The Fake Warlock

The hunt begins

Chapter Eight – The Hunt Begins

The fire had burned through the walls of the company, leaving smoke in its wake. And in smoke, shadows moved.

I could feel them—every hidden eye, every whispered plan, every treacherous hand reaching in darkness to undo me.

The serpent had bitten. Now it was my turn to strike.

Early Surveillance

Morning arrived with muted light, creeping through the blinds like cautious fingers. The offices were quieter than usual. The staff moved with tentative steps, as though the walls themselves had learned to watch. Fear had become a language, and I was fluent.

I began my day where the chaos had started: Finance.

I watched Malik from a distance, noting every tremor, every pause, every glance over his shoulder. His nerves were taut, ready to snap. And they would—soon. Not because I demanded it, but because the serpent demanded it.

Patterns revealed themselves: accounts touched at odd hours, logs cleared and rewritten, approvals rerouted. Whoever commanded Malik’s hand moved like a ghost, leaving instructions in echoes rather than ink.

I traced these ripples, mapping the network of shadows. Every small tremor, every slight misstep, was a thread to follow. And I would pull each thread until the entire web unraveled.

Joan’s Visit

Before I could begin the day’s full audit, Joan appeared in my office. No knock, no hesitation. Her presence was deliberate, predatory, yet carefully controlled.

“You work too hard,” she said, voice soft, almost teasing. “Even fire can burn out if fed too quickly.”

Her eyes glimmered with curiosity, intelligence, and something I couldn’t yet name—a hunger. She did not sit, but leaned against the edge of my desk, the faint scent of her perfume curling in the air.

“I assume the sabotage is still a mystery,” she said, eyes scanning my face as if reading its hidden lines.

“I don’t deal in assumptions,” I replied, voice calm, measured, unyielding. “I deal in facts.”

“And yet,” she pressed, tilting her head, “facts are shaped by perspective. Perhaps the serpent is someone you least expect.”

I studied her carefully. Joan’s words were layered—half observation, half test. She was measuring me, probing for cracks. Allies, enemies… she could be both, and neither.

“Perhaps,” I said finally, letting the ambiguity hang. “But the serpent underestimates one thing: I am not the man they think I am.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “That, Stephen Mark, is what makes you dangerous.”

Dangerous. She had not called me strong, intelligent, or cunning. No—dangerous. And there was admiration in it, too. Or perhaps a warning. I did not care which. All that mattered was usefulness.

The First Trap

By mid-morning, I had prepared my first counterstrike. The serpent had struck at my offices, my staff, my company. It was time to turn the boardroom into a battlefield of truth.

I crafted a false document: a high-value order for industrial equipment destined for a fictitious offshore client. I distributed it quietly, only to departments I knew the serpent had eyes in. The bait was perfect: too valuable to ignore, yet impossible to fulfill without leaving a trace.

By noon, the first tremors appeared. Logistics sent urgent inquiries. The equipment “vanished” en route. The anomalies in the tracking system grew like ripples in water.

It was beautiful—controlled chaos, carefully orchestrated, and entirely within my hands.

And yet, even in triumph, the dizziness returned. The vessel resisted. My hand shook as I signed new directives. My vision doubled, then blurred, then straightened.

The whisper came, harsher than before:

Fulfill what remains undone… or be torn apart.

I clenched my jaw. My focus narrowed. I would not falter. Not today. Not ever.

The Observation

That afternoon, I moved through the company like a predator. Every office, every cubicle, every hallway became a line of sight. I observed Malik, Trent, and others with an intensity that was exhausting even to me.

Malik avoided my gaze, shifting papers nervously. Trent smiled too much, laughed too loudly, gestured too widely. Patterns revealed intent. Small tells, unnoticed by ordinary men, were screams to me.

I made mental notes: who was reliable, who was fearful, who was complicit. Every movement fed my understanding of the boardroom battlefield.

The serpent had left clues, intentional or not. And I would follow them, thread by thread, until the ghost who dared manipulate my company was laid bare.

Joan’s Puzzle

Even as I watched the players in my corporate chessboard, Joan remained a variable I could not yet calculate. She moved with grace, confidence, and intelligence, her actions always just shy of overt influence.

She offered insight without direction, assistance without obligation. And always, always, she tested me.

That evening, she returned to my office. This time, she brought nothing but herself.

“You’re chasing shadows,” she said softly, leaning in slightly. “And yet…” Her eyes met mine, piercing, unreadable, “…you are beginning to understand their moves.”

I said nothing, letting her words hover like smoke. She was right, of course. Every shadow had a source. Every movement could be traced.

“But caution,” she continued, voice lighter now, almost playful, “can be as dangerous as recklessness. One misstep, and you could lose more than just a shipment or a ledger.”

I leaned back, letting her observation settle. Joan was a mirror—reflecting the very strategy and danger I had not yet admitted to myself. Allies or enemies, she could be either. And that made her the most dangerous presence in the company next to the serpent.

She smiled faintly and left. Her perfume lingered, a silent reminder that even fire needed air.

The First Strike

Night fell, and the offices were empty. I moved through the building, checking every access point, every server terminal, every ledger. The traps I had set during the day had begun to hum—false orders rerouted, falsified approvals, unusual accesses logged.

The serpent had taken the bait.

I traced the digital breadcrumbs with precision, each step bringing me closer. And yet, even as I followed the trail, my body screamed its resistance. The dizziness struck again, more violently this time, a wave pulling me sideways, threatening collapse.

The whisper, now like a growl of ice:

Fulfill what remains undone… or be torn apart.

I clenched my fists, forcing alignment. Focus. Precision. Patience.

The serpent thought it was testing me. They did not know they had merely signaled the beginning of my hunt.

The Network Revealed

By 2 a.m., I had mapped the first three layers of the serpent’s network. Malik was a pawn, Trent a provocateur, but neither was the source. The hand that moved them was hidden, careful, methodical.

Yet even from shadows, it had left patterns. Patterns that I could read. Connections, anomalies, inconsistencies—breadcrumbs only I could follow.

I smiled faintly. Fire reveals truth. And the serpent’s fire had done just that.

The hunt had begun.

A Vow to the Shadows

I stood at the office window, looking down at the city, lit like veins of molten gold. My reflection in the glass was Stephen Mark—but beneath the surface, the soul that now inhabited the vessel gleamed sharper, colder, more determined.

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

I clenched my fists until the nails bit into the palms.

“Let them burn. Let them test me. 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.”

Joan, the serpent, the pawns—they had lit the fire.

But I was the blaze.

And blaze never yields.

The hunt had begun.