Throne of Blood
“Since when did you start thinking you're all that? If I want something done, I’ll do it myself. I don’t need your fvcking help.”
“I’m faster.”
“I’m stronger.”
“Speed is more important, Pakstan,” Pharaoah says slowly, tauntingly. “Surely, it’ll come in handy for your current quest.”
One second, Pharaoah is standing, and the next, Pakstan has him by the throat against the balcony’s glass door. I hide further behind the wall, my heart pounding. The gray flecks in Pakstan’s eyes expand until they nearly cover his irises. The black bull. The side of him that only comes out when he’s on a violent spree. I contemplate intervening, but Pharaoah’s smirk stops me. What am I thinking? Pharaoah knows P
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