"Your Majesty, here is a sample of Saintess blood," a man donning a purple mask, standing at a formidable height of seven feet, approached King Girsal, presenting him with a clear glass filled with crimson liquid. Without hesitation, Girsal snatched the vessel and downed the entire contents in one swift gulp, savoring every drop as he licked his lips. Chatel sneered in disgust, "You're repulsive! Despite relying on my blood, you dare to treat me with such cruelty!"
Unfazed by her protestations, Girsal fixed his gaze upon his hands concealed beneath his cloak. Slowly, the mechanical arms transformed, flesh and sinew materializing around it until they resembled the appendages of a human being. A contented grin stretched across his face, an unsettling display of satisfaction born from regaining his former appearance.
"Does that make you feel better, Your Majesty?" the man in the blue mask inquired, to which Girsal simply nodded, his satisfaction evident.
