Bàojūn was a simple man.

Over the decade of his rule as District Director, he sought to bring equilibrium. Nobles were given the power they deserved, peasants were supplicated or… dealt with. Some called him a tyrant, a fat lord sitting on the blood money of the common people. Those peasants were now dead and long forgotten by all but more sniveling peasants.

Sometimes there was no reasoning with the imbeciles.

But those thoughts were for another day, some time when he wasn’t being told of the greatest disaster to befall his district in the past century.

“WHAT!?!” The attendant, undoubtedly the guy who pulled the short straw, quailed at the District Directors wrath.

“I-I-It w-was confirmed by the Adventurer Society branch director h-himself. Zimisite is dead, killed by a new dungeon in the W-Wilds.” The man could barely talk over his trembling. The Director mentally noted him for promotion. That sort of behavior was exactly what the Society needed.

Bàojūn staggered to his feet, his suspiciously big bones doing little to help, shouting for a messenger. While A rankers weren’t incredibly rare, the heart of Siegefried had many, they were rare enough to be granted a significant level of prestige. On top of that, Zimisite had been a representative of the Crown.

Someone was going to die for this.

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“No one is going to die for this.” Albinuta drawled, looking at the sweating mess of a District Director sitting before him. Honestly, it was a miracle the man could still move with all the blubber coating him.

“But Zone Director-”

“No.” His tone should have told the District Director that this was not up for negotiation. The man didn’t take the hint.

“But-”

“NO!” His shout, so different from his usual placid drawl, sent the man reeling. He stood trembling, whether in rage or fear would never be known, then turned stiffly and strode out the door.

Albinuta sighed, turning to the A ranker rendered invisible by some trick of aura projection.

“You’re sure this is a Physics Dungeon? You know how many claims there have been through the centuries.”

“Positive,” Sigmundr replied.

“Very well, and your orders do come from the top. I just hope we're not making a mistake.”

“It’s for the good of us all. This world isn’t big enough for another Physics Dungeon.”

Sigmundr thought back to the contract, riddled with enough holes to guarantee the dungeon would break it. The World Core would kill the fledgling dungeon, saving them the diplomatic and physical difficulties. It was a harsh action, cruel even, but necessary.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

And making the harsh, necessary decisions was his job, no matter how much he regretted it.

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Alessandro staggered out of the dungeon, barely noticing the exit ramp had deposited him in the absolute middle of nowhere.

They were dead. All of them.

Reinmund… Jeannette… Janus… everyone he was entrusted to protect from this twice cursed hellscape of a dungeon. He’d almost done it, almost brought them safely through, but no, the dungeon couldn’t allow that. Couldn’t allow Adventurers to leave alive, couldn’t kill him with the others. It had left him alone, knowing what his failure would do to him.

A fate worse than death.

The world shuddered, spinning and twisting around Alessandro until it shattered to a thousand tiny pieces.

A flame lit in Alessandro, an ugly thing born of grief and hate. No, not a metaphorical flame, a literal actual real life mana flame. What did it look like? How should I know, it was inside of him. What do you want me to do, cut him open? Anyway, the flame flared through his cultivation, blackening, twisting, changing. Corrupting. Alessandro knew what it was, knew what it would turn him into. But he simply…didn’t care. Didn’t care about any of it. Not anymore.

The flame soon turned into a bonfire, visible waves of black energy swirling around Alessandro as his mana attunement shifted, drifting away from earth attunement to something darker, more primal, something full of hate and a lust for power. Alessandro told himself it was the power to protect, to avenge his friends, but the shift took that away from him, twisting his thoughts, his very basis of existence into a warped version of his intentions.

Such is the way of Dark. Twisting, morphing, turning the most noble of intentions into corrupted versions of themselves.

Alessandro stood, changed. His armor, formerly a polished silver, had been morphed by the Dark mana into a black, twisted thing filled with sharp edges. His battleax, formally a simple, serviceable weapon, was now a gleaming hunk of black steel; the ragged edge meant for cruel gashes that left victims ripped and maimed to die a slow, painful death. His eyes had shifted from their placid brown to a darkness born of the Void itself. He stood, his now B ranked cultivation taking the weight like the massive suit of armor was made of cardboard.

He turned and with leap, bounded into the sky, deeper into the Wild.

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The Void.

There is a certain peace to it. I’ve never been there of course, but I’ve seen it. How the darkness there is more than a mere absence of light but stands alone, pure and untainted. I’ve always liked that. The idea of a living darkness, unstained by the light that pervades this world.

Heaven.

I make do, hiding from those that would crack my Core for no other reason than my nature. Can they help that they are human? Dwarves? Elves? No. But still they kill. I’ve seen it, over the centuries. One of us will be a little too blatant, make too much of a fuss, and just like that they're gone. One by one, one after another, until all that’s left is little ol’ me.

They couldn’t kill me.

I watch the world waiting for a moment, a chance, a single opportunity. Nothing large, just a minor tip to the scales. I make my little preparations, little tweaks to the scales of Fate, but it’s not enough. In a way that’s good, it gave me time to expand, to grow, to sink my roots in the minds of those seeking my strength.

And so I’ve gone on, that silent presence in the night, the danger they cannot see. I’m not evil, not some monster that seeks to rip down the world. All I seek is equilibrium, the striking down of tyrants and the rising of the few. All I seek is balance, the balance of the Void. Is that too much to ask?

But finally, the winds of fate graced me with a boon. A Core, not of my kind but strong enough to attract strength to it. And as is the way with strength, it brought opportunity. A mortal, its mind twisted with loss and fury. It didn’t take much to bring him to the Dark.

It never does.

I have what I have been waiting for, a chance to tip the scales, to do what no one else can. To bring peace to a fractured world, to life to the dark, sentience to the shadows. The world will not know my name, the name given to me in the last seconds of my naive wisp's life. But I will say it, so the Void may remember long after I am gone.

I am Oblivion, the last of my kind.

The Light will fear my name.