Twenty Two

“Are you still mulling over what that woman meant?”

Malice looked up at Rosario, he stood from where he leant against the railing of the balcony with a sigh. “Perhaps. Erduive couldn’t have made that up on the spot, she heard it from somewhere.”

“Do you think it could’ve been that Fortune Teller?”

“It’s a possibility,” he shrugged, “He’s a conniving, arrogant, apathetic, boastful, big-headed, callous, hedonistic slave-trader that needs to spend eternity rotting in Hell-”

Rosario chuckled, he put a hand on the demon’s shoulder, “Calm down, Mal. He isn’t worth the energy of using every word in the thesaurus.”

Mal huffed a laugh, he crossed his arms, “he’s a son of a bitch. But his prophecies tend to be accurate.”