The Heir's Dominance

10

In Harry's inner vision, the black aura grew denser and darted sharply towards a point deep within the alley. The air inside the car suddenly felt colder, so much so that Jack’s breath formed a thin mist.

He walked down the narrow, cobbled alley. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly. The further he walked, the more the foul stench of rotting rat carcasses and the smell of old rust stung his nostrils.

At the end of the alley stood a two-story building made of old ironwood, with a sign in front reading, ‘Medal Pawnshop & Art Gallery.'

The cloud of black smoke he had been chasing earlier had, it turned out, gathered thickly above the roof of the building.

It swirled round and round like a mysterious whirlwind, as if it were about to burst through a gap in the roof tiles!

“The thing in there… is calling to its kin,” whispered the Spirit of the Padlock, appearing beside Harry's shoulder.

“There’s another antique locked inside this building. And that cloud of black smoke will be the spark that awakens the cursed spirit within!”

CRAAACCKKK!

From within the darkness of the ‘Medal’ Pawnshop & Art Gallery, it was not the sound of footsteps that he heard. The sound of an object being dragged slowly greeted Harry as he arrived.

Harry braced himself, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkness. A human silhouette slowly emerged across the threshold. An old man with a white beard, wearing shabby clothes stained with dirt. He was the caretaker of the building.

However, the sight before Harry made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The old man’s gait was nothing like that of a human being.

His knees and elbows were bent, twisted in the opposite direction to how they ought to be. He shuffled along, dragging his limp, broken legs, like a wooden puppet whose strings had snapped but who was still being forced to move.

And most terrifying of all, in the old man’s right hand, his blackened fingers were clutching tightly an antique silver hand mirror.

The surface of the mirror was criss-crossed with thick cracks, reflecting a dim glow that seemed to come from nowhere.

“That old man… the way he walks is exactly like Mr. Thomas did earlier!” Harry muttered, startled, remembering how Boss Thomas had been controlled by evil energy in the office.

Harry closed his eyes tightly, gathering what remained of his spiritual focus. He severed his usual sensory perception and drew upon the spiritual energy from deep within his chest to fully open his Third Eye. This supernatural vision felt heavy and drained a great deal of his energy, causing his temples to throb with pain.

When his eyelids opened again, the true image appeared. Through Harry's Third Eye, strands of red light radiated from the surface of the cracked silver mirror. These ethereal strands were directed into the old man’s eye sockets.

A mystical echo resounded loudly in Harry's mind. A series of mystical inscriptions floated within his field of vision.

[Artifact Detected: Mirror of the Enchanting Soul]

[Danger Level: Medium]

[Effect: Reflects the Victim’s Greatest Fear and Corrodes the Soul from Within]

The mystical system notification appeared once more. Harry took a step back. His breath caught in his throat.

“The difficulty level is increasing…” whispered Harry, his voice trembling, as a sudden sense of self-doubt crept into his mind. “How can there be something like this in an old settlement like this? Can I really fight it?” he muttered, lacking confidence.

“Please… let me go…,” whispered the old man hoarsely.

His voice sounded very faint and full of anguish. From his vacant, unblinking eyes, streams of blood-red tears flowed, dripping down to dampen his white beard.

Harry was suddenly overcome with revulsion at the sight.

However, the old man’s body was no longer his own. Before Harry could react, the old man’s movements suddenly became swift. With a stiff flick of his wrist, he directed the surface of the cracked silver mirror straight towards Harry's face!

BZZZZZZT!

In an instant, the surface of the mirror emitted a blinding flash of blood-red light. The real world around Harry seemed to crumble and shatter into pieces.

The stone walls of the alleyway, the shop signs, and even the foul stench in the air suddenly vanished. Harry's world transformed into a void shrouded in total darkness. There was no floor, no sky. There was only a chill that froze the blood and a sense of emptiness that weighed heavily on his chest.

From behind the pitch-black shadows stretching out before him, abstract forms crept out. Their shapes varied from faceless, long-armed shadows to black figures with red eyes to whispering masses of flesh that Harry had never imagined before.

“You’re just an ordinary human, Harry …" Mysterious whispers rang out deafeningly from all directions, echoing directly inside his skull.

“Go home! Just save yourself. You can’t save anyone. Look at yourself… you’re just a weak office worker!”

“You’re no hero; you’ve got no power whatsoever!”

Those venomous whispers continued to haunt Harry's mind. Anxiety, trauma, and deep-seated fear overwhelmed him. Harry felt his knees give way as he collapsed into the darkness. His vision blurred.

His head felt as though it were about to burst, battered by a wave of overwhelming despair. It felt easier to give in, to let this darkness swallow him whole.

“Boy! Don’t look at that mirror! It reflects the illusion of your greatest fear!” shouted the voice of the Spirit of the Padlock, sounding very faint from behind a veil of mystical illusion.

In the real world, the illusory shadow crept towards him like invisible fingers, choking Harry's throat until he could barely breathe. Meanwhile, the old man, under the mirror’s influence, drew ever closer. In his free left hand, the old man brandished a rusty kitchen knife, ready to plunge it straight into Harry's still-fragile chest.

The cry of the Spirit of the Padlock, which pierced his inner eye, slowly brought Harry's nearly extinguished consciousness back to life.

“I… I’m certainly not a hero…" Harry muttered hoarsely. Tears trickled from the corners of his eyes as he held off the onslaught of the supernatural illusion that was crushing his mind.