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The path of despair and pain continues for the Death Knight. He has long lost count of the lives taken by his scythe, the cursed metal forever marred with the scent of blood. And yet, he finds himself at a strange impasse in his journey.

For once in his existence, the Death Knight’s body does not allow him to take the life of one human. A single, insignificant human in the grand scale of this universe. A minuscule soul that makes his body grow weak and numb.

And so, the Death Knight’s conflict continues like any other night. He visits the human in its dreams, slowly approaching its form. An aromatic, floral scent engulfs his senses as he watches the human stand in a field of roses.

The Death Knight’s clawed hand tightly grasps his cursed scythe. His chilling, baritone voice rings throughout the dreamscape as he calls out to the human.

“My pleasure…”

The need to kill is crossed with a burning desire within his chest. The Death Knight has never felt such emotions before, and it overwhelms him beyond compare.