The Heir's Dominance

7

From the pool of foul-smelling ink on the floor, a clump of thick red ink with a pungent, coppery odor rose into the air. The clump swelled, taking the shape of a faceless, towering giant.

“You’ve only got three minutes before your boss becomes that spirit’s eternal dwelling place.”

“Three minutes?! Are you joking?!” Harry shouted, gritting his teeth as he endured the pain radiating from his back, which had just slammed into the filing cabinet due to a surge of supernatural energy.

“Who’s joking, lad?” The Spirit of the Padlock hovered above Harry's shoulder, its voice cold and devoid of humor.

“Look at your boss’s chest! His aura has already dimmed! If those threads absorb all his life force within three minutes, that ink-like figure will take on a permanent physical form and kill him!”

Jack, standing next to Harry, got goosebumps watching Harry talking to himself. Jack knew that his best friend must be communicating with an invisible creature. Jack braced himself as Harry also began to prepare.

SREK!

"Get out of the way, Jack! This is dangerous." Harry pushed Jack aside.

The figure gathered the scattered remnants of ink into a gigantic form made of ink clumps.

"Demon!" Harry dodged it. He leapt and rolled to the right nimbly, avoiding the deadly swipe. He landed behind a concrete pillar in the office, breathing heavily. Harry was scared out of his wits, but he couldn’t just run away and leave his office like that.

"Use your brain, Harry!" snapped the Spirit of the Padlock, screaming in Harry's ear.

"That figure is merely a creation of the evil spirit inside the pen! Its body cannot be harmed by your silver dagger because it is merely a mass of liquid. Use your head!"

"The center of its aura… that’s where the pen is! But the pen is attached to Mr. Thomas!" cried Harry, interpreting the spirit’s instructions.

"Brilliant! You’ve found it! Quick, sever the blood link between the pen and Mr. Thomas! But remember, if your blade touches Mr. Thomas’s skin whilst his energy is active, it’s his soul that will be split in two!" commanded the Spirit of the Padlock.

“Then how am I supposed to do it? I can’t defend myself or even hold a knife properly!” Harry hissed in frustration. Adjusting the figures in the financial reports was clearly far easier than performing ‘mystical surgery’ on his own boss whilst he was in a trance!

"Believe in your own abilities! No one can help you but yourself!"

ROAR!

The ink figure crashed into the concrete pillar, shattering it until it cracked. Its power grew as Mr. Thomas’s life force was drained.

At the same moment, Mr. Thomas stood up, moving in jerky, rapid strides. The pen in his hand shot up, pointing straight at Harry's neck like the Angel of Death.

“Don’t… interfere… with this… report!” roared Mr. Thomas in a terrifying, double-pitched shriek.

Harry didn’t back down this time. Drawing on what little courage he had left and his empathy for his boss, he actually ran towards Mr. Thomas to meet his charge.

When they were just half a meter apart, Harry bent his knees and slid across the slippery floor. He was now right between Mr. Thomas’s legs!

Whilst positioned beneath Mr Thomas’s crotch, Harry looked up. Through his inner eye, he saw the thickest knot of aura threads embedded right at Mr. Thomas’s wrist—the exact point where his skin came into direct contact with the handle of the antique pen.

“God, help me!” Harry cried out in his heart.

BZZZZZZT!

The iron shackle around Harry's neck reacted instantly. A burning warmth surged from his pubic bone, coursing straight into the blade of the Silver Dragon Dagger in his right hand.

A golden-blue light burst brightly from the dagger. Harry slashed the dagger through the air with perfect precision. The blade struck the one-millimetre gap between Mr Thomas’s wrist and the pen’s handle!

CRASH!

A supernatural sound, like shattering glass, echoed loudly throughout the fourth floor. The strands of blackish-red aura binding Mr. Thomas snapped all at once!

“AAGHHHRRRGGGHHH!”

Mr. Thomas screamed hysterically as the channel through which his soul was being drawn out was forcibly severed. His plump body immediately collapsed onto the floor. Harry, who was standing below, did not have time to get completely out of the way; he was slowly crushed but managed to brace himself against the falling body. Mr. Thomas fainted and lost consciousness once more.

The antique gold-tipped pen was flung into the air, spinning round a few times before finally landing and sticking upright in the carpet.

Without the supply of life force from Mr. Thomas, the giant ink figure behind them roared in pain. Its dense ink body began to melt, dissolving back into a helpless pool of ordinary ink on the floor.

“We’ve done it…” Harry gasped, collapsing exhausted beside Mr. Thomas. His hands were shaking violently as he sheathed his silver dagger.

“Not yet, lad! Don’t relax just yet!” cried the Spirit of the Padlock suddenly, pointing towards the pen on the floor. “Look at it with your inner eye!"

It turned out that the antique pen was not destroyed. From its golden tip, thick red smoke billowed, taking the shape of an old man’s face as he groaned in agony. The spirit bound within the pen was trying to escape, creeping towards a gap in the air in search of a new victim!

“He’s trying to escape! Secure him and draw up a contract at once!” ordered the Spirit of the Padlock firmly.

"Use the blood on your finger from earlier, touch the golden tip, and utter the command of submission!"

"What’s the command? You haven’t taught me yet!" Harry interrupted, panicking.

"I’ll guide you!”

Harry crept closer to the pen. He pressed his finger against a small wound on his index finger—which had not yet fully healed—and dabbed some fresh blood directly onto the golden tip of the pen.

“In the name of the Guardian of the Antique Shop… submit!” said Harry in a firm and calm tone, following the guidance of the Spirit of the Padlock.

CLICK!