The image of her lifeless body on the cold stone floor spun like a blade inside Cecilia’s chest, twisting deeper with every breath.
She had lost everything.
The tunnel narrowed into a jagged stone throat, the walls pressing inward with oppressive weight, like the gaping jaws of some ancient beast preparing to snap shut. Every step forward felt tighter, the ceiling looming lower, the path collapsing around her with invisible force.
Behind her—the sound of footsteps. Heavy. Rhythmic. Relentless. Each step echoed like the beat of a death drum.
THUMP. THUMP.
The sound hit her like pressure waves, the floor trembling under her feet. It was as if the tunnel itself had a heartbeat—and it was chasing her. She glanced over her shoulder. A Midnight Warden followed her… calmly. He could have killed her already—a single throw of that spear and it would be over. Quick. Efficient. But he didn’t. He was savoring it. Watching. Dragging out her terror like a predator playing with its prey.
THUMP. THUMP.
Each of his steps closed the distance of three of hers. He wasn’t running—he didn’t need to. He would reach her no matter what.
THUMP. THUMP.
Cecilia stumbled. Her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the damp ground, hands trembling. Ahead—a rusted minecart, half-buried in debris. A possible salvation. Or just another cruel joke. But she couldn’t move. Her arms shook too hard. Her muscles screamed. Her body had given up—like it, too, wanted the pain to end.
All she could think of was Anna. Anna’s voice. Anna’s blood. Anna’s dead eyes, wide with terror, frozen in a final moment of horror. And her own failure—paralyzed when it mattered most. Tears fell like rain—hot and endless, soaking her dirt-streaked face, dripping into the dust below. Hopeless.
THUMP. THUMP.
The Warden drew near, a walking execution writ in black steel. His glowing red eyes blazed with inhuman focus, locked on her from beneath the ominous helm, twin embers of merciless intent that watched her every twitch, every breath, with silent judgment. He raised the spear. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a ritual. Like he was savoring the ending.
The blade gleamed under the pale tunnel light. The promise of death in steel form.
Then—
A thunderous roar ripped through the tunnels—shaking the walls, rattling the ground beneath her, drowning everything in sound.
He wanted her to feel fear—not just a fleeting emotion, but a living, paralyzing agony that seized every beat of her heart. He wanted to savor the despair like a silent feast, drinking in every gasp, every tear, every expression of dread that crossed the girl’s face.
Cecilia squeezed her eyes shut, as if not seeing could somehow erase everything—the monster, the pain, the guilt. As if shutting out the image could erase the fate itself.
The footsteps quickened.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The spear was hurled with brutal force, slicing through the air with a sharp, final whistle. The impact cracked out—a dry, lethal sound, like wood splitting under a heavy blade. It cut through the air—clean and precise.
But… she felt nothing. No impact, no pain, no sharp edge tearing into flesh. Only that strange, sudden silence, as if the entire world had stopped to hold its breath.
She opened her eyes, hesitant, her wet lashes clinging together, her blurred vision trembling with the fear of seeing death standing before her. And she saw a figure in front of her, standing tall like a human shield, body braced in defense, shadow outlined against the faint light of the tunnel.
Luke.
The spear had pierced through his abdomen, side to side, lodged deep, the shaft still trembling from the force of the hit. Blood began to trickle down, thick and dark, like living ink.
He coughed. “Shit…”
His voice came out rough. “Why didn’t you… run?”
Cecilia let out a sob.
“Run!” Luke’s shout broke under the weight of pain.
Suddenly, she was lifted off the ground. Charlie grabbed her with one arm—in the other, he carried Jonathan, unconscious, one arm missing.
“Get them to the cart!” Luke yelled.
The spectral knight took off. He was left alone… with the monster. The silence between them was suffocating, stretched tight like a wire ready to snap. No words, no warnings—just two forces locked on a collision course in the dark.
Luke staggered. The pain was unbearable. The spear vanished, returning to the Warden’s inventory. The creature drew its sword. He wiped the blood from his mouth. He raised his kukris. Channeled stamina.
When the enemy charged, Luke threw the first kukri—Force Infused—straight at its helmet. Midair, he activated duplication. The replica struck and fell, without the infusion. But the original buried itself in the metal, throwing the monster off balance.
Luke sprinted forward, channeling stamina to his legs. He jumped. A double kick to the creature’s chest launched it backward.
Before it could recover, Luke threw his second kukri, also charged, into the ceiling.
The impact was devastating.
The ceiling collapsed.
Luke was already running toward Charlie, who struggled to push the cart forward.
We’re gonna make it!
A wall beside them exploded into stone and dust. They were thrown to the side. Another Midnight Warden had smashed through the tunnel—brute force clearing a path.
Luke rose with difficulty, limbs trembling, his body slow to respond. He spat blood between cracked lips, the taste metallic and bitter, stinging the back of his throat. His chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm. Beside him, Cecilia lay unconscious, her hair stuck to her pale face, oblivious to the chaos roaring around her.
“Get them in the cart! And start pushing!” he shouted at Charlie.
She tried to pull him away, tried to make him leave the others behind, but he shoved her back.
“I’ll catch up! Just get that damn cart out of here!”
Charlie hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded once, jaw clenched, eyes burning, and obeyed. She moved like someone pulling herself through molasses, driven by duty stronger than fear.
She grabbed Jonathan and Cecilia and ran to the cart. Behind them, the rubble trembled. More stones crashed down—and another Warden emerged, shoving everything aside with brute force. Now there were two, advancing together.
Luke didn’t retreat. He charged. Sliding under a thrust, he spun and leapt between them, hurling six Force-Infused throwing knives. The blades exploded against their armor, shoving both monsters backward. Then he turned into mist, spreading before their eyes, blinding and disorienting them before reappearing on the ground.
The kukris sliced through the air, striking both targets but failing to pierce their armor. Charlie pushed the cart. The jammed wheels screeched against the metal.
Damn it, Luke thought. He needed to buy time.
He dodged a strike, then another, spun, and turned to mist again. But one of the Wardens dropped its sword and slammed its hands together. A wave of air tore through the tunnel. The mist scattered, and Luke was forced to materialize, stumbling onto the ground.
Charlie looked back.
“Go! Go!” he shouted.
She pushed with everything she had. The cart rolled faster and vanished down the tunnel.
Luke got to his feet. The Wardens roared in fury.
He ran like the floor was collapsing behind him—and became mist again. His body unraveled into vapor, weaving between the monsters like smoke slipping through cracks, fast and untouchable. He reappeared farther ahead and sprinted.
I just need to find that other damn cart!
He knew where it was. He’d passed it earlier, when he’d thought of escaping—before turning back to save the others.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The Wardens’ footsteps echoed behind him. They were gaining ground.
“ROOOOAR!”
Luke flew through the tunnel, triggering dash after dash. He leapt over debris, rounded corners, skidded across loose stone—then stopped.
I’m here!
A dead end. The end of the tunnel, blocked by metal bars. Jonathan’s severed arm still lay on the ground.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
They were close. But at the last second, Luke turned to mist and slipped through the bars. The Wardens roared behind the gate, consumed by fury. They tried to tear through the metal, but couldn’t.
He had escaped.
Luke ran.
I made it!
But then—
“Ah—!”
Something yanked him off the ground. A hand seized him by the stomach and squeezed hard. His eyes shot upward—and met the helmet of a third Midnight Warden. It had come from another tunnel.
Luke tried to activate mist form.
Nothing.
The Warden leaned in close, its two glowing red eyes burning behind the helm... then it let out a furious roar, echoing like thunder through the cavern. Its fingers tightened with crushing power.
Luke was about to be crushed.
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