Becoming the Dark Lord [LitRPG]

The third and final option appeared before Luke's eyes.

[Demonic Assassin]: Your blood carries the lineage of tyrants. As you evolve, your touch will drain life, and your blade will consume souls. You will not simply kill—you will devour. The demonic power in your veins awakens something beyond mere stealth. You will sap the essence of your victims, growing stronger with every death. Your weapon becomes an extension of your hunger, stealing energy with each strike and granting you regeneration. Your body will harden, your instincts sharpen, your presence become lethal. You will not be a mere assassin. You will be a predator—one that grows stronger with every battle.

Attribute Bonuses per Class Level:

+5 Perception, +4 Strength, +4 Agility, +3 Vitality, +2 Intelligence, +3 Free Points

Luke read every word, and for a moment, all he could do was stare. Unlike the first two options, this one felt like it was speaking directly to him—no, it was made for him. This wasn't just a class evolution; it was a reflection of his bloodline, a mutation born of his heritage. He was almost sure the other two paths were standard mutations, options any skilled assassin might eventually unlock. But this... this one existed because of him—and the stats were insane.

The Phantom and Shadow paths gave fourteen attribute points per class level. This one? Twenty-one. With three free points to place wherever he wanted. At higher levels, that kind of growth would snowball into something monstrous.

Luke pulled a kukri from his inventory and checked the passive skill: Magnetic Return. It scaled with Perception. And this path gave him more Perception per level than any other option.

But it wasn't just about stats. The real weight of the decision came from the abilities that would unlock. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of hidden skills were waiting behind these paths. The system wasn't telling him what they were; it was asking him to choose a philosophy—a future. And he couldn't afford to choose lightly.

He'd survived by inches against the convicts. If there had been two Williams at the end, he wouldn't be standing here now.

The Tutorial might not be anything close to what he'd just endured—but there was no guarantee it would be easier. There were rumors. Hushed stories passed between survivors. Tutorials where players hunted other players, slaughtering the weak to farm XP.

Luke had no way of knowing what he'd face next. But he knew this much: he would not be unprepared.

His eyes locked on the Demonic Assassin class again. Choosing this meant embracing his demonic side. It wasn't just a combat style—it was a path without return. But then again, he'd already passed the point of no return.

I can't remove the bloodline, at least not that I know of.

What mattered now was using it—turning it into something he could control, something that wouldn't control him.

Luke exhaled slowly, silencing his thoughts.

This wasn't about power for its own sake. This was survival. And in a world where the strong preyed on the weak, he would not be prey.

"The predator of predators..." Luke whispered. And made his choice.

[Class Selection Complete]

**You have become a [Demonic Assassin]**

A pulse of heat surged through his chest—sharp but brief.

Then, his system screen began to flicker.

[Your demonic bloodline has strengthened.]

[Your demonic bloodline has corrupted certain skills.]

[Evolving affected skills...]

"What...?"

Luke reached to check the changes—and froze as Princess Charlie suddenly dropped to her knees. Her jaw opened in a silent scream.

"Princess Charlie!" he shouted, rushing toward her.

Before he could reach her, her body began to rise—levitating off the ground. Her skeletal form shimmered, then began to melt, like wax under flame.

"Stop!" Luke yelled, trying to will her back into his bond—but nothing worked.

Her body unraveled into a swirling black mist. The darkness condensed into a massive, obsidian-colored egg, pulsing with faint light. Cracks spread across the surface. And then—shatter.

A wave of dark energy exploded outward. And when the mist cleared, something landed on its feet with a heavy thud.

It was her. Princess Charlie. But... not the one he knew.

Luke's breath caught.

The old Charlie had been short, lightly built, her bones yellow-white and human-sized. But the figure before him now was towering—easily over two meters tall. Broader. Thicker. Built like a warrior carved from shadowed stone.

Her bones had changed from faded ivory to a grim steel-gray, lined with sharp cracks—not from damage, but as if her very existence had fractured under pressure and reforged into something new. Her eye sockets burned darker, like they held a living shadow deep within.

"Princess Charlie... is that you?" Luke asked, carefully.

The skeletal figure tilted her head. Then nodded slowly.

She stepped toward him—now a full head taller—and looked down at him with eerie curiosity.

Raising one massive hand, she gently tousled his hair with her long fingers, tilting her skull in a playful gesture that said: 'Now I'm taller than you.'

Luke chuckled despite himself.

"Alright. Still you."

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She turned and picked up her sword from the ground. Only now—she didn't need two hands to wield it.

With one arm, she swung the blade through the air effortlessly, the steel slicing through the silence as if testing her new strength.

Luke watched, stunned. That version of Charlie… anyone would run at the sight of her, especially under a black hood.

He exhaled, his voice quieter now. "I don't know what just happened… but if it hurt, I'm sorry. It was probably because of me."

Charlie glanced back. She tilted her skull slightly, then gave a calm shake of the head—a silent, familiar motion that said: 'It's fine. It's over now.'

Suddenly, Luke's system window snapped open.

**Some of their skills evolved due to their demonic bloodline.**

He blinked. "It's not over yet?"

More notifications popped up, scrolling down one by one.

[Knife Throwing (Common)] -> [Profane Knife Throwing (Uncommon)]: Thrown blades now pierce more efficiently, reducing enemy dodge chance upon impact. Additionally, there is a small chance to inflict Bleed, causing the target to lose HP over time.

Luke raised an eyebrow.

His throwing technique hadn't changed... but the system had pushed it beyond normal limits.

"So my throws hit harder and can cause bleeding now?" he muttered, gripping his kukris.

He was ready to test them— But another notification slammed onto the screen.

This one made him freeze.

[Assassin's Dash (Uncommon)] -> [Basic Dark Dash (Rare)]: You cloak yourself in pure darkness and surge forward, becoming briefly intangible. While dashing, weak ranged attacks pass harmlessly through you, and weak obstacles are ignored. A warped trail of dark energy lingers behind you, disorienting enemies and making your true position harder to track.

The system window faded. No more updates.

Luke stared, stunned. "You've got to be kidding me. That's insane!"

Basic Dark Dash.

The dash had already saved his life more times than he could count. During the fight against the convicts—and especially against William—it had been his lifeline. And now it was even stronger. More evasive. More unpredictable. More... deadly.

He wanted to test it immediately, feel the difference for himself—

But then the portal behind him sparked and hissed.

[WARNING: The portal has been open for too long. This tutorial will soon become unavailable to new participants.]

The vortex began to shrink, pulsing erratically as its light dimmed and flickered like a flame on the verge of extinction.

"Seriously?! Just when I finally have time to test this stuff…" Luke muttered under his breath, frustration bleeding into his voice.

He glanced at Princess Charlie. "I should store you inside my soul again. I don't know where this portal's going to throw me, and if there are other people nearby, I'd rather not show all my cards."

Charlie nodded without hesitation. With a flick of his hand, she vanished—drawn back into the bond like mist folding into shadow.

The portal crackled violently now, its radius narrowing fast, unstable and burning at the edges.

Luke didn't wait.

He sprinted forward and launched himself into it—

Please… just let it be peaceful.

He shut his eyes as the light consumed him, brilliant and blinding. His body unraveled. Gravity released him.

And then—

[Welcome, Luke! You have entered the Tutorial: Midnight Terror.]

***

A crocodile floated lifelessly in the still waters of a dark lake. Then, it began to move.

Its form twisted, reshaped. The massive reptilian body drifted toward the shallow edge, limbs elongating, spine snapping into alignment. By the time it reached land, it had risen onto two legs. What stood there now was no mere crocodile—it was something else entirely.

A humanoid creature with crocodilian features stepped from the water, droplets trailing down its scaled hide. It walked in silence, moving with purpose through the corridors of the dungeon, until eventually, it arrived at a crypt—one littered with the shattered bones of fallen skeletons.

The creature looked down at a patch of ash still smoldering in the center.
"Rise," the crocodilian entity commanded. "I know you're in there."

The ashes stirred. Slowly, they began to draw inward—gathering, condensing, forming. A robed skeleton rose from the remains. The Crypt Guardian had returned.

But it wasn't truly the Guardian anymore, just as the one who had taken the crocodile's form was not truly a beast. These were vessels. Borrowed bodies. Avatars.

The skeleton's form began to shift—decaying flesh wrapping around brittle bone, cloth morphing into ancient linen. It became a mummy, wrapped in power, emanating death. Beside it, the crocodile-man grew larger, more refined, more aware. His features leaned further into something human—yet utterly alien.

Together, the two beings stepped into the abandoned camp on the first floor. They surveyed the corpses, then looked toward the spot where the portal had been. The last trace of light shimmered there—then faded.

And then—the entire floor dimmed.

The massive crystal embedded in the cavern ceiling began to flicker erratically. Shadows bled from the walls, the ceiling, the ground. Darkness thickened, pooling like liquid smoke—until the very air was consumed.

And from within that blackness... two piercing golden eyes opened.

Vertical pupils. Ancient. Watching.

The Darkness had arrived.

Its voice echoed through the abyss:

"Primordial of Beasts. Primordial of the Undead. Why have you interfered with my child's path?"

The crocodile turned his head, glancing at the mummy, then at the eyes in the dark.

"We merely wished to observe him more closely—your chosen. But, Primordial of Darkness, I thought you were still in exile," the Crocodile said, tone calm. "Surely your presence here exceeds necessity, now that you've been seen."

The mummy remained silent. Watching. Measuring.

The Darkness didn't move—but the pressure in the chamber deepened.

"Two Primordials violated my domain. One planted a Stalking Crocodile. The other, a Tomb Guardian. You disrupted the trial meant for my child. When I'm in a foul mood... I tend to take liberties."

The Darkness curled tighter around the camp. "Last time? Half of you weren't enough. And even then... fragments of me slipped through banishment and returned. As they always will."

The Crocodile narrowed his eyes.

"Are you saying… you're ready to break the Accord?"

"The Accord only exists because I allowed it," said the voice behind the golden eyes, low and thunderous. "But... I am no liar. I have better things to do in my own realm. The material plane no longer concerns me."

The Darkness began to dissolve—its presence retreating like smoke across still water.

"Wait," the Mummy spoke, voice dry and cold.

The darkness surged back, once again swallowing the room in absolute black.

"In all these eons," the Mummy continued, "you've never chosen a successor. Never even granted a blessing to your most devoted cults. Why now? Why name a human—from a newly integrated universe—as your child?"

The golden eyes curved into a grin—long, wide, inhuman.

A grin filled with teeth. Hundreds of them.

"You all play your games," the Darkness said. "You claim domains. Dominate galaxies. Tear down civilizations. It's a game I mastered before any of you were born."

It began to withdraw once more, but the Primordial of Beasts stepped forward.

"You still haven't answered the question."

"Let's just say... I had a feeling," the Darkness said softly. "That I had found the most gifted assassin to ever exist."

The golden eyes turned, that monstrous grin growing even wider.

"I made an investment. Just like you all do when a new universe appears. You choose your servants, your worshippers, your priests, apostles, heralds. I simply went further. I chose one. Not a follower. Not a puppet. But a true heir."

The Mummy's gaze shifted—quiet understanding dawning behind empty sockets.

"The place he went to..." the Mummy said slowly. "The lesser gods refer to it as a tutorial of Infernal difficulty."

The Darkness laughed.

A low, bone-deep rumble that echoed through the dungeon.

"If that place is Hell..." it said as it faded, voice vanishing into the void—

"Then they'd best prepare to meet the Demon."

And just like that—

The Darkness was gone.