34 Machiavellian Plan

Lucas moved silently through the winding, narrow streets of the magical quarter in Riyadh, his invisibility spell rendering him completely undetectable. The ancient mud-brick buildings towered above him, their geometric patterns and Arabic calligraphy etched into the walls, a clear indicator to the rich magical heritage of the region. The air was heavy with the scent of exotic spices, saffron, and agarwood, wafting from the various apothecaries and perfume shops that lined the alleys.

I need to be extremely cautious, Lucas thought, carefully navigating through the crowds of witches and wizards in traditional Saudi attire, their flowing white thobes, abayas, and checkered red-and-white ghutras a sea of culture and tradition. Any misstep could jeopardize my mission and draw unwanted attention.

He paused near a group of elderly wizards engaged in a heated discussion, their weathered faces animated with passion. Lucas focused his mind, using Legilimency to delve into their thoughts. Images of daily life, family concerns, and political debates filled his mind, but a fleeting thought about the recent unrest in the magical underworld caught his attention.

The disappearance of the Ebon Hand has left a power vacuum, he pondered, filing away the information for later. But who's bold enough to step into their shoes?

As he pressed on, Lucas noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The buildings became more nondescript, the alleyways narrower and less inviting. The air grew thick with a sense of unease, and the crowds thinned, replaced by shadowy figures lurking in the periphery. This must be where the less savory elements operate, he thought, his senses on high alert.

He approached an elderly witch, her face lined with wisdom and her eyes sharp with cunning. She sat on a worn carpet, surrounded by an array of ancient magical artifacts and talismans. Lucas probed her mind, sifting through the layers of knowledge and secrets hidden within. A name surfaced: Nasim al-Aakhir, whispered in connection with a recent spate of high-profile assassinations.

Interesting, Lucas mused, his curiosity piqued. But I need more than just a name.

He moved on, his invisible form weaving through the labyrinthine alleys until he came upon a small, nondescript door set into the wall. A faint magical aura emanated from its surface, and Lucas could sense the presence of a concealment charm. There must be something of importance hidden here, he pondered, his mind already working on a way to bypass the enchantment.

Using a subtle unlocking spell, Lucas slipped inside, finding himself in a dimly lit room filled with various magical artifacts, ancient tomes, and scrolls. He quickly reinforced his invisibility, ensuring his presence remained undetected. As he explored the space, a large map of the Arabian Peninsula caught his eye, various locations marked in glowing Arabic script. Lucas studied the map intently, committing the locations to memory.

These could be key points of interest for the local underworld, he contemplated, his mind already formulating a plan to investigate further.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and two men entered the room, their faces obscured by the hoods of their black abayas. Lucas held his breath, his invisibility keeping him hidden from view as he observed their interaction.

The men began to converse in hushed Arabic, their voices low and urgent. Lucas, having learnt the language after dispatching of the Ebon Hand, followed along, gleaning what information he could.

"The Nasim al-Aakhir is growing bolder by the day," the taller of the two men said, his tone clearly showing his concern. "They're taking on high-profile targets that even the Ebon Hand would have hesitated to pursue."

The other man nodded, his body language tense and alert. "Their leader, Zain Al-Abidin, is a force to be reckoned with. They say he has spies in every corner of the magical world, always one step ahead of his enemies."

Lucas listened closely. Zain Al-Abidin, he repeated mentally, committing the name to memory.

As the men continued their discussion, Lucas used Legilimency to probe their thoughts, carefully sifting through the images and memories that flooded his mind. He caught glimpses of clandestine meetings in opulent villas, whispered conversations about high-stakes contracts, and a growing sense of unease among the magical community.

The Nasim al-Aakhir is definitely a force to be reckoned with, Lucas concluded cautiously. But I need to dig deeper and know more about them.

The men eventually left the room, and Lucas emerged from the shadows, his mind already plotting his next move. He studied the map once more, noting the locations of several known magical black markets and underground meeting places.

I'll start there, he thought, a grim smile spreading across his face. I'll surely be able to find out more information there.

Lucas slipped out of the room, his invisible form merging seamlessly with the shadows of the alleyway. He made his way to a nearby tea house, known for its discreet clientele and the valuable information that flowed as freely as the fragrant mint tea. He thanked the men he found just now for this valuable information.

As he settled into a corner, Lucas focused his mind, using Legilimency to skim the surface thoughts of the patrons around him. Snippets of conversations, whispered secrets, and veiled allusions to the Nasim al-Aakhir's growing influence filled his mind.

He honed in on a group of wizards huddled around a table, their faces etched with fear as they discussed the latest exploits of the mercenary group. Lucas delved deeper into their thoughts, sifting through the layers of information until he found what he was looking for: a name, whispered with reverence and terror in equal measure.

Tariq Al-Zahrani, Lucas repeated mentally. Zain Al-Abidin's right-hand man.

With this new information, Lucas began to formulate a multi-layered plan, his mind going over the possibilities. He already had a good plan in mind, but it wouldn't be easy. It would require him to mentally manipulate more than one person, and would get numerous people killed. But to be honest, maybe it's because of Voldemort's lingering influence, but he doesn't care that much. If it were innocent people it would be a different story, but assassins, mercenaries and oil magnates do not deserve his mercy. 

As he rose from his seat, Lucas cast one last glance around the tea house, his invisible form slipping unnoticed through the crowd.

oo0ooOoo0oo

In the opulent confines of his Riyadh office, Saad Al-Qahtani sat lost in thought, his mind drifting to the unexpected death of his former rival, Khalid Al-Mansour, over a year ago. The news had come as a shock to the business world, with rumors swirling about the cause of Al-Mansour's untimely demise. Some whispered of foul play, while others speculated about hidden health issues or personal scandals.

Saad leaned back in his plush leather chair, his eyes drawn to the sprawling cityscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun's rays cast a warm glow on the room, illuminating the Islamic calligraphy that adorned the walls, a nod to Saad's public persona as a devout Muslim. Yet, beneath this carefully crafted facade, Saad harbored a secret known only to a select few: he was a squib, born into the influential Al-Qahtani wizarding family.

As he contemplated Al-Mansour's death, Saad's thoughts turned to the information he had gleaned from his magical relatives. They had revealed that the Al-Mansour family, too, had ties to the wizarding world, though Khalid himself was believed to be a Muggle, likely unaware of his family's magical heritage. The irony of their shared circumstances was not lost on Saad, who had always felt like an outsider in both the magical and Muggle realms.

Saad's mind began to wander, recalling the fierce business rivalry he had shared with Al-Mansour. They had clashed repeatedly over oil contracts and market share, each seeking to outmaneuver the other in a high-stakes game of corporate chess. In the wake of Al-Mansour's death, Saad had seized the opportunity to expand his own empire, absorbing a significant portion of his late rival's assets and solidifying his position as a dominant force in the industry.

Suddenly, an icy presence invaded Saad's mind, its tendrils burrowing deep into his thoughts and memories. He gasped, his body tensing as a wave of fear and revulsion washed over him. It felt as though an invisible force was ripping through his psyche, tearing at the very fabric of his being.

No, please, Saad pleaded silently, his eyes squeezing shut as he gripped the armrests of his chair, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. This can't be happening. It's like my mind is being violated, my innermost thoughts and secrets laid bare.

The presence grew stronger, its icy touch spreading through Saad's mind like a malignant cancer. Memories began to surface, twisted and distorted, as though viewed through a cracked and tainted lens. He saw himself contacting his family, the Al-Qahtanis, and discussing the need to eliminate Khalid Al-Mansour and the Ebon Hand assassins, who had been a thorn in their side for far too long.

In this warped version of events, Saad watched as he hired the notorious Nasim al-Aakhir mercenary group to carry out the deed, promising them wealth and power in exchange for their loyalty. The scenes played out in excruciating detail, each moment seared into Saad's brain like a white-hot brand. He saw the blood, the violence, the sheer brutality of the attacks, and felt a sickening sense of satisfaction that made his stomach churn.

Yes, Saad, a sinister voice whispered, its tone dripping with malice. You orchestrated it all. You hired the Nasim al-Aakhir to take out your rivals, to clear the path for your own ascent to power. Al-Mansour's blood is on your hands, and you reveled in it.

Saad's body shook, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought against the insidious presence that had invaded his mind. He tried to cling to the truth, to the knowledge that he had not been involved in Al-Mansour's death, but the false memories continued to assault him, each one more vivid and convincing than the last.

But why stop there? the voice purred, its words like poison honey. You could hire the Nasim al-Aakhir to destroy oil refineries across the globe, plunging the world into chaos and making them dependent on your oil. Imagine the wealth, the power, the sheer domination you would wield...

Saad's mind recoiled in horror, a small part of him desperately trying to resist the vile suggestions that flooded his thoughts. He saw himself plotting the destruction of refineries, the sabotage of pipelines, and the manipulation of markets, all in the name of greed and power. The images were so real, so tangible, that he could almost feel the heat of the flames and smell the acrid smoke that choked the air.

No, this isn't me, Saad thought, his mental voice weak and fading. I'm not a monster. I couldn't do these things, no matter how much I might want to see my rivals fall.

But the presence only grew stronger, its icy tendrils tightening their grip on Saad's mind. It is your destiny, Saad, it whispered, its voice seductive and alluring. Embrace the darkness within you, and the world will be yours for the taking. You've already taken the first steps, and there's no turning back now.

Saad's hand moved of its own accord, reaching for a pen and paper. He watched in horror as he began to write, detailing the complex plot to eliminate Al-Mansour and seize control of the oil market. The words flowed onto the page like a poisonous river, each sentence a damning sign to his supposed guilt.

Yes, Saad thought, his mind now fully ensnared by the insidious presence. I did it. I hired the Nasim al-Aakhir to kill Al-Mansour and the Ebon Hand. And now, I'll use them to bring the world to its knees, to make them all bow before me as the undisputed king of oil.

With a shaking hand, Saad signed the document, his signature a final seal of his fate. He leaned back in his chair, a twisted triumphant look appearing on his features, even as a small, distant part of his mind screamed in silent agony.

And then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the presence vanished, leaving Saad alone with the shattered remnants of his psyche. He stared at the paper before him, the words he had written now seared into his mind, a permanent reminder of the atrocities he believed he had committed.

I did it, Saad thought once more, a manic gleam in his eyes. I killed Al-Mansour, and now I'll destroy anyone who stands in my way. The world will tremble before me, and I will rise from the ashes as the one true master of the oil industry.

With a heart filled with darkness and a mind twisted beyond recognition, Saad Al-Qahtani set forth to unleash a storm of chaos and destruction upon the world, unaware that he was nothing more than a pawn in a far more sinister game.