A few fools almost immediately tried to attack him, and to them, Alan showed no mercy. He was giving it in spades lately, but even being a kind of decent post-apocalyptic magical dude had its limits. It was easier to kill. A shadow piercing through the brain. Alan wondered if he could even call it shadow anymore. It was more like mana given physical form, made solid.

It fed off from the victims, even if it was just a little bit. To what end, Alan didn’t know. He was certainly not growing stronger because of his new ‘devouring’ theme. It would’ve been cool, but also a slippery slope. Who knew what the future would bring though? The System liked surprises.

“Now that the morons are accounted for,” Alan said and pushed the few bodies aside. “Have you decided what you’re going to do? Do I keep killing or will you let me just remove the infection? Oh, and I’ll be taking your Sanctuary, and notable magical items you have, and your absolute discretion on the matter. The last one is optional, but comes with stipulations you might not appreciate in time.”

He could see the fear. The hesitation. For some reason, it both felt good and bad to be feared. Alan was not one of those brain-damaged shmucks that confused fear with respect, but he would take either as long as it brought him peace and quiet. Not that he was particularly good at seeking out peace and quiet.

I might as well light everything on fire to make a human barbecue. I should work on my diplomacy… Ah, Rosie would’ve been a great addition to our little team.

“We’ll submit. Please, show mercy,” the woman in the lead said. “My name—”

“No, no. No names!” Alan interrupted. “I’ve learned too many of those lately. You guys are just side characters I have to deal with. When the time comes, you’ll answer to the new leader of your Sanctuary, and then you can have a bigger role behind the curtains. I’m not dealing with you.”

That seemed to deal a blow to the fear, replacing it with confusion.

“Are you not going to conquer this place? Is this not your purpose?” Someone asked.

“What? No. I just want to kill that annoying rust guy, then I’ll give this place to a friend. I don’t want it! For the time being my dear sidekick and future headache will be the one taking control. Which reminds me!”

Alan let the shadows rise from his back and into the air, shaping them into a giant hand that beckoned from afar. He could barely see Mayra up on the ridge he had left her, and she moved… not quite quickly, but like a regular girl would down a slope of rocks and trees and who knew what else. Not fearsome at all for a witch.

“It’ll be a while. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me where I can find your future former leader? I promise I’ll make him suffer quite a bit. It’s a thing I do unintentionally sometimes, but I mean it this time around so it should go well.” Alan grinned.

Few people flinched; others retreated. The woman in charge, who he decided to think of as Guard One took a deep breath.

“Please don’t take offense, but you’re strange. We… we’re thankful for your mercy and apologize for our initial request. It was something King Rust told us to do…”

“You guys don’t dare refuse anything he says, huh?”

“He’s cruel. Crueler than you can imagine,” Guard Two said. A bald man with a scar running through his lips. “He uses the infection to torture dissidents or those who want to find their way.”

Callous bastard.

“Killing is rare, but when he does… Might I ask what happened to the force he left with?” the woman, Guard One asked.

“Oh, he turned the bulk into some form of grotesque mutants. As for Bob the Immortal, he had a nervous breakdown after I touched him, so he’s currently receiving treatment. The one who called himself a hunter is long dead. I kind of broke his mind, then your King broke his body and turned him into an even bigger blob. Don’t even get me started on the smell and mess.”

Murmurs. Shock. Silence.

Alan evaluated them with a frown. Most were… weak. Too weak for such a large and seemingly rich place. If Rust was planning to fight an invasion of weird golden aliens, wasn’t he supposed to at the very least make his people strong? The ones in the group that had attacked the Sanctuary had been stronger. Loyalists, perhaps? There were always those. Maybe there were more. He could let Mayra do a proper ‘cleansing’ if she was strong enough.

Ah, probably not. I’ll have to get my hands dirty until she gets to tier two. Alan had to admit once again that having her come along was one of the smartest things he had done in a while.

“Come on now, line up everyone. I will be done quickly,” Alan said.

“Are you—are you tier three?” Guard One asked. She was getting bold.

“Not at all. If I was Rust boy would already be dead.” And a certain patron would’ve suffered quite a bit. I should start looking for a way to get to that boney bastard that served him. He’s within reach, even if a patron isn’t. What tier would the Bone Lord even be in?

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

That was a great question. He would ask Mayra later, and hopefully, her patron wouldn’t take it too personally. Powerful beings were weirdly fickle when it came to getting their feelings hurt. Perhaps ultimate strength simply had a way to bring the mind into a ‘spoiled little shit’ mindset.

He had to get some experts on that train of thought. Were [Therapists] a thing?

It took him about thirty minutes, and it proved to be a great exercise. Little shadow stabs, like needles, injecting a bit of mana, a bit of will. It ate up all it found and allowed Alan to observe the internal flow of hundreds of people. It was almost like a study. Each flow, each mana signature, was different. Minute differences that became more pronounced the stronger one was.

Was that it? Starting the same, then becoming more and more unique until there was no one alike? One young guy, probably around seventeen caught his eye the most. His mana was similar to Alan’s own before he had changed. A thing of shadows. It was a rare one. Few had some mastery over the element, but it was rarer than most and seemed undervalued. After all, fire was more destructive, water was probably better too, and all other elements offered things shadows didn’t.

Not the same, but very, very similar.

“You, boy,” Alan called, trying to give himself the authority of an elder. His own father had been quite good at that, the drunken piece of shit. Was he still alive somewhere? Did Alan even care?

The boy straightened up and paled, although he was quite pale already.

“Y-yes, sir?”

“Sir, I like that. What’s your class?” And don’t tell me it’s a [Warlock]. As fate would have it, I’m quite sick of those.

“A-a [Thief],” the boy answered. No hesitation, only a ton of anxiety. Who could blame him?

“Interesting. What can you do?”

The boy swallowed heavily. “Shoot shadow blades from my knife. Hide in darkness. M-most of my skills are physical attacks. Sneaking.”

He was hiding something, but that was alright.

Alan nodded, “Great. I started similar to you, although not quite as well-rounded.”

It was sometime after that when Mayra finally reached him, with a wary Remin on her toes.

“Master!” she shouted over the people. They gave her a wide berth and she strolled like a queen of darkness and flimsy dresses, with her bag full of scrolls. At least the paper was light.

“I thought we were done with that?”

“You have an image to uphold before the mortals!” Mayra said with a smile. Had she touched up on her makeup? Damned vanity lasted beyond the apocalypse. No. It was more important now. The image could win battles if utilized properly. She looked dark and scary, but pretty too. Alan liked it.

Maybe he could build his own task force of creepy edgelords in time? It certainly suited the theme he had going on.

“So be it. I’ll be your dark and powerful master for the time being,” Alan remarked sarcastically, “Now go and conquer this place in my name, lest I unleash my untamed wrath upon your sorry soul!”

Those in earshot almost seemed on the verge of fainting, although he wasn’t sure if it was due to how fearsome he was, or due to how unnatural the words had come out. And top of it all… Mayra was blushing. Maybe dragging her along was not a good idea after all…

“Yes, master! Uhm… like I did last time? It might be harder.”

“Rust is not here.”

“I’ll try, but please save me if someone tries to kill me. I’ll alert you!”

And off she went. Alan watched her back with a frown, wondering when all of it would come to bite him in the ass, then clapped his hands.

“Alrighty! Now, where’s Rust? Suggestions”

Silence and wonder. Few shook their heads. It was once again Guard One, apparently the bravest of them all, that spoke.

“He doesn’t tell us where he goes. If anyone knows it's those in his tower… you cut a part of it off, but they should still be there. The loyal ones. His advisors and guard. He rarely takes them on missions, although few of us belong to different squads he uses. He always rotates shifts though.”

Paranoid motherfucker.

“And wonderfully magical items?”

“He kept them all with some sort of inventory skill. We have enchanted equipment, but nothing noteworthy. All dungeon spoils went to the treasury.”

“And where’s that?”

“His inventory skill.”

All the more reason to murder him then.

“Alright, I’ll go visit them while my dear little witch becomes your new overlord. I shouldn’t emphasize what will happen if anyone touches her, right?”

Alan could sense Mayra nearing the large world temple in the middle. It was truly a monstrous thing that reflected the size of the Sanctuary. Were the people around from all the conquered places? What was the end goal of gathering everyone?

He used [Dark Step] just to make a point and reappeared some distance away before repeating the process. He tried to use the shadows that didn’t belong to him as destinations, but it didn’t work. It needed to be his shadows, unfortunately, otherwise, there was still a delay. Hopefully, he would learn to do that and keep improving. He liked improvement.

The towers were a shoddy copy of his own. He stopped before the largest. A small thing that rose quite high, but was at least half of the width and didn’t seem to be gathering any sort of mana at all. Just a tower, then.

The door was large, and made of iron, and Alan decided to be a good man and knocked with the pommel of his dagger. His patience lasted about three seconds or so before the shadows rose around him. He was quite enjoying this particular use of [Shadow Creation] and rammed into the stone around. They wrapped around the door and pulled, then pushed. Strength was not Alan’s… strength, but his shadows didn’t need it. Magic didn’t come from muscles, and so they were actually strong. Like his mind. Like his will.

Like how pissed off he was growing once again. A king? That stupid motherfucker had declared himself a king and couldn’t even get a proper tower?!

The hinges screamed one last time and the door went flying off toward the inside. A barrage of skills instantly greeted him and Alan used [Dark Step]. He didn’t want to kill, but maiming was certainly within the acceptable bounds of what he was about to do. After all, he was supposed to be this evil and dark thing, wasn’t he? He had to work on his arrogance and presence, but he had the violence down.

A hand went flying. A stomach was stabbed. A leg broken by tendrils of darkness that rose from the floor. Creative uses of [Shadow Creation] never stopped and Alan didn’t use a single skill other than it.

Perhaps he could be king one day? One of the shadows and cool one-liners. The latter he had to work on. He had spent too long sulking and forgetting what brought him joy in this life before he became a murderous wanderer.

Sarcasm and being an absolute goddamn asshole to the deserving.

“It seems, you guys require a hand to help you with your manners?” he said, waving a severed hand with his shadow limbs. No that wasn’t it. Damn it.

The horrified faces of Rust’s subordinates, and their groans of pain and fear, gave him all the validation he needed.

Meeting new people was such an amazing thing.