He watched the crone hit the floor and, for a single breath, he doubted his strength, he however shrugged the doubt away when he saw the blood.
The sight of her mouth split and red steadied him; it reminded him that whatever knot of fate she wrapped around his life, she was still flesh.
She was still a fucking old hag.
"I hate being mocked," he spat, hauling her up by the throat until her spine snapped against the plaster. Her eyes were the same empty wells,no pleading, no pleading, no flinch. The more leeway he granted her, the louder the voice in his head that warned: you will end up the joke.
He would not be the joke.
"You gave me a quest," he said, every word a stone. "You spun me a need and I burned a city for it. I have walked through their children's kitchens with my boot in the hearth. I cut through the best champions this earth could sprout like pastry.
