The Dark Warlock's Game

Chapter 39: Cracks in the Armour

“Is that all you’ve got?” Simon smirked, the flames in his hands intensifying again.

Vardy didn’t answer. He stepped forward, his staff glowing brighter as he sent another blast, hitting Simon on the chest as he staggered backward.

Simon growled, anger written on his face. The flames in his hands grew larger as he charged toward Vardy.

Ferah, now!” Vardy shouted.

Ferah moved quickly, her sword slashing toward Simon. He blocked her strike with a wall of fire, the heat forcing her to retreat. 

Tracy moved with her spear, aiming for his side, but Simon twisted away, the fire around him forming a protective barrier.

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” Simon said, his voice filled with mockery. “But it won’t save you.”

Simon slammed his hands on the ground, sending a wave of fire spreading across them.

“Move!” Vardy shouted, raising his staff.

The artifact pulsed with energy, and a barrier of dark magic formed around the group, shielding them from the worst of the flames. 

Simon laughed, the sound echoing through the courtyard. “Impressive! I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Vardy lowered the barrier, his breathing heavy. “You’re underestimating me.”

Simon’s grin widened. “We’ll see about that.”

---

In a nearby building, a small group of bystanders stood near a window, watching the fight. Their whispers filled the room.

“Who are they?” one of them asked, their voice trembling.

“The Dud,” another replied, their tone hushed. “And Simon Wells. Dean’s man.”

“Should we call someone?” a third person asked.

“No,” the first said quickly. “If we get involved, we’re dead. Just stay quiet.”

The group fell silent.

---

The fight continued. Simon sent another wave of fire toward Vardy, the flames roaring as they closed in. Vardy raised his staff, the artifact absorbing the energy and redirecting it back toward Simon.

The force of the blast knocked Simon off balance, but he recovered quickly, his flames growing brighter. “You’re full of surprises, Dud. I’ll give you that. But you’re still out of your depth.”

“We’ll see,” Vardy said, his voice steady.

Simon charged again, his flames trailing behind him. Ferah stepped in his path, her sword slicing through the air. 

The blade caught his shoulder, drawing blood, but Simon didn’t stop. He knocked her aside, sending her crashing into a wall.

“Ferah!” Tracy shouted, rushing to her side.

“I’m fine,” Ferah said, though her voice was strained.

Vardy seized the opportunity, his staff glowing with dark energy. He sent another blast toward Simon, the force of it slamming into his chest and driving him to his knees.

Simon coughed and blood dripped out from the corner of his mouth. His flames got weaker now but still dangerous. He looked up at Vardy, his grin gone, replaced with cold fury.

“This isn’t over,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“It is for tonight,” Vardy replied, raising his staff.

Before Simon could react, Vardy sent one final surge of energy toward him. The blast struck him with full force, knocking him down.

The yard fell silent.

Vardy turned to his group, his chest heaving. Ferah was back on her feet, her sword in hand, while Tracy helped Luthor up from where he’d been hiding.

“We need to move,” Vardy said, his voice tight.

“What about him?” Tracy asked, nodding toward Simon, who laid unconscious.

“He’s not our problem anymore,” Vardy said.

As they turned to leave, Vardy noticed movement from the corner of his eye. He looked up to see the bystanders in the building, their faces pale as they stared down at him.

His gaze locked with one of them, and he realized what they’d seen. The glow of his staff and everything.

Vardy turned away, his jaw tightening. “Let’s go.”

**

DEAN'S EXTENSION 

The room was thick with smoke as Zayn leaned against the table at the center of the room, his arms crossed. 

His sharp eyes scanned the group, the way some avoided his gaze. It wasn’t like before. The men and women who was confident, felt uncertain.

“We’re losing ground,” Zayn said, his voice cutting through the uneasy murmurs.

A few heads turned toward him, but most stayed silent. A man seated near the back with a patchy beard, laughed. “We’re fine. Dean’s got it under control.”

“Has he?” Zayn shot back, his tone sharper now. “We’ve lost three supply runs this month. The Dud are taking over and Dean isn't doing anything.”

“Watch your mouth, Zayn,” the bearded man growled. “You forget who you’re talking about.”

Zayn pushed off the table, “I know exactly who I’m talking about. Dean’s the reason we’re in this mess. He’s slipping, and you all know it.”

A woman sitting near the center of the room, her hair tied back in a tight braid, raised an eyebrow. “And what do you suggest? That we abandon him? You think we’ll last a day without his protection?”

“Protection?” Zayn scoffed. “Is that what you call this? Running scared, losing men, bleeding resources? If this is protection, I’d hate to see what failure looks like.”

“Careful, Zayn,” the woman said, her voice low.

“Why?” Zayn asked, his voice rising. “Because Dean might hear me? Let him. Someone needs to say it.”

The room fell silent.

Dean’s kept us alive this long,” the bearded man argued breaking the silence, slamming his fist on the table. “You think you can do better?”

“I think we need to stop pretending he’s invincible,” Zayn shot back. “Dean’s not untouchable, and the Dud’s proving that every day.”

“The Dud’s a freak,” the woman with the braid said, her voice cold. “Whatever power he’s using, it won’t last. Dean will take care of him.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Zayn asked, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “What if the Dud wins? What then?”

The room fell silent again.

“You’re scared,” the bearded man said after a moment.

“You’re damn right I’m scared,” Zayn replied, his voice steady. “And so are you. You just won’t admit it.”

Zayn paced the room, frustrated.

“This isn’t just about survival,” he said, his voice sharp. “It’s about loyalty. Dean’s losing his grip, and if we don’t act now, we’ll all go down with him.”

“And what would you have us do?” the woman with the braid asked.

Zayn stopped, his gaze sweeping over the room. “We start thinking for ourselves. Stop waiting for orders that don’t come. We take control of our own future.”

“That sounds a lot like treason,” the bearded man said, his eyes narrowing.

“Call it whatever you want,” Zayn replied. “But if we don’t change course, we’re dead. All of us.”

**DEAN'S YARD**

Dean sat in his private chamber, the room dimly lit by lanterns. Maps and ledgers covered the desk in front of him, their surfaces marked with red ink.

A man stood across from him, his posture rigid, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Zayn has been stirring the pot,” the man said.

Dean didn’t look up from the map he was studying. His fingers traced a line connecting two points, his mind elsewhere. “Let him.”

The man frowned. “He’s questioning your leadership. It’s starting to spread.”

Dean’s hand stilled, and he finally looked up, his piercing gaze locking onto the man. “Do you doubt me, Marcus?”

Marcus hesitated for half a second, not sure whether to answer.

Dean leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Zayn thinks he’s clever. Let him speak his mind. It won’t matter in the end.”

“And if he turns them against you?” Marcus asked.

Dean’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “He won’t.”

---

In the streets above, a small group of children ran round. They passed a vendor packing up his stall, the man muttering under his breath as he secured his wares.

“Busy night,” a voice said from a corner.

The vendor froze, his hand hovering over a crate. Slowly, he turned to see them leaning against the wall, their face hidden under a hood.

“Who’s asking?” the vendor replied, his voice cautious.

The figure stepped forward, the vendor’s touch light showing a scar that ran down side of their face.

“Zayn sent me,” the figure said, their tone low.

The vendor’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but his eyes remained wary. “What does he want?”

“To know where your loyalties lie,” the figure replied.

The vendor hesitated, glancing around before lowering his voice. “Is he not with Dean….”

“Not anymore.. you have to side with Zayn and pledge your loyalty..”

Meanwhile, in the tavern nearby, a group of slums sat, their voices low as they discussed their next move.

“The Dud’s making progress,” one of them said, a young man with a scar across his cheek. “Dean’s losing ground.”

“But not fast enough,” a woman replied, her tone sharp. “We need to hit him harder. Push him over the edge.”

“How?” the young man asked.

The woman leaned forward. “We find his weak spots. The people who are starting to doubt him. And we turn them.”