The Heir's Dominance

5

"Hah! All right then! I’m going to check my report first. Jack, just wait in the lobby downstairs and have a quick coffee," said Harry as he hurried towards the building’s main glass door.

“Oh, and one more thing! Don’t you dare go up to the fourth floor, whatever happens!”

“Hey, Harry! Where are you off to?! Don’t you want to tell me what’s going on first?!” shouted Jack from behind, but Harry had already sprinted straight into the lobby.

Inside the spacious main lobby of the building, the atmosphere felt very out of the ordinary. A security guard on duty appeared to be fast asleep, slumped over the reception desk. Harry tried calling out to him and shaking his shoulder, but the guard did not stir in the slightest; he was fast asleep.

Harry decided to ignore the row of tightly closed lift doors and headed for the fire escape. He ran up the stairs, one step at a time, towards the fourth floor.

The higher he climbed, the colder, thicker, and heavier the air in the stairwell felt. With every breath, his chest felt tight, as if the oxygen supply inside the building was beginning to run low.

The old padlock pendant around Harry’s neck trembled gently beneath his shirt. The warm glow it emitted acted as a magical shield, keeping Harry's mind focused and warding off the cold draughts that sought to paralyse his spirit.

As soon as Harry’s hand pushed open the thick iron door separating the emergency stairwell from the fourth floor, a pungent smell of copper mixed with the acrid scent of ink immediately assaulted his nostrils.

“Ugh…” Harry groaned softly, covering his nose with his shirt sleeve.

The ceiling lights that usually illuminated the entire accounting department were completely out.

The room, which was usually bright, was now bathed in red light from the computer screen, which had turned red. Dozens of sheets of HVS paper were scattered haphazardly across the floor.

Harry picked them up and examined them closely. His brow furrowed deeply as he saw what was printed on them. Abstract scribbles in deep red ink formed the image of a human-like face with its mouth agape.

Click… click… scratch…

The sound of the main printer in the middle of the room suddenly rang out on its own in the darkness. The machine kept running, automatically printing sheet after sheet of red-inked paper without stopping.

"Mr. Thomas?” called Harry in a soft voice.

He walked between the rows of desks, now empty as their owners had left. His hand moved reflexively behind his back, gripping tightly the hilt of the silver dagger with a dragon-shaped handle that he had tucked beneath the waistband of his shirt.

In the far corner of the room, someone was standing with their back to him.

It was Mr. Thomas!

His body was shaking violently. His right hand kept moving as if writing on the desk belonging to one of the administrative staff, who was now lying unconscious in their chair.

Harry wasn’t paying much attention to the unconscious staff member. All his attention was completely absorbed by the figure of his boss, who had his back to the darkness.

"Mr. Thomas? What are you doing there?” Harry asked more sharply, stepping closer slowly.

Mr. Thomas did not utter a single word in reply. However, the sound of his hands moving across the table seemed utterly absurd.

Srek… srek… srek…

The sound of something scraping across the wooden tabletop with such force that the plywood could be heard cracking and being severely scratched.

Mr. Thomas turned his head, startling Harry. Mr. Thomas’s face looked deathly pale, devoid of any color, like that of a corpse that had been submerged for days. And most terrifying of all… his eyes had turned completely white, with not a single trace of black remaining!

“It must… be finished…” Mr Thomas’s voice emerged from his stiff throat. His tone was heavy, hoarse, and seemed to come from several voices at once. “The target… must… be finished…”

"Mr. Thomas, wake up!” shouted Harry as he took a step back. His right hand was trembling violently behind his back, clutching the hilt of the Silver Dragon Dagger.

“Do you see him as your fat boss? You’re wrong, lad,” whispered the Spirit of the Padlock, its breath brushing against Harry's left shoulder. The figure in the black suit floated casually, observing Mr. Thomas’s distorted body with a judgemental gaze.

"His soul is now bound by the Spirit of Ink. The ancient artifact in this place feeds on anxiety, the fear of being sacked, and frustration to absorb energy."

"So what can I do? Use this dagger again?!" whispered Harry in a panic. "You can! If you want your boss to die by your hand!"

"Then what am I supposed to do?" he asked, frustrated.

“Hmph, that’s your problem,” replied the Spirit of the Padlock coldly and without sympathy. “You can’t hesitate when facing a creature like this. It can feed on your fear.”

Before Harry had a chance to process those words, Mr. Thomas suddenly leapt forward.

His plump body soared through the air at a speed that was completely implausible given his physical build. Harry ducked instinctively, throwing himself to the side and rolling away.

CRASH!

Mr Thomas’s body crashed into a row of staff desks, smashing them to smithereens.

Sheets of HVS paper flew through the air.

“The report… isn’t… complete yet!” groaned Mr. Thomas. He spun round quickly. His movements were like those of a giant spider. Both his hands were braced against the floor with his elbows turned outwards, whilst his head, turned 180 degrees, remained fixed on Harry.

From Mr. Thomas’s shirt pocket, a thick mixture of black and red ink gushed out. The ink did not drip onto the floor but crept like a living creature, forming delicate tentacles that moved wildly.

Sssshhh!

Two ink-black tentacles shot out, aiming for Harry's neck.

Harry flinched, twisting his body as he swung the Silver Dragon Dagger. A sharp silver gleam sliced through the dark air.

CRASH!

Both ink tentacles were severed instantly upon coming into contact with the blade of the magical dagger. The black ink boiled and evaporated into copper-scented smoke as soon as it was touched by the dagger’s sacred aura.

However, the force of the magical energy from the attack sent Harry flying backwards, his back crashing into the giant photocopier in the corner of the room.

“Agh!” Harry winced, clutching his chest, which felt tight.

The old padlock pendant around his neck suddenly began to vibrate violently. A warm sensation spread rapidly through his veins, neutralizing the stinging pain caused by the foul air of the Ink Spirit.

“Good, your reflexes aren’t too bad for a beginner,” praised the Padlock Spirit in a flat tone. “But that dagger can only sever its grip on your boss. This creature’s source of power does not lie in that fat man’s body!”

“Then where?!” shouted Harry as he dodged the sharp swing of the chisel wielded by Mr. Thomas. The metal chisel sliced through the air, just a few centimetres from his cheek, snipping off a few strands of Harry’s hair.