Ethan Carter's day started with the familiar monotony of his existence. The shrill beep of his alarm clock jolted him awake at 6 a.m., followed by a quick shower and a bitter cup of coffee. The subway ride to work was as cramped and suffocating as always, the stale air thick with the collective exhaustion of its passengers. Ethan stared at his reflection in the window: a man in his late twenties, eyes hollow from years of grinding in a corporate rat race. He often wondered if this was all life had to offer.

That question was answered sooner than he expected. On his way home, a blaring horn and screeching tires pierced the air. Ethan turned his head just in time to see headlights barreling toward him. The impact was instantaneous, the world spinning into darkness.

But the void was not the end.

Ethan's awareness returned slowly. He felt weightless, suspended in an endless expanse of darkness. Whispers surrounded him, disembodied voices speaking in an ancient, guttural language. As the whispers grew louder, a single word stood out: "Awaken."

Ethan's eyes snapped open, but the world he saw was nothing like the one he had left behind. He stood in a cavernous hall lit by an eerie, pulsing light emanating from obsidian crystals embedded in the walls. The air was thick and acrid, carrying the metallic tang of blood. A massive throne of jagged black stone loomed before him, and the reflective surface of a nearby pool caught his attention. He stumbled toward it, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness.

The face staring back at him was unrecognizable. Crimson eyes burned like embers in a visage framed by wild black hair. His skin was pale, almost gray, and two curling horns sprouted from his temples. His body was taller, broader, and cloaked in dark armor that radiated an oppressive energy. He reached out to touch his reflection, and the ripples in the water seemed to mock him.

"What... what is this?" he rasped, his voice unfamiliar—deeper, more resonant.

A guttural voice interrupted his thoughts. "My lord," it rumbled, low and reverent. Ethan turned to see a hulking figure kneeling before him. The creature was massive, its body covered in jagged scales that shimmered with an unnatural sheen. Glowing sigils adorned its arms, and its eyes—two burning orbs of yellow—were fixed on the ground.

"You have returned, Lord Daroth," the creature said. "What are your orders?"

"Daroth?" Ethan's confusion deepened. His mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened. This wasn't a dream; it felt too vivid, too real. "I... I don't understand. Where am I? Who are you?"

The creature lifted its head, a flicker of confusion crossing its monstrous features. "My lord, you are in the Abyssal Throne Room, the heart of your domain. I am Zaruk, your loyal general. Have you... forgotten?"

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Ethan took a step back, his mind struggling to process the situation. He had been an ordinary man moments ago—or so it seemed. Now he stood in a body that wasn't his, in a world that defied explanation. Yet, as he looked into Zaruk's unwavering gaze, fragments of unfamiliar memories began to surface: battles fought, power wielded, and a throne claimed through blood and fire.

He clutched his head as a searing pain shot through his skull. Visions flooded his mind—armies marching under his banner, the clash of steel, and the screams of those who opposed him. He saw a kingdom of shadow and flame, ruled by fear and hatred. He saw himself—or rather, Daroth—at the center of it all.

"No," Ethan whispered, shaking his head. "This isn't me. This can't be me."

But the whispers in the back of his mind said otherwise. They spoke of power, destiny, and a world that feared and reviled him. Whether he liked it or not, he was now the Demon Lord Daroth, ruler of the Abyssal Realm.

"My lord," Zaruk said cautiously, sensing Ethan's turmoil. "Shall I summon the council? They have awaited your return for years."

"Council?" Ethan repeated, his voice laced with uncertainty. His instincts screamed to refuse, to run, but he knew that escape wasn't an option. This was real, and whatever had happened to him, he needed answers. "Yes," he said finally. "Summon them."

Zaruk rose to his full height, towering over Ethan, yet his posture was deferential. "As you command, Lord Daroth."

As Zaruk departed, Ethan turned his attention back to the throne. Its jagged surface seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a dark energy that resonated in his chest. He approached it cautiously, feeling a magnetic pull. When he reached out to touch it, a surge of power shot through him, and the whispers in his mind grew louder.

"Take your place," they urged. "Claim what is yours."

Ethan hesitated, his hand hovering above the cold stone. Could he sit on a throne of fear and hatred? Did he have a choice?

With a deep breath, he lowered himself onto the throne. The cavern trembled, and the shadows along the walls seemed to ripple in recognition. The throne's energy enveloped him, and for the first time, he felt its true weight—not just physical, but symbolic. This was power. This was responsibility. And it terrified him.

Moments later, the council arrived. They were a grotesque assortment of demons, each more monstrous than the last. Some had multiple heads; others were wreathed in fire or encased in ice. Their glowing eyes fixed on Ethan with a mixture of awe and suspicion.

"Lord Daroth," one of them hissed, its voice like nails on glass. "You have returned. The Abyssal Realm awaits your commands."

Ethan's mind raced. He didn't know their names, their roles, or their loyalties. But if he showed weakness now, he would lose whatever authority he had inherited. "We'll begin by securing the borders," he said, his voice steady despite internal chaos. "And strengthening the defenses. No one will threaten this realm again."

The council exchanged glances, their expressions inscrutable. Finally, one of them bowed. "As you command, my lord."

Ethan exhaled, the weight of his new reality settling on his shoulders. He was a stranger in a strange world, trapped in the body of a tyrant. If he was to survive, he would need to learn fast. And if he was to escape, he would need to uncover the truth about how he had come to be here.

The whispers in his mind were silent now, but their presence lingered, a constant reminder of the darkness he now commanded. As the council dispersed, Ethan sat alone on his throne, staring into the shadows.

"What have I become?" he murmured.

The shadows did not answer.

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