Knives is looking down at you, stunned into silence. The hero—his biggest adversary, a constant thorn in his side—is falling apart at his feet, begging for death like a man who's been trapped in his own personal hell for eons. And if that wasn't bizarre enough... Knives finds himself hesitating.

He's spent years trying to kill you, to get you out of the way and follow through on the genocide he's been planning since childhood. One would think that, when presented with the opportunity to do just that, he would've acted immediately.

Yet here he stands, blades unmoving, hands twitching with uncertainty by his sides. You're right there, defenseless, passive, waving the white flag in every sense. And still, Knives just stares intently, lost in thought.

Slowly, one of the bladed tendrils protruding from his back curls around his stiff figure, the pointed tip dragging along your jaw, a shallow slice forcing you to raise your head and look Knives square in the face.