Becoming the Dark Lord [LitRPG]

Luke approached the coffin slowly, walking in absolute silence. The air around him was dense and unmoving, as if time itself had frozen within that room. Each step landed with a muffled thud against the cold stone floor, and yet even that seemed too loud in the stillness. His fists clenched every time he made the slightest sound.

At first glance, the coffin looked ordinary—old wood, darkened with age and moisture. But as he circled it, Luke noticed something odd: the side facing the hallway wasn't the front. He moved carefully, tracing the details. The air smelled beyond just rot and mold—there was a faint metallic tang, the scent of old blood. When he reached the front, he found a small crack in the wood. A fracture, like something had slammed into it from the inside—over and over again.

Then: BAM! The sharp sound made Luke flinch, kukris rising instinctively into his grip.

Inside the coffin, caught in the flickering light, he saw it.

"A skeleton?"

It lay pressed against the inner lid, unmoving—except for its head.

BAM.

It knocked the back of its skull against the wood in steady rhythm. Not violent. Not frantic. Just… repeated.

Luke frowned. The noise wasn't aggressive. There was no rage behind it. No intent to break free. Just repetition.

BAM. BAM.

The skeleton turned its head slowly, and for a fleeting moment, its hollow sockets locked with Luke's eyes. The void inside them was unsettling. Then it turned back—and resumed the motion. The rhythm was slower now. Softer. Like a memory echoing inside its bones.

It didn't want to escape. It didn't want to fight. It looked…

"Tired," Luke muttered aloud before he realized he was speaking.

And right then, the skeleton stopped. Motionless. As if… it understood. As if the word had struck a chord.

Seconds passed.

Then, with a slow, almost defeated motion, the creature resumed the soft thud against the lid—gentler this time. Melancholic.

Luke just stood there, watching. There was nothing mindless about this. It wasn't just eerie. It was familiar. He'd seen it in the living—not in monsters.

It was...

"Loneliness," he whispered.

The moment the word escaped his lips, the skeleton froze again. This time for longer. No twitch. No movement. Only silence.

Then, as if something had clicked deep inside it, it returned to the rhythm. But it wasn't the same. Now the sound wasn't just habit. It felt like grief.

Luke narrowed his eyes. Everything about this was insane—absurd—but there was something painfully human in it.

That's when he noticed it. Near the side of the coffin, partially obscured by dried blood, a word scratched into the wood. The system translated it for him: Traitor.

Luke leaned closer, whispering as he read, "So they locked you in here…"

He stepped back, drawing one of the kukris. The black blade gleamed under the dim torchlight. He didn't know what he was going to do. But something pulled him forward—maybe instinct, maybe the blood in his veins, or maybe just the unshakable need to understand what this was.

He brought the tip of the kukri to the skeleton's skull.

The reaction was immediate.

The skeleton jerked away with a sharp, cracking motion—pure panic driving the movement. Its bones slammed against the sides of the coffin, thrashing violently like someone waking up from a nightmare. It was trapped. Fully restrained inside that structure. But the terror was unmistakable.

Whatever this thing was—dead or not—it was afraid.

Luke hesitated, then followed through. He pressed the blade into the bone.

The sound was soft but crisp. A dry snap as steel punctured skull. The skeleton let out a howl.

"GRRRRR!"

A guttural cry, more fear and pain than threat. The head shook, bones rattling, trying to bite the air, trying to escape a prison that wouldn't let go.

Luke's breathing quickened. That reaction... it was too real. Too alive.

Still, he didn't step back.

"I just want to test something," he muttered.

He stared down the creature, ignoring its growling tremors. Then, with a swift motion, Luke dragged the kukri across his own palm. The blade slid through skin like it belonged there.

Blood welled instantly—warm, vibrant, a drop of power condensed into liquid form.

"Now you'll serve me," he said, pressing the bleeding hand against the skeleton's skull.

Mana surged.

It wasn't gradual. It burst like a flood through a cracked dam, rushing through his arm in pulses—thick, primal, alive.

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The connection was made in that moment. Something ancient. Something not entirely his... but now part of him.

A notification flared into view.

[Convert Cursed Skeleton into a Servant of the Dark Lord?]

Luke's eyes widened.

"It worked…" he breathed.

The ability was real. He could actually turn monsters into followers.

"Yes," he answered at once, barely containing his excitement.

The change began immediately. The air vibrated. The shadows moved—slithering along the floor, drawn toward the coffin as if obeying an unspoken command.

[Cursed Skeleton is being converted into a Servant of the Dark Lord…]

For it to work, he actually had to deal damage to the creature — enough to defeat it, but not kill it.

"Like some damn wild Pokémon..."

[You have used your ONLY Servant Slot to convert a Cursed Skeleton!]

"What?! Only one?!"

Luke staggered back as the skeleton's body convulsed. Its skull blasted free, bouncing off the wall and hitting the floor with a hollow clunk. Then, bones began ejecting from the coffin—one after another—faster than anything should move. It was like invisible hands were tearing the corpse apart.

He took another step back.

The bones floated in midair for a moment, then began assembling. Each one clicked into place with surgical precision: ribcage, spine, arms, legs. It wasn't random. It wasn't chaotic. It was a ritual. Something sacred to the blood now running in Luke's veins.

A servant... was being born.

Black mist rose from the ground, swallowing the floating bones as a chorus of layered whispers echoed through the chamber. The creature vanished into the darkness for a few seconds... then the mist dispersed.

And there it stood.

The same skeleton—but whole. Reformed. Standing tall.

Luke could barely believe his eyes.

"Identify," he murmured on instinct.

[Cursed Skeleton (Servant of the Dark Lord) - Lvl 0]

"Level zero?" he repeated, stunned.

His stomach dropped.

I used my only servant slot… on a random skeleton? And it's level zero?! Or... did it drop after being converted?

Luke tried to rationalize, but there wasn't much to work with. The damage was done.

The skeleton dropped to one knee in a silent display of submission.

Luke didn't say anything. He just stared—jaw clenched, eyes wide. He was frozen. Horrified. This was supposed to be one of his most powerful, unique abilities... and he'd wasted it. It could've been a dragon. A demon. A dungeon boss. But no—he picked a skeleton.

He exhaled, long and slow.

The skeleton stood again, bones creaking softly as it rose.

Luke instinctively gripped both kukris, ready to strike if anything changed. But the skeleton made no move toward hostility. Instead, it approached calmly, measured—like a soldier awaiting orders.

Luke tilted his head.

"So… you're my servant now."

The skeleton gave a slow, respectful nod. He frowned.

"Do you have a mind of your own now?"

Another nod. He sighed — hard. The full weight of his decision finally settled on his shoulders.

He had blown his rarest skill. His bloodline gift. All for a whim. A guess.

"It's done," he muttered. "That ability was a bonus, anyway. I was prepared to deal with the prisoners by myself. I'll figure something out. Worst case… I use you as bait."

But even as he tried to brush it off, he couldn't lie to himself. The disappointment ran deep. He cared—way more than he wanted to admit.

The skeleton took position at his side.

Luke glanced over. Despite the lack of flesh, eyes, or expression… something about the way it stood there felt strange. Like it was… content. Just being beside him.

He pressed his lips together.

"If I kill you, does the slot return?"

The skeleton shook its head — firmly.

"You're just saying that because you don't want to die."

Another shake. Then, it pointed toward Luke's system screen — the one only he should've been able to see.

Luke raised a brow.

"You can see my screen?"

A slow, steady nod.

Curious, Luke scrolled down through his interface, pulling up the servant skill again.

And there it was:

[Servant of the Dark Lord (Unique)]: As heir to the lineage of the Lords of Darkness, you may claim a worthy creature to bear your mark. Upon defeating a target, you may brand it with your demonic blood, subjecting it to your absolute authority. The servant is reborn from its weakness, evolving beyond its natural limits, nurtured by the master's power. The bond between Lord and Servant strengthens with your growing influence, shaping the fate of your legion through conquest and ambition.

(Warning: This choice is singular and irreversible. Once claimed, the servant will follow their master until the end. You may store the servant within your soul and summon them at will — but be warned: your chosen servant may determine the path your journey takes. Use this gift wisely.)

"HEY!" Luke shouted, voice cracking with disbelief. "That warning wasn't there before!"

The skeleton, still standing beside him, shrugged theatrically — then turned its head away as if whistling innocently.

Luke ran a hand through his hair, slumping back against the cold stone wall. He didn't want to admit it, but the frustration burned in his chest like a coal pressed into flesh.

He could lie to himself. Pretend it didn't matter.

But it did.

It mattered a lot.

"I lost it..." he muttered, barely above a whisper. "I lost my chance to have someone strong by my side..."

The skeleton stepped closer, its movements calm. Not threatening. Strangely… gentle. When it reached him, it gave two soft taps on Luke's shoulder.

Luke glanced sideways, annoyed.

"Yeah, that doesn't help," he muttered.

He let out a long, tired breath.

"Whatever… I didn't even know that skill existed until now, right?" he said aloud, trying to force some logic into the mess. "So I'll move forward like it never did. Nothing's changed. I'm still on my own. I'll climb, face what I have to, and that's it. If you help, great. If not… you're bait."

He turned to walk, but barely made it two steps.

The skeleton darted ahead, cutting him off with sudden energy. It raised its arms frantically, gesturing with urgency — pointing at Luke, then at itself. Repeatedly.

Luke blinked.

"I have no idea what you're trying to say."

More gestures. Even more frantic now. The skeleton looked desperate — like it was determined to be understood.

Then, it walked up to him, grabbed his hand… and pressed Luke's fingertip to its own skull.

And then—

A flash of light erupted. The air rippled. Something unlocked.

Luke's eyes widened. "Holy shit…" he whispered. "This skill is broken."