Evolution of the Ruined Heir

Breakfast with Mamush’s family was different from last night’s dinner. Well, almost different. Octavia Von Sanguine, the Tenth Vein, still wore a perpetually twisted, irritated expression, as though she would rather be anywhere else than sitting at this table.

Her distaste was so evident that she’d chosen the chair farthest from Mamush, silently eating her meal without paying anyone else much attention.

’At least she’s not causing trouble.’

Malakai had seen what the Sixth Pulse was capable of. And Octavia, being her only child, was already growing into her mother’s shoes. If she had wanted to cause chaos, this estate would probably already be in ruins.

Regardless, he was glad that, for one reason or another, she hadn’t. At least she was level-headed enough to understand that Mamush and his family held the key to finding out what was truly going on.

"I hope the food is to your liking, Ninth Vein."

Mamush was staring at him with a wide, unsettling grin. At least, it was unsettling to Malakai. The fat on his face bunched into several folds as he smiled, and with his skin slightly slick with sweat, the sight was slimy and entirely unpleasant.

’Urgh,’ Valentine groaned in his mind, and Malakai couldn’t help but share the sentiment.

He nodded a moment later.

"It’s fine."

"These dishes were made by Liquor Vermin himself," Mamush’s wife, Onilia, added. "It was quite a hassle getting him here on such short notice, but, well, we only wanted the very best for our distinguished guests."

If Malakai had been someone who gave a damn about anything other than training, getting stronger, and revenge, then perhaps that name might have meant something to him. But he wasn’t. Which was why he only responded to the words with a curt nod.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Mamush and his wife exchanging a quick glance, a trace of worry passing between them. Then silence settled over the table again, with only the occasional clink of utensils against plates breaking it. Renlo was happily eating by his side, completely oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Mamush’s three children, Malia, Dune, and Donna, were seated across from him. Malia kept to herself, wearing her usual expressionless mask as she quietly ate. Dune, on the other hand, was all smiles, staring at Malakai with barely concealed excitement, like some sort of overeager fanboy.

Donna was also quiet, but her actions were anything but. She barely seemed interested in her food, instead sneaking glances at Malakai every now and then before hastily lowering her gaze whenever she thought he might notice, her cheeks flushing furiously.

’See what I told you,’ Valentine said smugly. ’The bad-boy look. Works every time.’

’Shut up.’

’Ooh, what’s that, Malakai? I can’t quite hear you over the sound of Valentine being right. You see, next time, just listen to me an—’

Malakai cut him off mid-sentence. Valentine was, of course, right. His bad-boy look seemed to be having an effect. But the last thing he’d do was admit it. He couldn’t have the ghost getting any more smug about himself.

Still, Malakai deliberately let his gaze linger on Donna for a few more seconds. Donna reacted by practically burying her face in her chest, but soon enough, his actual targets noticed his stare. And true to his prediction, Mamush and his wife exchanged another glance, pleased smiles slowly creeping onto their faces.

Mamush was the one who eventually broke the silence.

"Ah, Ninth Vein. I seem to recall you mentioning something about showing Donna a few moves. If you have some time after breakfast, I can have something prepared for the two of you."

Donna’s eyes immediately widened.

"Dad... I-I don’t think that’s... necessary."

"Nonsense, dear," Onilia said with a smile. "You haven’t stopped talking about the Ninth Vein since the Hunt. How amazing he was, how much you wanted to meet him... You even used to pretend you were his wife, haha."

"Mom!"

The moment Donna realized she’d raised her voice, she went pale as ice and immediately shrank into herself. "I-I’m sorry..."

"Haha, it’s fine, honey." Mamush laughed before turning back to Malakai. "She’s just shy. Trust me, she’d love nothing more. So, what do you say, Ninth Vein? Have some time to spare?"

Malakai turned and gave Donna a long, deliberate stare. Beneath the table, her fingers nervously twisted together as she kept her gaze firmly lowered. Eventually, Malakai nodded.

"Alright. After breakfast."

Mamush and Onilia immediately broke into pleased smiles. Before either of them could say anything, however, Dune suddenly cut in, his voice filled with excitement.

"In that case, Ninth Vein, would it be alright if I joined too?"

Mamush’s smile immediately disappeared as he frowned at his son, who was unknowingly trying to ruin his genius plan. But before he could say anything, Onilia expertly interjected.

"Not this time, son. Let’s not overwhelm the Ninth Vein. I’m sure you’ll have your chance."

Dune opened his mouth to argue, but Mamush’s cold gaze instantly silenced him. He shrank back, reluctantly swallowing whatever he’d been about to say. But for the briefest moment, a trace of coldness flickered through Dune’s eyes, one that everyone at the table, aside from Malakai, apparently missed.

It vanished just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same cheerful, jovial Dune from before.

’What was that?’ Malakai thought, his attention sharpening. He’d felt a trace of killing intent from him, too. Killing intent over something so trivial was excessive, no matter how he looked at it.

’Ouu, I know that look. Psychopathic young master. Definitely. Wouldn’t surprise me if he has a collection of severed heads hidden somewhere.’ Valentine said.

’Your mind is wandering into nonsense again.’

It was excessive, yes, but nowhere near enough to tag someone a psychopathic killer. In any case, there might be some sort of bad blood between Dune and his parents. Malakai didn’t know.

Still, seeing Dune sitting there with that same cheerful smile after what he’d just revealed left Malakai somewhat wary of him.

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