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Becoming the Dark Lord - Chapter 147
🕑 Added 2025-07-04 11:02:00 +0000 UTCLuke stood somewhere deep within the mine, the walls pressing in like stone jaws. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, and his heart pounded out of rhythm, thudding hard against his ribs like it wanted out. The heat clung to his skin, thick and suffocating. One Midnight Warden had already reached him—then another appeared.
Now he was cornered.
Allison lay motionless, a spear buried deep in her torso—the second Warden’s strike. Blood had pooled beneath her, thick and dark, seeping slowly into the dirt-packed floor. The air reeked of iron, hot and suffocating, as if the mine itself were bleeding with her.
The two Wardens stared him down, unmoving, their helms gleaming with bloodied grime. Luke’s mind flirted with panic—heart racing, thoughts tangled, the primal part of him screaming to run, even as he stayed frozen in place.
He hurled his kukris and dashed forward, sliding across the ground until he reached her side. He pressed trembling fingers to her neck.
“She’s alive…” he breathed, relief hitting him like cold water.
She was still breathing—shallow, weak, but steady. Still fighting. Still Allison. Her skin was clammy, her face pale, but her stubbornness blazed quietly beneath it all. Just like him. Maybe more.
The spear vanished from her body, pulled back into the Warden’s inventory with a sharp motion. He gripped it again, massive fingers tightening around the shaft. Behind the helm, his glowing eyes pulsed.
The other Warden let out a guttural roar, deep and primal.
“ROOOAAR!”
The sound shook the tunnel. Earth trembled under Luke’s feet as the Warden charged, his armor clanging like the death knell of something ancient.
Luke stood. No time to think. He had to draw them away. Keep them off Allison.
Charlie emerged beside him, rising from his soul like a shadow with form. Her spectral light shimmered faintly in the dust-thick air as she threw up her barrier just in time to catch the blow.
It cracked instantly—splintering like shattered glass, sending shards of ethereal light scattering through the tunnel. They hovered for a heartbeat, then blinked out, leaving behind only heat and a ghostly whine in the air.
Luke reached out, and the magnetism answered. The kukris screamed back to him, slicing through space and into his waiting hands.
He sprinted toward the Wardens, adrenaline pushing every step, his heartbeat pounding like a war drum in his chest. If he stayed here, Allison would die.
He hurled one kukri ahead.
“Charlie!” he shouted, urgency pouring from his voice. “Punch where I threw the kukri!”
It wasn’t just a command. It was the only plan he had left—a desperate gamble born in chaos.
Without hesitation, Charlie charged the spot, hammering her fists into the rock. The tunnel trembled.
The Wardens split—one with a spear, one with a sword. Luke turned to dodge, the sword’s edge slicing past his face, so close he felt the wind bite his skin.
Charlie leapt, aiming for one of them—but the Warden snatched her mid-air and slammed her into the wall like a ragdoll.
More of the ceiling came loose. Rocks crashed to the ground, splintering on impact. Shards ricocheted through the space, and thick dust made each breath harder.
The whole tunnel felt like it was moments from collapse.
Luke activated [Force Infusion]. He hurled a kukri into the ceiling above Allison, then shouted:
“Now!”
Charlie drove her fist upward with all her strength. The ceiling gave. Stone and dirt collapsed, burying the passage where Allison lay.
It was all he could do.
The Wardens roared in fury.
Luke pulled Charlie back into his soul. The spectral glow vanished in an instant. He caught both kukris midair—and faced the monsters alone.
“COME GET ME!”
He ran. Every muscle screamed with each step, lungs burning from the effort. Adrenaline drowned out the pain. The world blurred around him—only the sound of footfalls, ragged breaths, and the unshakable truth remained: stopping meant dying.
The hunt had begun again.
A spear tore through the air. Luke's senses flared. He twisted—just in time—the weapon exploded against the tunnel wall in a flash of stone and sparks.
The first Warden appeared in front of him, a wall of steel and rage. The sheer weight of the creature rattled the ground. Its burning eyes glowed beneath the helm like twin embers from hell.
Luke had no time to think. Instinct roared louder than thought. He hurled himself around the corner, just as the Warden crashed through the stone behind him.
The second was already on his heels, blade raised.
The tunnel began to collapse. Stones cracked and dropped from the ceiling with heavy, muffled thuds that echoed underground. The floor trembled beneath his feet. Cracks split across the walls like veins of ruin. Dust billowed into the air, mixing with the metallic stench of blood and the rising heat of chaos.
Luke pushed harder, feet barely touching the ground. The tunnel sloped downward now, tilting sharply with each step, pulling him deeper, dragging him into the earth’s throat. The air grew dense—thicker, heavier—and the light behind him vanished, swallowed by pulsing shadows.
Then... the sound of battle.
He burst into a wide chamber, cluttered with debris.
Corpses. Dead ants. Shredded soldiers. Pools of blood everywhere.
And in the middle of it—Jonathan. He ran, carrying Cecilia in his arms. The girl sobbed, trembling, firing arrows without aim, eyes wide and vacant. A Midnight Warden followed close behind, its armor streaked with gore and dust. The creature marched like a living specter, dragging its spear behind it, eyes locked onto them like a hunter with nothing else in its world.
Farther ahead, Bartholomew’s soldiers were casting spells at another Warden. Screams. Fire. Blades. Blood.
And behind Luke, both Wardens were closing in. He pushed forward. The sound of tracks rang out ahead—minecarts. Screams. A soldier leapt into one while another shoved it forward, trying to gain speed.
Luke sprinted toward them—toward the only escape the Wardens couldn’t reach immediately. An archer shot an arrow into the air. It hit its peak—then exploded in a flash of white lightning, bursting like a caged thunderstorm. A dry shockwave echoed through the chamber. The light was blinding. Everyone winced. For a breathless second, shadows danced across the tunnel like ghosts caught mid-scream.
Then came darkness again—thicker, heavier, but now with blurred vision and stinging eyes. Luke closed his eyes and ran, relying on pure instinct and honed perception.
“This way!” Jonathan’s voice rang ahead. Luke followed without hesitation.
They sprinted into a narrow corridor, their footsteps thundering in their own ears.
“We need a damn cart!” Jonathan shouted. It was their only chance to outrun the Wardens.
Cecilia was ghost-pale, still miming the motion of drawing her bowstring—even without arrows. She repeated the movement again and again, locked in some shattered echo of herself.
“How the hell did they even get here?” Jonathan growled.
“The ant queen’s chaos pulled them in,” Luke replied.
A sound tore through the air. A spear whistled past them, slamming into the wall and embedding deep in the concrete. They kept running, footsteps pounding, the metallic echoes of their pursuers growing louder with each second as they turned at a fork in the tunnel.
“There!” Jonathan shouted, pointing to a minecart ahead.
But a silhouette emerged in their path—a Midnight Warden, blocking the way, spear in hand.
"Shit!" Jonathan swerved, nearly slipping. They turned in the opposite direction and rushed down a corridor, only to come face to face with a metal grate at the end.
“A dead end!”
Jonathan slammed his foot into it. The clang rang out like a warning bell, but the grate didn’t budge. He grabbed the bars with both hands and pulled hard. Muscles trembled. Sweat poured down his face. Nothing.
With a frustrated roar, he dropped Cecilia to the ground. She hit with a dull thud, wide-eyed and frozen. Her lips trembled, half-parted. She didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just sat there like her soul had been left behind.
Jonathan drew both sabers.
“We have to try something… anything. One chance for her to get away,” he muttered, more to himself than to Luke. His voice was low—resigned. His hands clenched the blades tightly, knuckles bone-white.
Luke looked at Cecilia. She looked so small. So lost. A child gripping an invisible bow in the middle of a waking nightmare. He hesitated—just for a moment. Then he knew.
“I’m sorry. I can’t die here.”
He stepped forward—and vanished. A ripple of black mist slipped through the bars.
“What?!” Jonathan shouted, stunned. “Coward!”
It was the last thing he said before being lifted off the ground. The Warden gripped his arm. The monster studied him for a moment, then pulled.
“AAAHHHHHH!”
The scream echoed through the tunnel. Blood sprayed like a wave, painting the floor.
Cecilia tried to cover her ears, but her hands shook too violently.
"RUN, CECILIA! RUN!" Jonathan roared.
It was a final command—raw, primal, cutting through her trance like a blade. Her legs moved on instinct, one step after another. No direction. No plan. Just survival.
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