The world was filled with darkness, the brilliant moons illuminating the sky as Lancelot's eyes opened, the mystical world of Avalon before his eyes.
A sudden sound from a distance, as 10 Succubi stood in their leather armour holding spears and small shields—Morgana and Marimo stood silently, waiting.
"My King." They knelt with soft voices carried by the evening breeze as his body slowly lifted from the formerly white throne, now dyed in his blood with a crimson hue.
The top was white, and the huge dragon's body was half red and half white along the backrest.
"How many troops do we have here, and will there be a raid on her territory tonight?"
When Lancelot looked at the affinity of Tiamat and Guinevere, his lips formed a bitter smile knowing it would be bad but not to this level. It had fallen from a high value to minus 5.