Hatred of the residence

Life in the Moors was full of growth and isolation—two forces that shaped Maximilian in equal measure. The isolation forced him to become self-reliant, sharpening his instincts and deepening his understanding of himself. Yet, it was also in this solitude that his powers flourished. Day by day, he grew more attuned to the strange magic coursing through his veins, learning to control the golden fire that flickered at his fingertips and the wings that carried him through the mist-laden skies of his forsaken home. His abilities extended beyond fire; the very elements responded to his will, the winds shifting at his command, the earth trembling beneath his touch.

But life rarely follows the path one sets. Whispers of a winged figure haunting the Moors began to spread beyond the land's treacherous borders. While the rumors themselves were harmless—after all, the Moors were known for their superstitions—it was what the Travelers said that posed the true threat. The Travelers, wanderers who braved the shifting mists and ancient forests, told tales of a creature with horns like a beast and fire capable of consuming entire trees. Some called him a demon; others believed him to be a living curse, a punishment wrought upon the land by vengeful gods. Though humans rarely ventured into the Moors, their fear and arrogance often overpowered their reason. The more reckless among them sought glory, eager to claim the head of the so-called beast and earn honor for their nations. Word spread like wildfire, reaching kings and warlords who saw an opportunity in the unknown terror that dwelled within the darkened wilds.

As fear took root, adventurers, soldiers, and bounty hunters crossed into the Moors in search of him. At first, they were few and easily avoided, but as weeks passed, the numbers grew. They traveled in groups, armed with weapons coated in enchanted weapons, their whispers growing louder each night as they plotted his demise. Maximilian watched from the shadows, knowing it was only a matter of time before they found him. Fear, as it often did, soon festered into hatred.

One evening, as Maximilian rested near a glowing pool, its surface reflecting the eerie silver light of the twin moons, he sensed something—something foreign, something hostile. The air grew thick with tension, the quiet hum of the Moors disrupted by the unnatural silence that followed prey before the strike. The trees whispered warnings, their leaves rustling though there was no wind. The earth itself seemed to hold its breath. Then, he heard it—a sharp twang, the hiss of something slicing through the air.

He rose to his feet, his wings spreading instinctively. Golden eyes scanned the darkened forest, searching for the source of the disturbance.

Then, the first arrow struck.

It embedded itself deep into the bark of a tree mere inches from his head. He turned sharply, his gaze locking onto the figures emerging from the shadows. Their armor gleamed faintly beneath the moonlight, their hands gripping bows and swords with grim determination.

"There it is!" one of them shouted. "The demon of the Moors!"

Maximilian's pulse pounded in his ears. He raised his hands, trying to reason with them. "I'm not your enemy," he said, his voice steady despite the unease curling in his stomach.

The hunters did not listen. Another arrow flew towards him, barely missing his wing as he twisted out of the way.

"I said STOP!" His voice thundered through the night, his fire roaring to life in response to his anger. Golden flames erupted around him, casting long shadows against the trees, forcing the men to step back. He had never wanted to harm them, but they left him no choice.

But fear only made them bolder.

"It's trying to attack! Kill it before it escapes!"

More arrows. More blades drawn. More hatred seething in their eyes. Maximilian's heart clenched. He had no choice.

He launched into the sky, his wings carrying him above the treetops. The hunters' cries rang out behind him, arrows whistling through the air. He maneuvered through them as best as he could, but he was not invincible.

Pain. A sharp, searing pain tore through his wing as one of the arrows struck true. He gasped, biting back a cry as the membrane was pierced, but he forced himself to keep flying. Blood dripped from the wound, staining his feathers, but he could not stop.

Yet the Moors themselves seemed to resist his escape. The air grew dense, pressing against his body like an invisible hand trying to pull him back. Vines twisted from the ground below, reaching towards him like clawed fingers. The land, ancient and alive, did not want to let him go. He gritted his teeth, pushing forward, his wings burning with exhaustion.

Then, just as his strength began to falter, a pulse of energy surged through his body. It was familiar yet foreign, a force that resonated deep within him.

[Ding!]

The sound rang clear in his ears, even amidst the chaos.

[System Activated.] [Host in danger. Initializing teleportation.]

Maximilian's breath hitched. "What—?"

A vortex of light and shadow appeared before him, swirling with impossible colors. He felt its pull, the same strange force that had first brought him to this world. The ground below trembled, responding to the unknown energy, the hunters shouting in confused terror.

"No!" he shouted, panic lacing his voice. He wasn't ready to leave—not yet. Not like this.

But the system did not care. The vortex grew brighter, enveloping him completely. The Moors, the hunters, the sky—all of it vanished into the void.

Just as he thought he could go no farther, the energy intensified, wrapping around him like an unseen force. It pulsed in time with his own heartbeat, an ancient, undeniable rhythm.

[Ding!]

The sound rang again, sharper this time.

[System Activated.]

[Host is in danger. Teleportation initializing...]

"A system?" Maximilian gasped, disbelief breaking through his fear. He had heard of such things in the myths of old—stories passed down about warriors from other realms gifted with strange, unseen forces.

Before he could question further, the world around him shattered. The Moors disappeared, swallowed by an infinite void of shifting colors and swirling darkness. He felt weightless, suspended in a moment between existence and nothingness. Time stretched, bending and warping as he was pulled into the unknown.

Then, the world reassembled around him.

And everything changed.

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