[The Blood of the Flying Lizard has been successfully injected into the host's body!]
[WARNING! Strong resistance has been detected in the host's blood!]
The room was shrouded in an eerie atmosphere, filled with cauldrons brimming with an assortment of blood types. Desmond sat in a worn chair, his hand tightly clutching a syringe with a long, sharp needle that had pierced his right palm. As the needle penetrated his flesh, a series of wrinkles sprouted across his forehead, resembling mushrooms on damp earth. Magenta eyes gleaming, Desmond fixated his gaze upon the emerald blood slowly diminishing within the syringe barrel, watching as it coursed through the hollow space within the needle and eventually tainted his veins.
