But to a "lesser" being who had spent a lifetime convinced of his own absolute sovereignty, it was a different story altogether. To be faced with the raw, undeniable reality of one's own insignificance wasn't just a defeat, it was salt rubbed into a festering wound.
Had Osita played a different hand, the outcome might have been salvageable. Instead, his arrogance had acted as a catalyst, shoving the King deeper into Murmur's waiting embrace.
At least Murmur was a craftsman of emotions and ego. The demon had never once made Nwadiebube feel small; he had never let the King realize the leash was there. Murmur offered the illusion of control, the seductive promise of hope. Osita, in a few moments of cold efficiency, had stripped the King of his dignity and laid his utter incompetence bare for him to see.
