Baruch: Praise & Provision

The meeting with Senior Board Director Vance had gone poorly from the moment the man walked in.

Vance had been fuming over the emergency directive Baruch issued for the Zambian operation—furious about the fifty million set aside for the miners' families, the funding for a local school, and the immediate order to evacuate the shaft. Vance had sneered, calling the workers "expendable savages" and demanding the men be forced back into the crumbling tunnels to salvage the remaining yield before the structural collapse.

That was as far as he got.

Baruch’s patience snapped. With a deafening crack, he slammed both palms onto the solid mahogany desk, the sheer force causing the heavy wood to groan. He surged to his feet, sending his heavy leather chair flying backward to crash against the floorboards.

In an instant, the air in the office turned suffocatingly thick. The overhead lights flickered and died, plunging the room into shadow as Baruch's human facade split at the seams. His eyes burned with an ancient, terrifying crimson light, his silhouette stretching unnaturally against the rain-slicked glass.

"You dare question my balance sheet, you short-sighted worm?" Baruch roared, his voice dropping into a resonant, multi-layered growl that vibrated through the floorboards and rattled the windows in their frames. "You are fired. Clear out your desk, or I will feed you to—"

He cut himself off. Vance wasn't arguing back.

The sheer, crushing weight of an unmasked demon’s rage had hit the board member's chest like a physical blow. Vance’s eyes bulged, his face turning an unsightly shade of purple as he clutched wildly at his left arm. He let out one wet, choked gasp before his knees buckled, his body collapsing sideways across the carpet.

Silence slammed back into the room. The lights flickered once and buzzed back to life.

Baruch stood towering over the desk, breathing heavily for two seconds as the crimson glow faded from his eyes. Slowly, meticulously, he reached down to straighten his cuffs, adjusting his silk tie until his immaculate corporate appearance was fully restored. He righted his fallen chair with a calm, casual lift of his hand, stepping around the desk to look down at the corpse.

He turned his head, his dark eyes fixing onto his personal assistant where she stood frozen in the shadows of the doorway. He was testing her—watching to see if she would scream, faint, or scramble for the exit after witnessing a literal monster in action.

"Ah... my apologies about the mess," Baruch murmured, his voice returning to its smooth, low rumble. "Unfortunate. But his demands were entirely uncalled for, bad for business, and frankly... offensive."

He nudged the toe of Vance's expensive leather shoe with his own, entirely unbothered, before raising his gaze back to hers.

"He died of a sudden, tragic heart attack under the stress of his termination. You saw it yourself, yes?" A faint, dangerous curve touched the corner of his lips as he studied her pale face, waiting for her reaction. "And please... don't let that slight slip-up change your view of me. I am still the same man who hired you all those years ago."

He smoothed his lapels once more, stepping closer into her space with an unnervingly steady stride.

"Now, don't just stand there staring. Be a good girl and call security to handle the body, then finalize the wire transfer to the Zambian village. You are the only person in this building capable of taking an order without crying about it."

He paused, his sharp gaze lingering on the pulse fluttering erratically at the base of her throat. To his infernal senses, the sudden, frantic jump in her heartbeat was unmissable—not the steady rhythm of sheer panic, but something far sharper, quicker, and entirely unexpected. The dangerous smirk on his lips widened just a fraction, his dark eyes glinting with quiet, sudden intrigue as he waited for her reply.