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Becoming the Dark Lord - Chapter 142
🕑 Added 2025-07-02 02:35:34 +0000 UTCThe Ant Queen lunged toward the archers. Ricardo materialized in front of them, hands flashing in a practiced gesture. A dome of shimmering mana enveloped the group—translucent blue, pulsing with arcane energy. The Queen struck the barrier. Her bladed arms whirled like a cyclone, hammering down with relentless force. Each blow fractured the shield further, hairline cracks spreading like frost on glass, until the barrier gave way—dissolving into flickering shards of light.
Before she could close the distance, a storm descended. From high above, lightning-infused meteors crashed down, splitting the cavern with arcs of fury. The Queen was hurled backward, her limbs twitching with residual charge. The archers seized the moment. They fired as one—a synchronized volley of radiant arrows that lit the darkness and forced the creature to recoil, her senses overwhelmed.
“Move! Spread out!” Angelica’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. The survivors repositioned fast, reforming the lines. Their objective was clear: draw the Queen away from the wounded and protect the defensive perimeter around Bob and the fallen.
Luke sprinted beside Jonathan, gaze fixed on the Queen. He glanced at his blades, then at Allison’s katana, then at Charlie’s fists. Every weapon had struck. None had drawn blood. Not even Allison’s enchanted attacks had triggered her frost effect.
“Noticed it too?” Jonathan asked, breath ragged.
Luke nodded. “Yeah. No penetration. Not even a scratch.”
The Queen’s carapace gleamed under the lightning-charged air. It wasn’t heavy like a tank—it was sleek, light, almost delicate-looking. And yet, it absorbed every blow without cracking. That’s when it clicked. What if her defense wasn’t natural? What if she was using mana to reinforce her body—an active defense, draining stamina or magic to hold herself together?
Luke peeled off from formation, circling wide to observe. The Queen stayed locked in with Allison and Charlie. Every strike sparked on impact, but nothing broke through. She didn’t block or dodge. She didn’t need to. She was a fortress—fast, fluid, invulnerable.
Then her arms lifted. Between her claws, a sphere began to form. Mud and mana, swirling together, growing dense.
Luke’s instincts screamed.
The orb detonated.
A tidal wave of sludge burst outward. Fighters were caught mid-step, dragged into the rising muck. Every movement turned to agony—slowed, stifled, suffocating. Luke forced himself upright, his limbs encased in hardened earth, breath burning in his throat. His kukris felt like iron bars in his hands.
Then came the sound: heavy, rhythmic impacts shaking the cavern.
She was charging.
Low, wild, accelerating. Light arrows zipped toward her—useless. She tore through them like mist. Jonathan roared, sabers blazing with golden light, and stepped into her path. He turned with precision, driving both blades forward.
The impact rang out like a bell across the stone. The Queen skidded—barely two meters. But it was enough.
Behind them, Bob conjured a glowing sanctuary. Healing light wrapped around the wounded, mending flesh faster than it tore. The Queen shrieked in rage. The air trembled.
From above, fresh sounds echoed through the tunnels—clicking mandibles, skittering limbs. More ants surged in, rabid and hungry. Bob turned, eyes wide. “They’re breaking through!”
“Split up!” Angelica snapped. The order was instant—and obeyed without hesitation.
Luke, Charlie, Jonathan, and Allison closed on the Queen, forcing her attention. Angelica, Anna, and Victoria held the rear, arrows flying to hold the swarm back.
Still—no blood. No cracks. No exhaustion. No surrender.
The Queen stood at the center of it all, untouched.
Luke clenched his jaw.
“Go!” Jonathan shouted.
The group fanned out. For a breathless moment, the Queen remained motionless—watching. Calculating. Her eyes moved from one fighter to the next, reading their footwork, the rhythm of their breath, the tension in their grips.
Then she moved.
Not a step—a launch. A burst of speed so sudden it fractured the silence like thunder.
Luke reacted first, shifting his weight, dashing low, and bringing his kukris up to intercept the descending strike. The force behind the blow nearly drove him into the earth. He staggered back, arms shaking from the impact.
Charlie was already in motion. Her silhouette swept past him. She twisted, planted her feet, and drove her blade into the Queen’s side, then followed with a crushing punch to the face. The Queen’s head snapped back—steel met exoskeleton with a crack like colliding anvils.
Charlie rolled clear just as light surged overhead. A glowing arrow streaked toward the Queen and burst inches from her face, blinding her with a searing flash. Victoria’s flames followed—a column of fire engulfed the Queen, driving her back in a blur of sparks and heat.
And then the cold swept in.
Allison descended through the smoke, blades trailing frost like twin comet tails. She landed, slashing across the Queen’s carapace, carving frozen paths into her frame. The Queen screeched and lashed out, her limbs striking wildly.
Jonathan darted into range. He swept low, dual sabers flashing, and carved into her leg. Luke didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the chaos, kukris pulsing with Force Infusion, and struck clean into the abdomen, discharging the energy with surgical precision. The blast knocked the Queen back, limbs flailing. Before she could recover, his blades ripped free and spun back into his grasp. He surged forward again, riding momentum, every move an extension of steel and fury.
Another light arrow flared before her vision—another window.
The Queen reeled, disoriented. The group converged.
They struck from all sides, movements coordinated like a symphony of blades and impact. Steel collided with flesh. Magic crackled. The Queen staggered under the onslaught. Then came Charlie again—descending like judgment from above. She landed a brutal strike straight to the face. The Queen crumpled sideways, blue blood spraying across the stone. Her body hit the ground in a violent sprawl, twitching.
The team didn’t slow. They moved like wolves circling a dying bear.
Angelica raised another arrow, her aim steady—
But the Queen moved first.
She snapped upright, caught the arrow mid-flight, and crushed it in her hand. Then she ran. On all fours. Like a nightmare unleashed. She crashed into Jonathan, crushed his guard, and drove a bladed limb through his armor. He flew backward, tumbling like a broken doll.
She pivoted. Her tail whipped through the air in a deadly arc. Angelica was thrown across the cavern, her body flipping twice before slamming to the ground. Allison dove in, blades bared—but the Queen caught her midair and hurled her across the battlefield. Her body struck the stone with a sickening crunch.
Luke leapt next, blades aimed for her throat. But he never reached her. A kick sent him careening through the air. He slammed into the cavern wall and dropped, gasping, vision dimming, ribs screaming.
And still—the Queen charged.
Charlie met her.
No sword. Just fists.
She dropped her blade mid-stride and launched herself forward, colliding with the Queen head-on. The two crashed together with the force of a landslide. Charlie didn’t retreat. She ducked low, slipped past a spinning limb, and drove a hook into the Queen’s gut. Then an elbow to the face. Then another.
The Queen responded with raw savagery, blades slicing through the air with lethal speed. The two locked into a rhythm—fist and blade, discipline against chaos. Each strike reverberated through the cavern. Each dodge was a thread from death itself.
Their duel pulled all attention. It was no longer a skirmish.
It was the center of the war. The storm’s eye.
And when the Queen screamed—a guttural, primal sound born of hatred and fury—it wasn’t just rage.
She surged forward, a blur of fury, her bladed limbs slicing through the air with lethal precision. Charlie held her ground. She activated Steel Fist, her arms encased in a dense aura of raw stamina, every movement humming with power. When the Queen struck, Charlie met it head-on. The impact reverberated through the cavern like a subterranean quake. Sliding one foot back for balance, she drew her weight inward, then released it all in a single, devastating punch to the Queen’s abdomen.
The blow landed clean. The carapace buckled inward, and the Queen was flung across the battlefield.
That’s when Luke arrived—silent, precise, and deadly. He drove both kukris into the fractured section of her armor. The blades plunged deep into vulnerable flesh, and a shrill, inhuman cry echoed across the chamber.
A flash of mana burst across the Queen’s vision as arrows struck in perfect rhythm, staggering her further. Blinded and disoriented, she failed to see Allison sweep in from the side, frost trailing her every step. Her blade slid cleanly into the already-damaged spot, embedding deep into tissue. From the wound, ice began to bloom. It crept across the Queen’s abdomen in jagged, branching veins, freezing her from the inside out.
Jonathan came next. Potions still pulsed in his veins. He hurled himself forward, sabers drawn, and struck in unison—both blades piercing her side, exposing another soft, defenseless layer beneath the armor.
The Queen’s shriek shook the walls.
Then she launched upward. Stones cracked. Fighters were thrown aside. The battlefield erupted in chaos.
Clinging to the ceiling, she scuttled like a monstrous spider, her claws raking through stone, eyes glowing like twin furnaces. Archers and mages reacted instantly. Arrows sliced the air. Lightning lanced upward and struck her with precision.
The Queen dropped. She hit the ground like a collapsed monument. She lay bleeding. Chest heaving. Movements sluggish. But not broken.
Then the Queen did the unthinkable. She reached into her own body. Ripping. Tearing.
The wet, awful sounds of flesh and sinew being torn apart filled the air. Her claws tore through the edges of her own carapace, peeling it away like old armor. She cast it off in chunks, revealing what had hidden beneath.
A body transformed. The black flesh pulsed like muscle, exposed and raw, gleaming as if wet. Bones twisted beneath the skin, reforming. Her jaw retracted unnaturally. Her tail elongated and grew barbs. Two new eyes slid open above the others. Two additional arms emerged from her torso.
And then her wings unfurled—long, black, leathery things stretching wide, trembling with potential energy.
No one spoke. Even the air stood still.
Jonathan exhaled like a man watching the world collapse. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She vanished.
The only sound left was the screaming.
She reappeared in the middle of the wounded—among the fallen soldiers and Bob.
What followed wasn’t battle. It was slaughter. Bodies fell before they could rise. The Queen tore through them in silence, her movements surgical. Each kill was quick. Efficient. Almost methodical. Arrows and spells lit the chamber, but nothing slowed her.
Allison and Luke charged. Bob followed, desperate to intervene.
He never reached her.
One of her bladed limbs pierced through his chest and lifted him from the ground. She held him aloft like a banner—then sank her jaws into his skull.
It cracked. Collapsed. His body fell limp.
A cry of horror erupted from the group.
The Queen turned toward them, face streaked with gore. Her body began to glow. The wounds vanished. The torn flesh knitted itself together. The wings spread wider.
And across every interface, the system displayed a grim truth:
[The Ant Queen has leveled up]
[Ant Queen (General Beast) – Lvl 36]
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