The aura was stocky with the smell of smoke and stemma. Ugochukwu’s judgment spun, a whirlwind of mental rejection and Fury. His begetter’s closed book, the betrayal by his tightlipped friend, and at present this—Adaobi’s life in the counterbalance. He couldn’t action it all at at one time, and yet every art object of the mystifier seemed to be light into position, let on a nightmare he hadn’t been prepared to face.
The King’s men had scuff Adaobi away from him, and there personify nothing Ugochukwu could coiffe. He struggld desperately, but they were overly many. Tunde, his most-trusted ally, stood watching betraying him yet the second time, with a still viewer to the carnage. Ugochukwu’s heart palpate like it had been ripped from his chest.