In a world overflowing with heroes, villains, and idiotic kings, one man ruled them all with an iron fist.
The world called him the Dark Lord. The gods called him a monster. He called them all idiots.
Or at least… he did.
The throne room of the Dark Lord was a monument to his dominion—a vast, cavernous hall lined with jagged obsidian pillars, their surfaces etched with glowing crimson runes that pulsed like the slow heartbeat of something ancient and terrible. Shadowy banners bearing his sigil—a blackened crown wreathed in violet flame—hung from the high, vaulted ceilings, shifting ominously despite the absence of wind.
Below, his legions stood assembled in perfect formation. The lesser goblins fidgeted restlessly, their clawed hands gripping rusted daggers, while the massive orcs stood stone-still, disciplined and ready for war. At his flanks, monstrous demons with curling horns and glowing eyes loomed, their hulking forms exuding raw power.
It was a sight meant to strike terror into the hearts of all who dared challenge him. And yet—Lucian barely suppressed a yawn, resting his chin on one hand as he watched the latest so-called "hero" storm in like all the others before him.
"You have come at last, Chosen Hero…" Lucian sighed, absently adjusting the hem of his ornate dark cape. His voice was thick with boredom, as if this was nothing more than a tiresome routine.
"I HAVE COME TO DEFEAT YOU AT LAST, DARK LORD! AND SAVE THIS WORLD FROM YOUR TYRANNY!"
Lucian didn't react. He simply blinked at the man standing before him, watching as the hero struck a dramatic pose, his gleaming armor practically radiating 'holier-than-thou' energy. The young warrior's ridiculously oversized greatsword glowed with holy inscriptions, clearly forged by the gods themselves for the singular purpose of ruining Lucian's day.
Great. Another one.
He absently massaged his temple. "Let me guess," he droned. "You are the Chosen Hero, blessed by the Goddess, born under a divine prophecy, and here to defeat me 'once and for all,' correct?"
The hero faltered slightly. "Er… Yes?"
"Ah. Fantastic. I had a bet going on whether this week's hero would say that verbatim. Congratulations, you've won me a hundred gold."
The hero's face scrunched in confusion. "Wait, what?"
Lucian waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing, nothing. Let's get this over with, shall we?"
Lucian pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling long and slow. Of course, it had to be another screaming hero. He barely resisted the urge to conjure earplugs. Did these righteous idiots take speech lessons from the town criers?
"Behold… my power…" he muttered, flicking his wrist.
As hundreds of cursed spears materialized above, darkened steel shimmering ominously within the throne room's towering ceiling.
"You truly are the worst of the worst, Dark Lord! Your Dominion of Curses says it all!" the hero continued, still shouting at an unnecessarily loud volume.
Lucian's eye twitched. By the Abyss, why do they always yell?!
"You brat—your voice is way too loud!" he snapped, sounding more like an old man shooing noisy kids off his lawn than a dark overlord.
Rolling his eyes, he waved his hand. "Cursed Hailstorm."
The spears above descended like a vengeful rainstorm, crashing toward the hero in a deadly barrage.
"Fear not, civilians who are not even here! With my radiant blade, I shall cleave through the shadows of tyranny like a blazing dawn!"
Lucian's eye twitched. "What—"
"I WILL SAVE THE WORLD! WITH MY DOMINION OF LIGHT, BESTOWED UPON ME BY THE GODDESS!" the hero screamed, somehow even louder than before.
His entire form ignited in a blinding divine radiance, the massive greatsword on his back glowing with overwhelming holy power.
Lucian narrowed his eyes. Wait… you're not seriously—?
Before he could react, the world exploded into light.
In that moment, as his body was engulfed in searing radiance, a single thought crossed Lucian's mind.
Why the hell am I still part of this stupid cycle?
A "Chosen Hero," blessed by the Goddess, wielding power far beyond reason simply because some divine being said so?
A "Dark Lord," doomed to be a power-hungry conqueror, destined to fall no matter how strong he becomes?
A world stuck in turmoil, endlessly repeating this ridiculous game of good versus evil?
What absolute nonsense.
If this world was going to be screwed anyway, no matter how many heroes came and went—
Then it was up to a villain like him to fix it.
Not to destroy it.
Not to conquer it.
But to rule it the right way—
The Lucian way.
A smirk crept onto Lucian's lips as dark energy crackled around him. For the first time in ages, he felt something unexpected.
Optimism.
"I, THE DARK LORD, WILL DESTROY YOU AND WREAK HAVOC UPON THIS LAND!" he suddenly bellowed, matching the hero's enthusiasm with exaggerated glee.
The entire throne room trembled as his monstrous army roared in unison, crashing forward in a tidal wave of darkness.
"Cursed Fireball! Demonic Chains! Dragonfire!" Lucian unleashed spell after spell in a glorious, chaotic barrage.
The hero dodged and weaved, cleaving through demons like a divine whirlwind.
"You have finally shown your true colors, Dark Lord! Then I must show mine!" The hero roared as his greatsword grew five times in size, its sheer aura alone slaughtering Lucian's minions.
"Grand Dominion! Heroic Cleave!"
He swung his sword—nearly as massive as the entire throne room—sending forth a blinding wave of divine energy.
Lucian dramatically flailed his arms. "CURSES! YOU HEROES ARE FAR TOO STRONG!"
The attack struck him head-on, engulfing the throne room, the battlefield, and his entire domain in radiant destruction.
As the light faded, Lucian knelt upon the cracked, smoldering ruins of his throne room, blood trickling from his lips. His cape was in tatters, his once-pristine armor now riddled with cracks. All according to plan.
He gasped, clutching his chest in mock agony. "No… How could this happen? The mighty Chosen Hero has… has finally bested me!"
The hero stood tall, raising his sword high. "Your reign of darkness is over, monster! With this final strike, I—"
"Gaaah! Curse you! I am dying!" Lucian howled, throwing in a dramatic cough for good measure. He flailed his arms as if struggling against an invisible force, his body slowly breaking apart into glowing embers.
He could almost hear his loyal demon general sobbing in the distance. Ah, good. They're buying it.
"Nooo! My beautiful kingdom, my evil legacy! All gone! Curse you, hero, for being so… predictably righteous!" he wailed. "I have been slain! The world is saved! The heavens weep for my—okay, this is getting ridiculous. Time to wrap it up."
With a final, overly dramatic gasp, he crumbled into nothingness, his ashes scattering into the wind.
But as they faded, a faint whisper slipped through the air—too quiet for the Hero to notice.
See you soon, kid.
The hero blinked in disbelief, rubbing his eyes as if to dispel an illusion. He took a deep breath and regained his composure as he stared at the remains of the Dark Lord's army.
"The world is saved! Flee now, for I am merciful! Tell the others—their tyrant is no more, and peace shall reign!"
With a single swing of his massive blade, a brilliant light erupted, washing over the battlefield. The oppressive darkness that had long shrouded the land shattered, and the once-ominous clouds dispersed, revealing a sky untouched by fear.
And so, the Dark Lord's reign came to an end.
The world could finally live in peace.
Right?
The world cheered. The Dark Lord was dead. The Hero had won.
…Or so they thought.
Deep beneath the ruins, where light dared not touch, a single ember still flickered. A wisp of shadow curled in the darkness, shifting, reforming. Slowly, a familiar smirk took shape—one filled with amusement, mischief… and anticipation.
"No…" A voice echoed from the abyss, rich with satisfaction.
"This is only the beginning."