I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain

As they descended the stairs, it soon became pitch dark. The confined space added to Philip’s sense of suffocation, making him feel like his neck was being squeezed. Only the sound of Ian’s steady footsteps echoed in the darkness. Philip tried to calm his breathing, clasping his hands before his chest.

Swoosh—

A faint light glowed between his gloved fingers. It did not push back the darkness, but lightened it slightly. Even that was enough for Philip to feel some relief. The ceiling seemed close enough to touch, the narrow, long walls pressed in, and Ian’s back loomed ahead. Philip’s frown deepened. The staircase seemed to stretch endlessly into the abyss, turning at right angles occasionally.

"... Are we entering a demonic realm or a barrier?"

"Probably."

Philip let out a small sigh at Ian’s matter-of-fact response.

It meant they couldn’t exit back out the way they came. Not that he intended to leave before finishing their business here, but not being able to leave and choosing to stay were two very different feelings.

Divine intervention wouldn’t reach this place. If he died here, his soul might not reach the heavens. Instead, he would become prey for the void or eternally wander the world’s cracks.

That’s why Philip felt the same first-time fear every time he entered such a place. So he kept his eyes fixed on Ian’s back. In this godforsaken darkness, this man with black hair was his only beacon. They continued downward, with Philip’s eyes fixed on the steady crown of Ian’s head.

Upon reaching the end of the seemingly endless stairs, a long corridor revealed itself. However, the darkness persisted. The corridor, dotted with doors on either side, stretched out of sight like the stairs.

"Conserve your divinity," Ian muttered as he led the way, sword hanging loosely.

Philip quickly unclasped his hands, drawing his sword and shield before following. The surrounding darkness deepened as the light faded. His ears felt stuffed, as if he were high up a mountain. Any distant sound seemed like it would be muffled, not that it mattered much now.

"They’re coming." Ian’s voice cut through the gloom.

Philip immediately raised his sword and shield to his face. Ian’s eyes, gleaming like a cat’s, turned to him.

"From behind, too."

"...!"

"Keep an eye on the rear. I’ll clear the path."

Philip turned without a word. Even with his ears muffled, he could hear growling and fast-approaching footsteps.

Tat-tat—

Ian’s footsteps grew distant. As Philip walked backward, he focused on the writhing darkness beyond the corridor. He couldn’t see through the darkness to discern that undead properly.

Slice— Woosh—

Suddenly, his vision brightened.

Philip’s shadow stretched long in front of himself. The source of the light was unmistakable: Ian had incinerated an undead with a fireball.

The hallway’s shape became clearer. Gray bricks lined the walls, and old, sporadic doors flanked them.

Philip finally saw the undead he had only heard until now. It had a gaping wound in its abdomen, with writhing intestines hanging out. The reddish hue of its face and body was not because of the light. The undead’s head, shoulders, and arms crawled with countless wriggling red tendrils resembling worms.

Tentacles? No, mushrooms?

Philip realized the tendrils were actually numerous fungal growths, each with a grotesque cap at its end. His brow furrowed as the light soon dimmed. Philip quickened his steps backward.

Thunk—

Philip’s heel caught on the smoldering corpse of an undead. With his shield still behind him, he turned sideways and glanced at Ian ahead. Despite the darkness, it wasn’t hard to spot him.

Crack! Slash—

Soon, Philip’s heel caught on the smoldering corpse of a dead man.

With his shield still behind him, Philip turned his body sideways and glanced at Ian ahead. Despite the darkness, it wasn’t hard to spot him.

Crack, slash—

A faint purple haze had already begun to rise from the sword Ian was wielding.

Though not a bright light, it flickered distinctly in the darkness, tracing arcs through the air. The undead cut by this blade smoldered faintly, their movements halting as if touched by divine power.

What on earth...?

Philip’s eyes narrowed at the violet arcs illuminating the darkness. He knew Ian’s sword was a cursed blade, but seeing Ian wield its power as if it were his own was another matter. Only corrupted beings or those consumed by the sword’s malevolence should manage such a feat.

"Don’t fall too far behind," But his voice, directed at Philip, was as cold and composed as ever.

"... Yes," Philip answered promptly and quickened his pace.

After all, if it were Ian, perhaps even completely dominating a cursed sword was possible. He had defied conventional wisdom countless times before. He was beloved of the gods and a mage who wielded a sword.

Though this paradox had become familiar, it was still as extraordinary as a good-hearted corrupter or a demon worshiping the light. Perhaps it was this very contradiction that enabled Ian to achieve the near-impossible so many times. As Ian relentlessly cleaved through the approaching undead with unwavering speed, Philip also hastened his steps, focusing entirely on following Ian.

"...!" Suddenly, one door lining the corridor burst open without warning. Philip’s eyes widened as an undead lunged out, arms outstretched.

"Gr... urk...!"

Red mushrooms sprouted from its eye sockets, mouth, and head. Its outstretched arms became engulfed in pulsating, grotesque fungi.

Swoosh—

Despite the pounding of his heart, feeling as if it might drop at any moment, holy power flared along Philip’s sword. His body moved instinctively.

Crack— Thunk—

With a single stroke, Philip severed the outstretched arm and then plunged his sword into the undead’s chest. Holy power surged through the undead’s body as Philip repeatedly slammed his shield into its face. The undead’s head flopped back, causing it to stagger. Philip then kicked its chest, sending it reeling back into the room it had emerged from. Without hesitation, he sprinted after the now-distant Ian.

Soon, Ian’s steps halted. They had reached a fork in the path. Standing behind Ian, Philip glanced at the two branching paths of darkness and sighed.

"Really? This is getting tiresome."

"Agreed."

Clicking his tongue, Ian chose a direction and continued walking. Philip followed closely behind. The hallway was now dotted with patches of bluish moss and red mushrooms. This was an unnatural occurrence in a church, more fitting for a damp environment.

Ian pressed on, clearing the way. Philip, no longer letting his guard down, dealt with the occasional undead that lunged from the sides, ensuring Ian could maintain his pace without interruption.

"Fuck, this place is long..." Ian muttered under his breath, and Philip silently agreed.

To Philip, this appeared to be a residence hall where priests, visiting devotees, or monks lived. The extended length was probably a result of the space being warped and stretched, though Philip still couldn’t fathom how this was possible.

"...?" It wasn’t long before Ian paused. He looked back at one of the rooms they had been passing.

Raising his black sword, Ian kicked the door open and entered. As his black sword raised, he crushed an undead’s head with a sickening crack. Philip quickly followed, shutting the door behind him. Ian was busy kicking aside the decapitated undead.

"...!"

Philip’s eyes widened as he surveyed the room. It contained two beds, two small desks, and two wardrobes facing each other. The setting was ordinary, but there was a faintly familiar feeling in the air.

"Holy power...?" As Philip murmured, Ian strode across the room and threw open the wardrobe in the corner.

"Ee-eek... O Radiant Light, please, with your merciful warmth, bless the soul of this humble servant—"

With a gasp, the half-delirious voice trailed off.

Ian glanced back at the approaching Philip and muttered indifferently.

"A survivor."

"Indeed. I wasn’t expecting that."

"He doesn’t seem able to communicate properly."

"Leave him to me for a moment."

"Make it quick. There are more people to save outside." Ian stepped back.

Philip nodded and looked into the wardrobe. Inside, a blonde-haired priest, eyes tightly shut, was curled up and muttering. He appeared to be around Philip’s age, perhaps still a novice.

"You can open your eyes, priest. We’re here to help." Philip spoke politely.

The priest’s lips stopped moving. He hesitated, still keeping his eyes closed, and replied, "That’s impossible... If you’re trying to deceive me and steal my soul–-"

Ignoring the nonsense, Philip sheathed his sword and looked at Ian, who had an indifferent expression.

"This time, I’m sure. He’s not corrupted."

Ian gave a nod, signaling to get on with it.

Philip placed a hand on the priest’s shoulder.

"...!" The priest’s eyes flew open as holy power surged through Philip’s hand. He looked at Philip with a face full of gratitude.

"A holy knight...! Thank you, blessed Lu Solar...."

Instead of correcting the priest, Philip offered a gentle smile.

"What’s your name?"

"Lu-Luce, sir knight."

"Nice to meet you, Father Luce. I’m Philip. Let’s step outside."

"Yes, yes, Sir Philip...." Luce stumbled out of the wardrobe. He smelled of urine, but Philip maintained his smile. It was fortunate that it was only urine.

Luce couldn’t stand up properly, his legs giving way.

As he glanced back and forth between Philip and Ian, Philip added, "I sensed the touch of the Radiant Goddess. Is that how you stayed safe?"

"Yes, yes. That’s correct...." Luce fumbled with a string around his neck, revealing a small silver pouch emitting a faint holy power.

"I received this from a bishop who taught me when I was studying at the central church. It’s said to be a fragment from the first holy relic. I never imagined it would truly emit holy power—"

"Never take it off. Now, can you tell us what happened here?"

"You don’t know what happened...?" Luce’s eyes widened as he looked at Philip.

He opened his mouth again. "Ha-haven’t you defeated all those pitiful monsters to get here?"

"We fought monsters, but we entered through the spire. We’re here to cleanse the darkness lurking in the church."

"Ah... ah...."

Fear and despair filled Luce’s eyes. He hugged his head and muttered, "In that case, you should turn back immediately. That thing is not of this world. It’s undoubtedly from that cursed void–-"

"The city outside is not much different from here. Besides, we can’t leave until we eliminate the source of this darkness. We’re trapped here." Philip cut him off.

Terror washed over Luce’s face.

Philip stared into his trembling eyes and continued, "We’re going to eliminate the source of this chaos. If you help us, it will make things a bit easier. So please, join us and tell us everything you’ve seen and experienced here."

"Join you...? I’ll die. I can’t. I can never go back to the chapel..."

"Then stay here," Ian interjected.

Philip looked at Ian, who shrugged indifferently.

"We’ll continue on our way."

"Can’t we try convincing him one more time...? Having a witness to testify about what happened here would be valuable. And it doesn’t seem like there are any other survivors."

"...." Ian sighed briefly. He then lunged forward, grabbing Luce by the collar. Ian effortlessly lifted Luce, causing his eyes to widen with fear.

"Staying here means you’ll die, priest. The holy power from that necklace will soon fade, and the creatures outside will catch your scent. You’ll turn into one of those monsters and come after us. So it might be better to die by my hand now."

"Ee-eek...!"

"But if you come with us and tell us anything useful, you might have a chance to survive."

Ian pressed the blade against Luce’s neck and added, "So decide now. Will you come, or will you die?"

"...." Philip was stunned by the blatant threat.

"I-I’ll go...." Luce, pale as a sheet, barely managed to speak as he stared at the blade at his throat.