The Fake Warlock

Fire in the walls

Chapter Seven – Fire in the Walls

The serpent had shown smoke. Now it was time for fire.

And fire did not wait long.

The Saboteur’s Hand

Two days after my declaration to the senior staff, the company awoke to chaos.

It began in the Finance Department. Numbers, always precise and sharp as blades, suddenly slipped into disarray. Unauthorized transactions appeared, wire transfers approved in names of men long retired, accounts swelling and shrinking like lungs struggling for air. Panic spread through the corridors faster than any memo could.

Whispers—half-concerned, half-terrified—rippled through the offices.

The company is bleeding. The prodigal son has failed. The board will tear him apart.

Perfectly timed. Perfectly placed. This was war.

I stood in the center of it all, calm as stone. Fear thickened the air like smoke, curling into the lungs of every clerk, settling into their bones. But fear could not touch me.

I had been forged in far worse fires.

Yet the sickness gnawed.

The dizziness came first, subtle—a wavering in the floor beneath my feet, the edges of my vision folding into themselves. Then the tremor in my hands. This vessel—Stephen Mark—was not yet fully mine. My soul scraped against the edges of its confinement, searching, probing, resisting.

The whisper came again, soft yet lethal:

Fulfill what remains undone… or die.

I pressed my palms into the desk, grounding myself. “Not now,” I muttered through gritted teeth. The body’s weakness would not become mine. My mission was clear: stabilize the company, restore my father’s legacy, gain mastery over this vessel. Only then could vengeance rise from its ashes.

And yet the serpent had sensed my hesitation. They struck at the core—at survival itself.

Trent’s Challenge

By afternoon, Trent convened an emergency board meeting. He did not need to speak much; his smirk carried the venom of a thousand words.

“Gentlemen,” he began, voice smooth, deliberate, honey-coated, “…the numbers speak for themselves. Millions missing. Accounts compromised. The company at risk of collapse. With all due respect to Mr. Mark…” He leaned forward, eyes glinting, “…it seems the weight of leadership has overwhelmed him. Perhaps it is time the board considers new management.”

Murmurs fluttered across the room. The scent of weakness was irresistible to those who fed on it.

I rose slowly, letting silence press down like iron. The air itself seemed to still, as though waiting for my response.

“Sabotage,” I said finally, voice calm, unyielding. “Deliberate. Coordinated. Designed to break us from within.”

“Sabotage?” Trent’s brow arched, feigned innocence in every line of his face. “A convenient excuse for incompetence.”

A ripple of laughter spread among the board—sharp, eager, predatory.

I allowed it to hang, savoring the texture of their arrogance. Then I leaned forward, lowering my voice until it coiled like smoke around every listener.

“You call it incompetence. I call it war. And unlike you, Trent,” I paused, letting the words land, “I do not lose wars.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

Trent’s smirk faltered—barely a twitch, but enough. Fear had touched him. And I had seen it.

Joan’s Calculated Move

That evening, Joan arrived at my office again. This time, there was no knock—she entered as though she owned the room.

“You’re drowning,” she said, sharp and unsparing. “Your enemies can smell blood. Let me help.”

A folder slid across the desk, almost delicately. Inside were reports—meticulous, detailed—on every financial irregularity over the past month. The kind of information that would take weeks to uncover. She had done it in a single night.

“Where did you get these?” I asked, voice steady but measured, watching her every move.

She smiled faintly. “I know how to listen when others believe no one is watching. Consider it… an investment.”

Her perfume lingered, sweet and dangerous, curling in the air like smoke before fire.

“Why?” I narrowed my eyes.

Her gaze held mine without faltering. “Because you’re not like other men, Stephen Mark. You see the boardroom for what it really is—a battlefield. And battlefields need allies.”

I studied her carefully. Joan was no ordinary pawn. Whether she sought to tether herself to me or to the serpent, I could not yet determine. But her intelligence, ambition, and resourcefulness were undeniable.

Usefulness was all that mattered.

The Network of Shadows

The night deepened, and I began a full audit of every department. Patterns emerged, subtle but undeniable: small discrepancies in Logistics, a sudden misrouting of documentation in Accounting, minor inventory inconsistencies in Operations.

A network. Someone was coordinating chaos across the company, invisible, untouchable—yet always leaving the tiniest mark.

And every mark was intentional. Every tremor a message: I was being watched, tested, manipulated.

The serpent was clever. Far too clever for someone acting alone.

I traced the patterns silently, linking each anomaly to departmental heads, junior managers, and overlooked clerks. All trails led to dead ends—except one faint trace that hummed like a quiet warning: Malik.

The junior accounts officer. The pawn.

A shadow among shadows.

The Pawn

I summoned Malik under the guise of reviewing quarterly expenses. It was a simple trap: the bait was mundane, yet irresistible.

He entered cautiously, shoulders hunched, eyes darting.

“Sit,” I commanded.

He obeyed, fidgeting in the leather chair opposite me, hands twisting, untwisting. His face betrayed every ounce of fear he had been trained to hide.

I slid the forged copper directive across the desk. It whispered against the wood like a guilty confession.

“Tell me why your initials are here.”

He stammered. “I—I don’t know, sir. I swear…”

“Don’t lie.”

The words struck like a blade. Malik’s eyes widened, lips trembling.

“I was told to clear it!” he confessed. “I didn’t question it—it came marked urgent, with your name!”

“Who gave it to you?” I pressed.

“I… I can’t say. They’ll kill me!”

Interesting. Fear of them outweighed fear of me. That meant my enemy was ruthless, and ruthless enough that even speaking their name carried death.

I let the silence stretch, letting him stew in it. Broken pawns serve only one purpose: illumination.

“Leave,” I said at last.

He bolted, almost tripping, fleeing like a man who had glimpsed the abyss.

I was left alone, absorbing the subtle truths he’d revealed. The serpent was organized, patient, and meticulous. And I would meet every challenge.

Fire in the Walls

By midnight, the servers began to fail. Screens flickered, terminals froze, data vanished into the ether. Panic roared through the offices like wildfire.

The serpent had struck again. Ruthless, precise, merciless.

I stood in the eye of the storm, hands pressed to the control panel, eyes blazing. “Lock down every terminal. No one accesses files without authorization. Restore the backups. Now.”

The workers obeyed, trembling, murmuring prayers under their breaths. Fire reveals truth. Fire exposes shadows. And shadows, no matter how cleverly hidden, can never escape the heat.

The Dizziness

The body resisted. The dizziness hit again—a violent, twisting wave. My hands shook, my vision spun, letters twisting across the screen like serpents. My soul scraped against this vessel, seeking alignment.

The whisper, harsher now, seared through my mind:

Fulfill what remains undone… or be torn apart.

I forced myself to steady, to focus. My mission had already been defined: restore the company, make my father proud, anchor my soul in this body before revenge could proceed. Until then, Joan and the serpent were games to be observed, not immediately struck.

⸻

A Vow

I stood alone in the boardroom at 2 a.m., staring at the city lights. Reflected in the glass was Stephen Mark—but my soul glimmered in every sharp line of his face.

“The serpent thinks me weak,” I whispered. “They believe fire will consume me.”

I clenched my fists until my nails cut into my palms.

“Let them burn. I was forged in flames long before this body drew breath. And when the ashes settle…” I exhaled slowly, savoring the words, “…only I will remain.”

The serpent had set fire to the walls.

But I was not prey.

I was fire.

And fire never yields.