Ascension of the Overlord

The blood of the group still clung to my armor, streaking down the dark plating in slow, glistening rivulets. My sword dripped with it, the crimson droplets pooling on the ground with every step I took.

The forest gave way to the faint glow of the village ahead, its lights flickering like fragile embers against the night. I didn't feel hesitation. I didn't feel guilt. I felt… nothing.

No, that wasn't right.

There was something. A cold, quiet hunger.

The first person to see me was a man tending to a wagon near the village edge. He froze when he saw my massive frame emerge from the shadows, his wide eyes flicking to the blood that painted my armor and sword.

"Who… who are you?" he stammered, his voice trembling.

I didn't answer. My sword moved before I even thought, the massive blade cleaving him from shoulder to hip in a single, brutal motion. His body hit the ground with a wet thud, his blood pooling in the dirt as his lifeless eyes stared at the sky.

The sound drew others.

A woman screamed, dropping the basket of food she carried as she saw me standing over the corpse. She turned to run, but I was faster. My blade caught her mid-step, severing her legs at the knees. She fell forward, her screams sharp and guttural as she clawed at the dirt.

I stepped forward, driving the sword through her back and pinning her to the ground. The screaming stopped.

The chaos spread quickly. Villagers ran in every direction, their panicked cries filling the air. Some tried to hide in their homes, slamming doors and bolting shutters. Others grabbed makeshift weapons, trying to mount a desperate defense.

It didn't matter.

I moved through them like a storm, my blade cutting through flesh and bone with ease. A man with a pitchfork charged at me, his weapon raised high. I caught the wooden shaft in one hand, snapping it in two before driving my sword through his chest. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he fell, his body twitching as it hit the ground.

A pair of young men tried to attack me together, one with an axe and the other with a knife. The axe struck my shoulder, the blade glancing harmlessly off my armor. I grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him off the ground. His screams turned to choking gasps as I crushed his windpipe, dropping him lifelessly at my feet.

The man with the knife hesitated, his courage faltering as he saw his friend's body crumple. I stepped forward, grabbing him by the arm and twisting it until the bone snapped. His scream was short-lived as I slammed my blade into his chest, splitting him in half in a shower of blood and viscera.

The village square was drenched in red by the time I reached it. Bodies lay scattered like broken dolls, their blood pooling in the dirt and running in thin streams down the cobblestone streets.

A woman clutching a crying child stumbled into view, her wide, terrified eyes locking onto mine. She fell to her knees, holding the child tightly, her voice trembling as she pleaded. "Please… please don't…"

I froze, my blade hovering in mid-air. For a moment, something flickered in the back of my mind—a faint, human memory struggling to surface.

But it was gone just as quickly.

The blade came down.

When it was over, the village was silent.

I stood in the center of the carnage, my sword resting against my shoulder. Blood coated every inch of my armor, dripping from the cracks and pooling at my feet.

And then, I laughed.

Low and hollow, the sound echoed through the empty streets, cutting through the stillness like a blade. It wasn't joy. It wasn't anger. It was something darker, something colder.

I wasn't a hero. I wasn't even a knight.

I was a monster.

The forest was silent as I left the village behind, the carnage I'd wrought fading into the distance. My boots crushed the undergrowth beneath me, the blood dripping from my sword leaving a faint trail in the dirt. The air was cold, biting against the mist that seeped faintly from my armor.

I should've felt something—horror, regret, anything. But there was nothing. Just the hollow weight in my chest, the faint echo of laughter still ringing in my ears.

And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispered: What have you done?

I clenched my fist, the gauntlet creaking under the pressure. "It doesn't matter," I muttered to myself, my voice low and metallic. "They attacked me first. They would've done the same if I hadn't…"

The thought trailed off, unfinished. I knew it wasn't true. They hadn't all fought back. The woman. The child. They hadn't raised a hand against me, and still…

Still, I'd killed them.

The trees seemed to press closer as I walked, their branches casting jagged shadows across the ground. My reflection flickered in a puddle of water, distorted by the ripples. The glow of my eyes stared back at me, faint but unrelenting.

"What am I?" I whispered, my voice trembling despite the cold calm that clung to me.

The undead part of me answered in silence. It was what I was now—unfeeling, unrelenting. The instincts that had guided me through that village weren't human. They were something darker, something colder.

But the human part of me fought back. You weren't like this before. You don't have to be like this now.

"Don't I?" I said aloud, the words cutting through the stillness.

Memories surfaced as I walked—faint images of who I'd been before all of this. A player. A fighter. A champion in the world of Yggdrasil. Back then, every battle had been for glory, for the thrill of victory. I'd fought to be the best, to prove myself in a world that thrived on competition.

But this? This wasn't glory. This was slaughter.

I tightened my grip on my sword, my gaze fixed on the path ahead. The fortress loomed in the distance now, its faint glow piercing the dark horizon like a distant beacon.

"This is who I am now," I said, my voice firm but hollow. "There's no going back."

But even as I said the words, the human part of me screamed in defiance. This isn't who you are. This isn't who you wanted to be.

The gates of the fortress creaked open as I pushed them aside, the sound echoing through the empty halls. I stepped inside, my bloodstained boots leaving crimson prints on the ancient stone floor. The silence of the place pressed down on me, heavier than before.

I walked to the throne, each step measured and deliberate. The weight of my armor, the weight of my actions, dragged at me with every movement. When I finally reached it, I sank down onto the massive seat, the sword resting heavily across my knees.

The hall was cold, empty. The whispers of my own thoughts filled the void, clashing and colliding in a storm of regret and apathy.

What have I become?

I rested my head against the back of the throne, staring into the darkness above. The mist swirled faintly around me, glowing in the dim light.

For a moment, I thought I felt something—a flicker of warmth, a faint ember of the person I used to be. But it was gone before I could grasp it.

I closed my eyes. The throne creaked faintly beneath me, its cold embrace fitting me like a second skin.

"I'm not human anymore," I muttered to the empty hall, my voice echoing into nothing.

The silence that followed swallowed everything.