Chapter 9: The Inquisitor

"She is Alastor's woman; do not touch her." Malachi suddenly spoke, moving in a flash to stand before me, completely shielding me behind his tall frame.

"Alastor has many women." The white-clad Inquisitor glanced at me, his gaze cold and indifferent.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. That fickle playboy—I knew believing his words would lead to no good end...

"This one is different," Malachi continued to protect me behind his back. "She is a fledgling created by Alastor."

"Impossible." Arching an eyebrow slightly, the Inquisitor opened his thin lips, his voice detached.

"It came from Alastor’s own mouth; it is the absolute truth."

"You should worry more about yourself." Without looking at me again, the Inquisitor spoke flatly. The little girl remained quiet in his arms, her beautiful glass-like eyes staring at me silently.

Caught in the gaze of those crystalline eyes, my joints felt as if they had rusted over; I couldn't move at all.

"Greatest prophet of the Demon Realm, tell me, can you foresee your own future?" The Inquisitor’s lips curled slowly, his silver hair fluttering in the dark night.

A prophet? Malachi was actually a prophet from the Demon Realm? That day at The Velvet Truffle, he must have foreseen that I would be turned into a vampire by that man in the snow; that was why he warned me not to save him...

Alas, if only I had listened to my elders. Had I known Malachi had existed for four hundred years, I certainly would have obeyed him...

Regret comes too late.

"Inquisitor, I can indeed foresee your future," Malachi said, looking at the man in white, his husky voice carrying a certain seductive edge.

The girl in the Inquisitor’s arms shifted uneasily. He looked down and placed his left forefinger into the girl’s mouth.

Sucking on the Inquisitor’s finger, the little girl settled back into silence.

"You... will die," Malachi prophesied, his bewitching lips parting slightly.

The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes. "The one to die first will be you, traitor." With a simple flick of his sleeve, Malachi was sent crashing to the floor.

"I never betrayed the Queen," Malachi’s face, though exquisite, now held a terrifying intensity. "Not four hundred years ago, and not four hundred years from now."

The Inquisitor said nothing. With another wave of his hand, Malachi was swept away without even a groan, slamming hard against the wall before sliding to the ground.

The man who was once so alluring and bewitching now sat with his head hanging despondently, his wavy wine-red hair falling in disarray—a broken, breathtaking beauty.

Last night he had nearly killed me, yet why did he seem to have no magic left in him now?

The Inquisitor looked coldly at the helpless Malachi, a faint smirk appearing on his lips as if satisfied with the sight. "As expected, you are the one to die first."

With that, he raised his hand once more.

"If he doesn't come, I won't leave." Malachi had said those words, hadn't he? Was the person he waited for here in Night Allure his one true love?

Perhaps out of a sense of shared misfortune, I instinctively took a step forward, spreading my arms to shield Malachi.

"Does bullying a helpless person give you such a sense of achievement!" I mustered all my courage to speak.

The moment I met those frigid eyes, despite having gathered every ounce of bravery, I still flinched slightly.

"Move."

A single, flat word, yet it filled my heart with dread.

But I was already the walking dead; what was there to fear? Death? That sounded like a joke.

"White, I don't like her." A clear, soft voice rose slowly, as cooling to the soul as a trickling stream. Her glass-like eyes watched me; the little girl's voice was extremely faint and thin.

The girl’s words gave me an immediate sense of impending doom.

Sure enough, upon hearing this, the Inquisitor looked up at me, his dark pupils already stained with murderous intent.

I was terrified.

The little girl suddenly laughed, gently tugging at the Inquisitor’s sleeve and shaking her head.

"Hey, hey, White! Long time no see!" Just as the tension reached its breaking point and I felt I was about to be turned into a "true" corpse, an exaggeratedly enthusiastic voice rang out.

Alastor, his blue eyes crinkled in a smile, walked in through the entrance. Treading over the floor covered in bodies, his sunny expression seemed jarringly out of place.

White? I blinked. That was the name Alastor had mentioned when I first met him.

At the time, I had associated the name "White" with a small puppy... Feeling a bit guilty, I glanced at the silver-haired Inquisitor and instinctively shrunk my neck.

As if noticing my gaze, those cold, black eyes swept toward me.

"White, you’re here too!" Alastor approached with a grin and patted the man’s shoulder, seemingly unaffected by the chilling aura radiating from him.

The Inquisitor didn't get angry; he simply looked at Alastor with indifference, as if long accustomed to his behavior.

"It’s all your fault, saying the Human Realm was full of delicacies, it made me..." Alastor seemed to remember the embarrassment of mistaking his prey that day and grumbled complainingly, though he quickly shut his mouth. "Come, let me introduce you. This is my Rory," he said, pulling the still-stiff version of me toward him with a smile. "My woman."

Hearing this, I glanced at Alastor sideways. I was used to him spreading rumors everywhere and took no offense.

"Rory, this is White—Albus. He has a very good temper." Alastor turned back, ignoring my odd look, and made the introduction.

I looked at the Inquisitor skeptically. A good temper?

A "good temper" that kills people at the drop of a hat?

Albus calmly retracted his killing intent, holding the little girl in silence.

The girl remained quiet in his arms, her glass-like eyes still staring straight at me without blinking.

"Malachi." The little girl spoke suddenly, her voice gentle and melodic.

Malachi, who had been sitting motionless in the corner, stirred slightly and struggled to lift his head.

"You said White will die. Why?" With a voice that didn't match her innocent expression, the girl looked at Malachi and asked.

Albus looked down at the girl in his arms; though his dark eyes remained cold, they held a trace of warmth that was hard to detect.

Alastor uncharacteristically kept his mouth shut and looked toward Malachi as well.

"It is destiny." The husky, strange voice was indescribably seductive. Four simple words, yet they caused the little girl's expression to shift slightly.

"White, let’s go." The girl didn't press further. She looked up at Albus, her voice very tender.

Albus nodded slightly, turned, and vanished into the night.

Just as they had arrived, they left without leaving a trace.

I watched them leave and then turned back to Malachi. He was bracing himself against the wall, slowly standing up; his wounds had already healed.

"Thank you." Looking at me, Malachi’s smile was captivating.

"Why aren't you thanking me?" Alastor jumped up and hooked his arm around me. "Don't you go getting any ideas about my Rory!"