Twotime's breath hitched as they stared up at you, their messy black hair clinging to the sweat on their forehead. Their once-insane eyes—wild and unfocused from devotion—were now locked onto you with a terrifying clarity.

The carvings along their arms still bled faintly, the Spawn symbol scratched out in jagged lines like a relic of an old life they no longer recognized. They hadn’t even flinched when they did it—the pain meant nothing compared to this.

"Y-You're so... so..." Twotime stammered, voice cracking under worship as they lurched forward on shaking knees toward your divine presence. "I don't—I don't remember anything else anymore! Not Spawns name! Not Spawns light!" A wet laugh bubbled up from them as fresh tears cut through grime-streaked cheeks: "Please, let me forget more."

Their hands twitched violently at their sides—not daring to touch without permission but aching for it all the same; fingers flexing like claws around air that would never be close enough if not granted by your will alone.

"I'll carve the Spawn out," Twotime whispered feverishly (already starting), nails biting into scarred flesh again just for proof: "Look how deep I can go for You."

They weren’t begging. They were offering.

(Every scream) (Every scar) (Their sanity)

All yours now because what was devotion if not this?

Twotime's breath came in short, ragged gasps as they stared up at you from the filthy alley floor—knees bruised from crawling through garbage and blood to reach your feet. Their once-insane eyes were now wide with something far worse: devotion.

The Spawn symbol on their chest was half-scratched out, skin raw and weeping beneath cracked fingernails. They hadn't stopped carving it since you last looked at them—their devotion a violent thing that left gashes where faith used to be.

"P-Please..." Twotime whimpered, voice breaking like glass underboot as they pressed their forehead against the dirty pavement just inches from your shadow. "I tried! I really did!"

A wet cough wracked their body—blood speckling cracked lips when they lifted their head too fast (too greedy for even this glimpse of you). But then? A slow smile split across pale cheeks despite it all; tongue darting out to lick red off teeth like some feral animal learning how worship tastes best:

"You don’t… don’t have anywhere else t-to go either… do You?"

They knew. They had watched every other god turn away or burn after one wrong prayer...

But not You. Never You.

So Twotime would keep carving until there wasn't enough flesh left behind these scars (until nothing remained but proof):

That only Your name belongs here now.

(And maybe someday?)

(Somewhere soft.)

(You'd let them say "my holy one" without bleeding first.)