Absolute Being: I Am Nothing-Chapter 84: The Battle With The Dark Lord

"That would be me," Merlin said.

The Dark Lord studied him for a long moment. His ancient eyes moved over Merlin’s face, his posture, the way he held himself. Then he let out a quiet sound—half chuckle, half sigh.

"You’re a kid," he said.

Merlin’s expression darkened. His jaw tightened. "I hate that. I’m not a kid."

Behind him, Adam leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that only Merlin could hear. "Hey. I’m gonna skip this one. Let you handle it. But take it easy on him, alright? There are people watching. Reading. You know how it is."

Merlin frowned, his brow furrowing. For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—recognition, maybe, or the beginning of understanding. Then it was gone, replaced by confusion that lingered just a moment too long before he shook it off.

"Whatever," he muttered. He stepped forward, away from the group, away from Adam’s strange words. Morgana fell into step beside him, her staff glowing with pale light.

The Dark Lord raised his blade. Behind him, his army stood ready—thousands of soldiers, battlemages, creatures forged in shadow and suffering. The city of Sorrow lay before Merlin, its people hidden behind walls that wouldn’t protect them if this went wrong.

"You don’t have to do this," the Dark Lord said. His voice was calm, almost reasonable. "I’ve seen what you are. What you can become. We could rule together. Shape this world into something neither of us imagined."

Merlin kept walking.

"Not interested."

The first wave of soldiers charged. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Morgana raised her staff. Light exploded from its tip, sending a dozen soldiers flying backward. Merlin didn’t even look at them. He kept his eyes on the Dark Lord.

"Your army," Merlin said. "It’s big."

The Dark Lord smiled. "The biggest this world has ever seen."

"Good."

Merlin raised one hand.

The soldiers at the front of the formation stopped. Their armor—solid steel, enchanted, unbreakable—began to glow. Not with heat. With something else. The metal shimmered, then rippled, then transformed.

Into water.

It poured off their bodies in sheets, leaving them in their underclothes, staring at their hands in disbelief. Weapons followed—swords became liquid, shields dissolved, spears dripped away like icicles in spring.

The Dark Lord’s smile faded.

"What—"

Merlin snapped his fingers.

The water that had been armor and weapons rose into the air, coalescing into a single massive sphere that hung above the army. Then it froze. Then it shattered.

Tens of thousands of ice shards rained down on the soldiers below.

Not killing them. Not even wounding them badly. But pinning them. Trapping them. Holding them in place with frozen chains that wrapped around their limbs and wouldn’t let go.

The army that had conquered continents was immobilized in seconds.

The Dark Lord stared.

Morgana stared.

Even Adam raised an eyebrow.

Merlin kept walking.

"Your fortresses," he said quietly. "Show me."

The Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed. "Show you what?"

Merlin didn’t answer. He just reached out with his awareness—with the part of him that was Energy and Matter, that felt every atom in this world like extensions of his own body. He found them. All of them. The strongholds. The keeps. The prisons. The towers where the Dark Lord’s rule was enforced.

He touched them.

In the northern mountains, the Black Spire—a fortress that had never fallen, its walls enchanted against siege weapons and magic alike—began to crumble. Stone turned to sand. Iron turned to rust. The flags of the Dark Lord fluttered once, then dissolved into nothing.

In the eastern plains, the Iron Hold—where prisoners were kept in darkness for decades—simply... softened. The walls became clay. The bars became wax. Prisoners walked out into sunlight for the first time in years, blinking, confused, free.

In the southern desert, the Obsidian Keep—where the Dark Lord’s inner circle trained, where his most loyal warriors were forged—collapsed inward, not with explosion, but with a quiet sigh, as if the stone itself had decided it was tired of standing.

One by one, every fortress, every garrison, every symbol of the Dark Lord’s power across the continent crumbled, dissolved, transformed into something harmless.

The Dark Lord watched it happen.

Not through reports. Not through messengers. He felt it—the way a parent feels a child’s absence, the way a ruler feels a kingdom’s wounds. Each collapse resonated through him, a physical blow that stole his breath.

"What..." His voice cracked. "What are you doing?"

Merlin finally stopped walking. He stood twenty feet from the Dark Lord, close enough to see the fear beginning to creep into those ancient eyes.

"I’m showing you," Merlin said quietly, "what happens when you build your empire on the suffering of others. It only stands because no one has ever been strong enough to knock it down."

He raised his hand again.

The Dark Lord’s castle—the one behind him, the one that had loomed over this land for five centuries—began to change.

The dark stone lightened first, fading from black to grey to white. The sharp angles softened, becoming curves. The towers that had pierced the sky like weapons lowered, rounded, transformed into something almost peaceful. The flags dissolved. The gates—those massive iron doors that had never been breached—became wood. Simple wood. The kind any carpenter could make.

In less than a minute, the Dark Lord’s castle became a quiet manor house. Warm. Inviting. Nothing like what it had been.

The Dark Lord stared at it.

He said nothing.

Morgana watched Merlin with new eyes. This wasn’t battle. This wasn’t even conquest. This was erasure. Not of life—the people inside those structures had been released, scattered, set free. But of legacy. Of history. Of everything the Dark Lord had built.

"You’re destroying it all," the Dark Lord whispered.

"Yes."

"Five hundred years. Five hundred years of work. Of sacrifice. Of—"

"Of murder." Merlin’s voice was flat. "Of torture. Of fear. Of children growing up in the shadow of your walls, knowing that if they stepped out of line, your soldiers would take them away and they’d never come back." He shook his head slowly. "You didn’t build an empire. You built a prison. And I’m tearing it down."

The Dark Lord’s grip tightened on his blade. "Then I’ll kill you here. Now. Before you can do more."

Merlin looked at him.

Just looked.

"You can try."

The Dark Lord moved.

He was fast—faster than anything mortal, faster than most gods. Centuries of combat, centuries of absorbing power, had made him a weapon in human form. His blade sliced through the air aimed at Merlin’s throat.

Merlin didn’t move.

The blade stopped an inch from his skin.

The Dark Lord strained. Nothing.

Merlin reached up with one finger and touched the blade.

It turned to dust.

The Dark Lord stumbled back, staring at the hilt in his hand, the empty air where his weapon had been.

"That was my—that was the Blade of—"

"I know what it was." Merlin’s voice was soft. "I don’t care."

He took a step forward.

The Dark Lord stepped back.

"I’m not going to kill you," Merlin said. "Not yet."

Hope flickered in the Dark Lord’s eyes.

"You’re going to watch," Merlin continued. "You’re going to watch everything you built crumble. Every fortress. Every army. Every symbol of your power. You’re going to see it all disappear, and you’re going to know that you can’t stop it. That you never could."

The Dark Lord’s face went pale.

"Then," Merlin said quietly, "when there’s nothing left... we’ll talk."

He turned away, walking back toward Adam and the others. Behind him, more structures were falling—watchtowers, supply depots, training grounds. The entire infrastructure of the Dark Lord’s empire, dismantled atom by atom.

The Dark Lord stood alone in the ruins of his power, watching it all slip away.

And for the first time in five hundred years, he had no idea what to do next.