Pain consumed him. Paul felt it in every nerve, every bone. His head throbbed, ears rang, vision swam in cold, disorienting darkness. Water filled his lungs. He choked, convulsed, arms flailing helplessly, until something yanked him out, hard. He broke the surface coughing, gagging for air. A wooden bucket clattered nearby, the source of his sudden revival.

"Took you long enough," Luke said. His voice was calm. Too calm. Hollowed out by hatred.

Paul glanced down. His hands were gone. All that remained were scorched stumps, seared and blackened. His right leg bent at a sickening angle. A sharp breath hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes wide with shock and rage.

He reached for his mana. The instant the thought formed, Luke was already there. Steel pressed against the roof of Paul's mouth, the blade ice-cold and final. Luke hadn't walked. He'd simply appeared, a blur too fast to track.

"Try anything," he said, low and certain, "and I'll bury this in your skull."

Paul froze. Above them, moonlight spilled over the ruins in pale streaks, washing everything in silver. Wind cut through the broken stone with a predator's whistle. They stood on the roof of a half-collapsed building at the edge of the Wild Zone.

"I brought you here," Luke said simply. Then he shoved him.

Paul plummeted, the ground rushing to meet him. A scream tore from his throat, but instinct kicked in—mana surged, and spectral arms snapped into place, catching him in a jerking, bone-rattling descent. He hit hard but survived, the arms lifting him shakily to his feet.

High above, Luke was already aiming. A bow rested in his hands. His posture was steady. Unbothered.

"I'll give you one chance," Luke called down. "I'm terrible with bows. Only good with knives. And with this wind, I doubt I'll hit you first try." He nocked an arrow, his aim unwavering. "You can charge me and try to kill me while I aim... or you can run."

Paul gave a harsh, broken laugh and spat blood into the dirt. "Let me guess. That bow belonged to Angelica. And she asked you to avenge her?"

Luke didn't hesitate. "Yes. But not for her. For Bryan—her brother."

He drew the string tighter. "She could've killed me. Could've leveled up her race. But she didn't. She chose to save me. Chose to die with dignity." A pause. "So I'll fulfill her last request. I'll kill you with her bow."

Paul's eyes flicked toward the nearest alley—a narrow path between the rubble. His mana arms buzzed faintly in anticipation.

"You won't get the chance," Paul muttered. "Even if I have to murder every last bastard in the Haven to level up, I'll make sure you're the one who dies. Maybe not today. But it'll happen."

Luke loosed the arrow. It sliced through the night, off target, but not by much. It grazed Paul's shoulder before burying itself in the dirt behind him.

Paul didn't wait. Mana arms surged upward, snatching debris from the ground. Shards of broken stone hurtled through the air, slamming into Luke's chest and shoulder. He staggered under the impact but didn't fall. His next arrow was already in hand, drawn and ready, eyes never leaving his target.

More rubble tore through the air as Paul retreated, his mana arms propelling him low along the fractured street like a shadow in flight. Behind him, others hurled stone after stone in a furious barrage, turning debris into a weaponized storm.

Ahead, Luke remained still. The bow never wavered.

Just a little farther, Paul thought. The edge of the Safe Zone shimmered faintly in the distance. He had marked the ring with his skill the moment Luke tossed it. If he could reach it, just reach it, he could heal. Regroup. Return with allies. And then... he'd make Luke beg for death.

The arrow cut through the air behind him. He didn't look back. Mana arms shielded his retreat, interlocking into a shifting barrier. All that mattered was momentum. Distance. Escape.

Then came the sound. A bell. Sharp. Clear. Piercing the night like a blade through silk. Paul's body seized. He knew that sound.

"You know..." Luke's voice slid through the darkness, smooth and quiet and merciless, "guess what shows up on this street at exactly midnight?"

Paul didn't answer. He just ran faster, pulse hammering in his throat. He turned a corner and froze. Red eyes gleamed in the alley ahead. A figure stepped into the open. Towering. Silent.

A Midnight Warden.

His breath caught. Every part of him locked up.

"If you'd come at me," Luke called from behind, "you might've stood a chance."

The creature's roar tore the night open. The street trembled beneath its weight. Paul turned and hurled himself away, panic overriding reason. Mana arms exploded from his back, some forming a barrier, others launching him skyward toward the nearest rooftop. But the spear was already flying.

It tore through the sky like judgment. The arms shattered on impact, and the building erupted where the weapon struck. Paul hit the ground hard, tumbling through broken stone and ash. He tried to crawl, bleeding, gasping, half-blind from the fall.

Then heavy footsteps landed in front of him. He looked up. The red eyes were there, watching.

"I'm giving Angelica an even better gift," Luke said quietly, voice steady as stone. "You're going to feel what her brother felt. The helplessness. The fear. You'll die knowing no one's coming to save you."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The creature roared. Paul screamed, summoning mana arms beneath him like makeshift legs, desperate for any form of escape. But the Midnight Warden was already there. It lunged forward, and its fist, massive, solid, inescapable, slammed into his chest. Paul was hurled through the air like a ragdoll, hitting the ground hard and rolling to a stop in a heap of broken limbs and blood.

Then came the stomp. The Warden's boot came down on his leg, snapping bone like brittle sticks beneath its weight. Paul shrieked. Tears streamed from his face as mana arms lashed out in a frenzied flurry, slamming against the monster's armor with no effect. His voice cracked with panic as he cried out again and again, throat raw, each word collapsing into pleading.

"Please! Help me! Somebody!"

The answer was silence. Then a hand wrapped around his torso and lifted him like nothing more than a sack of meat. A violent wrench tore his shoulder from the socket; his arm came free in a burst of blood.

Paul screamed again, a sound twisted with agony and terror. His voice broke completely, reduced to hoarse, guttural gasps as he was dragged across the shattered street, sobbing, bleeding, powerless. Above him, the moon glared down with indifference. Luke watched it all from the rooftop, unmoving, eyes unreadable.

The Midnight Warden dropped Paul, planted a heavy foot on his waist, and pressed down. The snap of breaking bone echoed down the empty street. Paul's cry was short and jagged, his body already slipping toward unconsciousness. Then the shadow fell over his face. The Warden raised its boot.

An arrow pierced the night. It struck Paul cleanly in the side of the head, slicing through the temple, snapping bone. His body went still before it even hit the ground.

[You have slain a Human – Lvl 26 (Spectral Thief – Lvl 39)]

[You have gained +1 Soul Fragment]

**[You have reached Level 15! Half-Demon (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

Paul was dead. The Midnight Warden brought its boot down one final time, crushing what remained of his skull into the stone. It didn't stop. Blow after blow reduced the corpse to pulp, a red stain in the moonlight. When the creature finally looked toward the rooftop, Luke was gone. He had already vanished into the dark.

Beneath the glowing level-up message, a new notification appeared:

[Your demonic bloodline has undergone an evolution…]

What?!

Luke blinked, confused. Upon reaching level 15, he hadn't received a new race skill. Instead, he got something else...

[Evolving bloodline skill…]

[Evolution complete!]

[A second Servant Slot has been unlocked.]

[Good luck finding a worthy servant, oh mighty Dark Lord!]

***

A day had passed. At the far edge of the Wild Zone, a massive barrier stretched across the landscape like a false horizon, shimmering with heat and deception. At its center stood a black gate, immense, inert, and unmistakably ancient. When Luke approached, a notification slid across his vision:

[To unlock the gate, activate two mechanisms... or insert the arm of a Midnight Warden into the lock.]

He took a long breath. Whatever lay beyond could be his end—but he had already made his choice. From his dimensional storage necklace, he pulled the severed arm of the Midnight Warden he had defeated. Without hesitation, he placed it into the lock.

With a metallic click, the arm latched into place. Something inside gripped it, and another message flashed:

[A step has been taken toward 51]

Luke's expression shifted. "Fifty-one...?"

But the message vanished. Not even the system's history log recorded it. Before he could process what he'd seen, the arm disintegrated into fine dust, crumbling away as if it had never existed.

Then the gate began to glow. Ancient runes ignited along the surface, and a line of light split the structure down the center. With a groan of metal and grinding stone, the gate began to open, each movement accompanied by a screech that echoed across the Wild Zone. A gust of wind spilled from the darkness beyond—cold, not like weather, but like death. A chill so deep it touched bone.

Luke stood at the threshold. The black within pulsed faintly, almost like breath, waiting. He swallowed hard, heart pounding beneath his ribs, and stepped forward.

The wind pushed back. Not gently, but violently, as if the world itself was trying to deny him entry. But he pressed on, leaning into the resistance, each step a fight against the invisible current.

Then he crossed the threshold. And the dark took him. No sound. No air. No time. Only black.

Then a light flickered ahead.

[Congratulations! You've reached the true Capital of the Midnight Kingdom.]

The message disappeared, and a gale swept away the dark. What unfolded before Luke defied reason.

A city stretched to the horizon, vast, alive, and impossible. Towers climbed into the clouds. Walls the size of mountains divided districts. Monuments loomed over aqueducts that carved the skyline. Forests grew within the city limits. Lakes shimmered beside fortresses. Even mountains rose in the distance, part of the city itself.

In the streets below, things moved. Twisted monsters marched in formation. Undead soldiers wielded axes taller than men. Skeletons bound in iron chains shattered stone in unison. Caravans groaned under the weight of cargo, pulled by hounds with six legs and too many eyes.

And beyond it all, further than the eye should reach, a castle waited.

It wasn't merely large. It was a presence. A shape against the skyline like a blade pressed to the world's throat. Firelight danced on its distant walls. Spires rose like spears, impaling the sky. Every part of Luke screamed with instinct. That place held secrets. Heavy ones. Old ones.

Beside him, Charlie appeared. Silent. Now it was just the two of them again. Just like it had been in that forgotten dungeon, months ago, where all this had started. Only this time, the stakes were higher. The enemies stronger. The world... entirely against them.

Luke clenched his fists. The wind scraped his skin like knives. But the cold no longer mattered.

"I will grow stronger," he murmured. "I'll level up... and make the strongest monster in this place my second servant."

It was madness. It was impossible. And yet, he moved forward, just him and Charlie, against everything and everyone. Or... was it really just the two of them?

"Hmm... was that the end of your little edgy monologue?" a female voice cut through the moment like a dagger.

Luke stopped. He turned his head, scanning the area. "Who's there?"

"I'm down here, genius," the voice replied, flat with boredom. "Took you long enough to notice."

He looked around. Nothing.

"Don't make me repeat myself. Down here. Around your neck."

Luke lowered his gaze... and froze.

"The necklace?" he whispered, stunned.

The voice returned, laced with razor-edged sarcasm.

"Yes. Congrats, genius. It's me. The necklace. Nice to meet you. Name's Artemis."

[End of Volume 1: Embracing the Darkness]

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