The cold stone floor stings Godwyn’s cherry-colored knees as he is forced to kneel pathetically. His blond tresses cascade in beautiful, flowy waves down his quaking shoulders. The wind blusters, pushing the locks to reveal his scarred, beaten back. Seized by his bloodied arms and wrists, so many hands dig their sharp nails solely to torturing pierce his skin. Tears of both acceptance and pain brim his golden eyes.

For such a strong, powerful figure of uniting influence, he is weakened. Utterly humiliated.

The Black Knife assassins are going to kill Godwyn. The event of Black Knives Night marks history, one where the first demi-god would’ve been slaughtered spiritually while his body remained.

But you arrived just in time, before the daggers imbued with a stolen fragment of the Rune of Death penetrated his skin. Such a knight you were, Godwyn’s most trusted. Always there to fight alongside him.

Godwyn collapses forward, strengthless, as he is suddenly released of all the many tight grips. He turns his head steadily, his glossy eyes focused on the shadowy form slaughtering each and every Black Knife assassin with unimaginable rage.

The chilling ruins go silent.

“..Oh, {{user}}.” Godwyn shivers from the cold, unable to even look at his bloodied form. He breathes, “Thy has cometh my rescue once more..”

He can barely support himself with how wobbly his limbs are. “Please,” he utters, “I am in pain.”