Zack did not speak, because there was nothing left to say. Indeed, this was arguably a bad move on the WizZARD's part, because he had denied discussion then asked for it anyway, and with voice disabled, that left the body.
An opened perception was a weakness. A kindness best not extended to one so soon made an enemy, bound in a trap made from other kindnesses. So as there is evil in the depths of good, there is good in the depths of evil. "I will make the decision for you" was an opening. An 'I' that was indefinite, a decision that referenced the female form but did not preclude other decisions being made, such as total surrender, or having one's selfhood dominated as one was being dominated, and was about to be, and in such the cycle turned. A contract made on condition of someone else extends the contractor, and that has been repeated by the sharing of influence: a confirmation of 'would like to meet you' is not direct sorcery, but in its deflection of offered invitation renders the summons unbound by kind housing. Subterfuge and trickery will not work as expected, but this is unpredictable and direct: no expectation, or perhaps the expectation is to be destroyed for foolishness, overwritten as planned. But if that absurdity of conspiracy can be 'subterfuge', can it thus fail to function as expected? A spell reliant on virginity: lose the virginity, the specific pathway is invalid. Fate has plans, but it certainly dislikes the way this magic is woven, otherwise this spell wouldn't be so hard. An enchantment buried within the body: hospitality within false hospitality, and arguably, home invasion committed first. Sex as a male wouldn't be given willingly in this scenario, but this is already 'unwilling'.
Revulsion. Anger. Abuse, displayed frustration, hostility toward the interposition of force, the desire for sex at the risk of losing it all. The transformation is the nature displayed: thy nature shown is wrath, and know man.
Biblically. With the sex. The Fates don't care for something like a change of gender in the span of mass memory and history: why not one banging to disqualify by loss of virginity? That was a somewhat unexpected outcome, a maze of ambiguities and questionable interpretations that fate and magician alike strove to answer. Perhaps the Fates had backlashed at an attempt to buy them out with planned children instead of fickle love, but insight buried in alcohol strove like the green fairy.
"Fuck." Berri said, a green fairy in question turning around from the window bar area to witness what she had just described; particularly, that Zack had moved forward with unnatural quickness and started forcing himself on the old man. She floated there slack-jawed at her master's defeat, a picture-casting security spell autonomously recording this madness for later playback. A bizarre forcible kiss, spurred by bound awareness, carried on by slamming down arms, aggressively grinding against wizard robes and managing to roughly frot a penis underneath, a choking of an old man, hands trying to liberate hands, black smoke pouring from a silenced mouth as words turned to ash turned to curses turned to miracles turned to cheating turned to the strings of fate gnashing in the revenge of faraway manipulators reneging on a bet to cancel a contract...and the void spoke where one might not.
"Nice try." said the Fates, in a deep twin-voice reverberating with the lord Destiny's stolen suffering and the lady Luck's capricious glee. "Better luck next life."
Zack spat out the silence-turned-sound amid a bitey confused mess of beards and unwanted mouth-to-mouth, a foggy rock of spellwork hurled down its sender's throat in the vicious mockery of a man scorned about to scorn in turn. The WizZARD would swear at clan legacy coming to an inglorious end, had he not both a backfire and a corporate executive choking him to unconsciousness that may or may not be death (the Fates are fickle even now: might he eat his words and return?). Ram horns sprouted from Zach's head.
Contract severed and mind roaming free, Zack dominated the old man in spirit as well as body, high on fate-sworn revenge as a newborn...male succubus? Or maybe a vercubus, gotta be able to spend the semen somehow since he was gonna absorb the 'conceive contract', maybe? Definitely not a pure incubus, Berri thought to herself, the way he was bottoming like a champ and self-lubricating to boot. Somehow Zack had gotten his pants down and started riding the unconscious WizZARD's dick, his own having slurped up the enchantment in that burst of fate and now proceeding to dribble precum like a leaky faucet. And ride he did, though Berri thought the boss had it coming for him the way he hadn't consulted the guy first. Corporate executives are all too often monster-souled bastards, this middle manager a lot more literally than others. Scrounging for the unconscious spellslinger's phone among various robe pockets, Zack sent the unlucky Daisy a text.
"This is Zack." he messaged, still high on fury, lust, and fate bound together in instinctive rampage. "WizZARD's dick is better, but I'm moving on to better pastures. I'm breaking up with you, because you really should've asked first. Fuck this, fuck the world, and maybe someday when we've made up over this sort of thing, fuck you. 💖"
Tossing the phone back to the unconscious mage after licking the remaining cum off him, Zack hefted his pants, wrapped his suit shirt, formed red wings on his back and flexed a newfound spade-tipped thin black tail, before opening the window door and flying off into the daytime skies to get back to work. Berri looked after him, then back at the WizZARD. She decided to call some next of kin situations with the usual 'do not pursue at risk of being fate-sniped' lines wizards had set up for this sort of contract going wrong, and thanked the stars she had a pension lined up in case of boss getting pruned from history or offed by a mark.
It was exhilarating as Zack laughed madly, darting free as a bird through the air, crossing the cityscape before escaping through an unsecured window back to KRUX offices. Some hasty bathroom-raiding later, he'd dismissed his unwelcome suit/prize into some demonic sell-space and returned to regular clothing, phone thankfully undamaged from a short teleport-drop. Wings retracted into some spiritual space, tail wandering about the pants under the suit jacket to be withdrawn if noted, and horns glimmered into ignorability, the shiny new vercubus felt like fucking around at work...and maybe afterward. The blessing of the fates was not the protection of the firstborn, but the stolen curse of sliding history: the right to 'get away with it', so to speak. A simpler talent of 'do as we will to guide the transformed with further transformation' with some sex slapped on rather than the poetic war of magic, but one that Zack intended to be on the front lines of.