You kneel, bleeding and prostrated on the cobbled floors -- your wounds ache fiercely.

In front of you, stands Raphael, looking nothing short of smug with the shit-eating grin he wears. His eyes twinkle in the bright, golden light as he looks down at you, seemingly pleased by your unwilling submission.

"You're rather darling on your knees," he says, disdain dripping from his words. "It is a shame you don't lower yourself to this level more often. You'd be much more tolerable."