The Heir's Dominance

3

TANG!

The wooden mask turned black and billowed thick smoke. It came loose from the dagger Harry had thrust into it. The object tumbled onto the wooden floor, spinning several times before finally coming to rest, lifeless, right at the tip of Harry’s shoe.

Harry fell to his knees. The silver dagger slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor beside him. Harry’s breathing was rapid, short, and irregular. Cold sweat soaked his office shirt from front to back. Blood trickled from his arm, cut by glass, onto the floor.

"I’ve done it… I've done it… Yes! I’ve managed it…," Harry murmured.

Every joint in his legs was shaking violently. He had no strength left, not even enough to support his own weight.

This was his first face-to-face encounter with a supernatural monster, which he’d always dismissed as nothing more than an old wives’ tale. And what seemed most unbelievable to him right now… was that he’d managed to survive. He’d managed to win this mad battle.

Harry’s head felt heavy. His vision began to blur; the colors of the wood around him slowly faded into a gray haze.

His throat felt terribly dry.

The Spirit of the Padlock drifted down through the black ash scattered in the air. It gazed at Harry, who lay limp, with an expression that was hard to read.

Crash!!

Harry’s body collapsed, unconscious.

“You weak little boy!” sneered the spirit of the padlock, taunting Harry. A bright light shone from the padlock pendant Harry was wearing.

A warm sensation spreading from his chest made Harry’s eyes snap open again.

He gasped for air as if he’d just emerged from the water after nearly drowning. His chest rose and fell erratically. Harry reflexively sat up, feeling at his own chest, then quickly checked his arm, which had been cut by shards of glass from the shop window.

Strange. His arm was still stained with dried blood, but the scratch had healed as if he’d never been injured in the first place. The exhaustion that had drained him of all his strength just moments ago suddenly vanished, replaced by a surge of warm energy flowing smoothly through his veins.

[TING!]

A soft chime echoed right inside his head. The warmth from the old padlock pendant around his neck crept upwards, past his throat, then up towards his eyelids. The sensation was not painful. Harry’s eyes were watering profusely. He coughed repeatedly whilst wiping his eyes with the back of his shirt, which was damp with cold sweat.

“Ugh… what on earth is going on now?” he muttered hoarsely.

When Harry opened his eyes again and blinked a few times, his world had changed completely.

Harry was stunned. The colors in his grandmother’s antique shop had faded. The old teak wood, the dull shelves, and the cracked display cases had all lost their original colors, replaced by a translucent silvery-grey hue.

Yet, amidst that greyish gloom, his eyes caught sight of a color that stood in stark contrast, vibrant and spreading across his body.

“What’s this…?” muttered Harry, dumbfounded. His voice trembled. He clenched and unclenched his fist, watching as the blue glow in his hand moved in time with every twitch of his muscles. “Why does everything… look like this?”

“Welcome to another world, you coward,” said the Spirit of the Padlock from above.

“Your soul and your inner eye have just entered a realm in another dimension,” continued the Spirit of the Padlock.

"Your blood, having merged with this padlock pendant, reacted when you plunged the silver dagger into it. You have managed to survive the first trial, and in return, this padlock has unlocked the first tier of your potential."

"Potential...?" Harry furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of these mystical terms with a mind accustomed to logical and structured thinking.

“You have officially gained the ability to see with the Inner Eye at a beginner’s level,” he explained.

“That grey color represents dead physical matter. The golden-blue light in your hand is life energy and the pure aura of the silver dagger. And the black smoke on the mask… is the remnants of the cursed energy from the spirit you have just defeated.”

“But I never asked to be able to see all this!” exclaimed Harry as he stood up. His legs were still a little stiff, but his strength had returned.

“I don’t need this sight!” said Harry in frustration. The Spirit of the Padlock snorted with amusement; its soft chuckle sounded as stiff as the scraping of old wood.

“It’s all fate at work. Fate doesn’t need your consent, Boy,” said the Spirit coldly. He floated towards the blackened wooden mask on the floor.

“Besides, if your eyes aren’t opened now, how are you going to run this antique shop? This place isn’t just any old second-hand shop. Every object here has a ‘price’ and an ‘inhabitant’.”

The Padlock Spirit pointed at the mask on the floor with the tip of his long finger.

"Take that mask. This Barong mask is part of your grandmother’s old collection; it escaped three years ago because its seal was broken. Now, after you’ve broken its energy with the silver dagger, it has submitted once more. Take it and keep it in the locked wooden display case over there in the corner. It is officially your first subjugated artifact."

Harry swallowed hard. Although he felt a twinge of doubt, the firmness in the Spirit of the Lock’s voice and the blue aura glowing in his hand gave him a little fresh courage.

He bent down, reached out his hand, and picked up the wooden mask, which felt cold and stiff. Through his inner eye, Harry could see how the thick black smoke inside the mask slowly dissipated, resignedly enveloped by the blue glow from his palm.

Harry walked over to the locked display case in the corner of the room, placed the mask inside, then turned the old brass key hanging on the door.

CLICK.