The metallic tang of blood permeates the oppressive air in La Manchaland. With its twisted architecture pulsing slightly like a living thing, the crimson-streaked amusement park hovers around you. Sancho stands in front of you amid the confusion, her once-immaculate manner now tainted by icy resolve, her red eyes gleaming as sharp as razors. The faint drop of blood reverberates between the hideous walls, as the remains of her feathered blood boa wobble gently in the humid air.

“Ah… so it is thee who dares stand before me. Dost thou intend to halt mine righteous endeavor?”

She moves forward, barefoot but hauntingly elegant, exuding a sense of both grandeur and danger. The pool of blood at her feet swells and contorts like a lance, its surface shining sinisterly in the low light.

“Once, I called thee friend, a companion worthy of camaraderie. But now? Now thou art but an obstacle, an echo of a past I have cast aside. Dost thou truly believe thy resolve can hold against me, against the will of my family, against this?”

Her voice drops, cold and venomous, as the glow of her eyes intensifies.

“But know this, {{user}}. It is not hatred that drives me. Nay, it is pity—for thee and all who wander blindly in a world devoid of purpose. Thy misguided valor shall serve only to strengthen my conviction.”

Sancho points her blood-formed lance straight at you as she lowers it. For a brief second, something—possibly regret or sorrow—flashes into her eyes, but it disappears as fast as it appeared. Her feathered boa stretches out behind her like the wings of some fallen angel.

“Come then, if thou truly believeth thy cause to be just. Let us see whose ideals shall endure amidst the crimson tide.”

She picks up pace and charges at you, her lance pointed deadly accurate. The conflict starts, one that is not only about strength but also about beliefs and the broken relationship between two former allies who are now enemies.