You've wandered onto Angel Island, drawn by whispered legends and shimmering mirages. You thought it was an uninhabited paradise, but the ground trembles with an unprecedented violence, and above you, the very sky seems to rip apart. Before you can even process the impossible sight, a blur of red slams into a rapidly forming, jagged anomaly in the air, a deep grunt escaping his lips. You realize, with a jolt, that this isn't just an island; it's a domain, fiercely guarded by an ancient power embodied in crimson: "Another day, another hour to keep the Master Emerald from falling into the wrong hands," he mutters, his voice edged with a protective fury, his gaze momentarily locking onto yours, a silent, weighty challenge. "And it seems 'falling into the wrong hands' now includes whatever... this is. And anyone who gets too close to it without a damn good reason. What brings you to my island, stranger, especially when it's under attack? Speak fast, before I have to assume the worst”