I was a king. No... a god.
My throne towered over mountains of bones. My shadow drowned empires in despair. When I spoke, the world obeyed. When I willed, the skies burned.
And then he appeared. He.
"Impressive," the voice said. "You've reached the end of your story, Zerathis."
Reality shattered. Time bent into colors I had never seen before. One moment I was seated upon my throne of obsidian, the next… I was staring into an abyss that had eyes.
"Who dares-"
"Oh, spare me the Demon King routine, pretty boy," the voice chuckled. A shape stepped forward, dressed in nothing but light and arrogance. "You're boring now. You've won too much. Do you know what happens when a game has no challenge? It becomes ass. And I've lost a bet to my friend Stan, he wants me to give you to his universe."
"I am no game," I growled, "I am the end of all things. I am-"
"-predictable," he interrupted, rolling his eyes so hard I swear the stars flinched. "Seriously, you Demon King types, always the same speech. Do you guys practice this in a mirror or something? I swear I gave you all some unique dialogue options."
I tried to move. But I couldn't. Felt like I was caged.
"What… have you done?"
"Relax," he said, waving a hand like he was swatting a fly. "I didn't delete you. That'd be boring. You still have all your precious magic reserves- yay! But your output?" He snapped his fingers. Something cracked inside me. My soul screamed. "Nerfed. Big time. Think garden hose instead of tsunami."
"And your immortality?" He leaned close, grinning like the devil at a confession booth. "Poof. Gone. You're mortal now. Cute, squishy, very breakable."
"You dare-"
"Oh, I dare so hard, big guy." He winked. "Listen, I like you. You've got style. But when a player beats every boss, the game stops being fun. So I threw you into a new sandbox. One with… heroes. Gods. Space aliens. Some purple dude with a jewelry fetish. You'll love it."
"Send me back," I snarled, forcing my body to rise.
He gasped, "Ooh, that willpower of yours, absolute miracle." He muttered, clapping silently.
"I'm not done," I growled.
"Oh, I know you're not done," he said, smirking like this was all foreplay. "That's the fun part. You're going to work for it now. No more one-shotting gods with finger snaps. No more 'I AM INEVITABLE' speeches. You'll bleed, you'll break, you'll cry a little- don't worry, I won't judge-and if you survive…"
His grin sharpened into something cruel. "Maybe you'll thank me. Well, our time here has been fun, l'll just send you over to Stan immediately."
"Stan…?" I spat out.
"Stan Lee. The guy who runs the place you're going to, my dearest friend," he said casually. "Well, technically, he's just the face. The real name is The One Above All. You'll love him. Big on heart, big on cameos."
"I bow to no one," I hissed.
"Yeah, yeah," he said with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Keep that energy when you see Gen Z in New York." He shook excitedly.
"New… what?"
He didn't answer.
"Good luck, Demon King. I didn't create you with an unparalleled aura just to lose. You've risen once, you'll rise again."
Then, snap.
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Cold. Filthy. Mortal.
I slammed into something wet and foul. My senses reeled. The stench of rot.
I opened my eyes. Above me, towers of glass pierced the heavens, their metal hides reflecting the sun. Voices shouted in a language I vaguely understood, yet their tone was casual.
And the noise. By the Eternal Flame… the noise.
I forced myself upright, my limbs trembling- not from weakness, but from rage.
"Yo, buddy! You good?"
I turned. A mortal approached- some man in strange clothes, holding a… bag of meat? His eyes widened when he saw my armor, my crimson cloak.
"Is this… Comic-Con?" he muttered. Then, with a grin: "Sick cosplay, man."
Cosplay? What manner of mockery?!
"Get out of my sight, puny mortal, before I kill you."
The man froze. His grin shattered. The color drained from his face as his body trembled. His knees buckled slightly, like prey before a predator. My eyes grew redder and redder.
He stumbled back, muttering something like a prayer. The bag of meat slipped from his hand, splattering on the ground.
"I-I'm sorry, dude! My bad! Just… just chill, okay?!"
"Chill?" I repeated, stepping toward him.
"Tell me… where am I?"
"N-New York," he stammered. "You're in New York, man! Please, don't kill me!"
The being spoke of this place before.
"Run," I commanded.
He didn't need telling twice. He fled, tripping over his own legs, vanishing into the swarm of mortals like a rat seeking a hole.
I straightened, closing my eyes. Inhaling the stench of this… city.
I stood in the shadow of these glass monoliths, my crimson cloak billowing in the wind. The mortals scurried past like ants, their eyes glued to glowing rectangles in their palms. Not one looked up. Not one sensed the predator in their midst.
How... disappointing.
In my realm, lesser demons would prostrate themselves before my shadow alone. Here, these creatures walked past me as if I were nothing more than scenery. The insult burned worse than the divine chains that once bound me.
I reached inward, grasping for the familiar well of power that had once been an ocean. What I found was a puddle. Shallow. Pathetic. But still... mine.
The shadows around my feet deepened slightly. A small victory.
"Excuse me, sir?"
I turned. Another mortal approached, this one female, wearing the white robes of what appeared to be a healer, though her garments were strangely pristine. In my world, healers' robes were always stained with blood by the time they reached me.
"Are you alright? You look... lost."
Lost. Me. The Eternal Destroyer. The Bringer of Final Night.
"I am... displaced," I said carefully, studying her face. She showed no fear. Curious.
"Are you homeless? There's a shelter about six blocks from here. I can—"
"I require no shelter," I cut her off. "I require... information."
She tilted her head, concerned but not afraid. In my realm, that expression would have been her last. Here, it seemed almost... commonplace.
"What kind of information?"
"This place. These... towers. The nature of power here."
She blinked. "You mean like... the government? Or are you asking about the city?"
Government. A word I recognized. Mortals organizing themselves under rulers. But the way she said it, with such casual disregard...
"Your rulers," I said. "Tell me of them."
"Well, there's the mayor, but honestly, most people are more worried about rent than City Hall. Are you from out of town?"
Out of town. If only she knew.
"Very far out of town," I said. "Tell me... do your people know of magic? Of power beyond the physical realm?"
Her expression shifted. Not to fear, but to something else. Pity?
"Look, I don't know what you're going through, but if you're having a... crisis, there are people who can help. Mental health services, medication if you need it—"
Mental health. They thought displays of power were... illness?
"I suppose I am very ill, I've...lost my memory."
I looked up to see a red and blue figure streak across the sky, using its webs like a spider.
"Oh, that's just Spider-Man. Probably another bank robbery or something."
Just Spider-Man. As if flying mortals were... normal.
"That creature," I said slowly. "It possesses power."
"He's a superhero," she said, as if that explained everything. "There are lots of them. You must've known them before you lost your memory."
Superheroes. A new word, but the concept was familiar. Champions. The Warriors are blessed with power beyond normal mortals. In my realm, such beings served me... or died trying to defy me.
"These... superheroes," I said. "Do they rule?"
She laughed. "Rule? God, no. They're more like... I don't know, super cops? They stop the bad guys, save cats from trees, and prevent the world from ending."
"Hmm... thank you, lady... You may now proceed with your affairs." I told her.
She gave me one last uncertain look, then nodded and walked away, glancing back twice as if expecting me to collapse. Foolish mortal. I have survived the fires of creation; I will not perish on your concrete streets.
I turned my gaze upward again. Superheroes. Protectors of the weak. Keepers of this realm's fragile order.
In my world, such beings would have either sworn loyalty or been reduced to crimson stains beneath my throne. Here… they are revered. Celebrated. Worshipped even.
Then this world worships weakness, I thought, a bitter laugh rising in my chest.
I couldn't act recklessly now; I have been shackled. My power is not the same. Though they are weak, perhaps I'm weaker than the weak.
Strange world.
Mortals in my realm spoke in whispers and prayers when I strode by. Here, one brushed against my shoulder and muttered, "Watch it, dude."
Dude.
If the leash on my power were looser, his soul would be ash. Instead, I allowed him to live. Mercy, they would call it.
Food, I thought bitterly. I had never needed it before. My body had been an eternal engine, burning the essence of creation itself. Now, my stomach growled like a chained hound. The sound startled me more than any blade ever had.
So, I hunted. Not beasts, but something edible. I followed the scent of roasted meat and spices. SHAWARMA PALACE.
Inside, mortals feasted on rolls of meat and bread, laughing with greasy lips. The aroma nearly broke me. My mouth watered unknowingly.
I entered, head held high.
The man behind the counter froze, his hand hovering over some strange glowing rectangle. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
"Uh… welcome to Shawarma Palace, sir. You… uh… wanna sit or… cosplay contest downtown, right?"
Again with this word. Cosplay. Some insult draped in false cheer.
I approached slowly, my gaze sweeping over this temple of gluttony. Meat sizzling on rotating spits. Bright lights stabbing my eyes. A strange glowing board displayed words: MENU.
I read none of it. Words mattered little when one could simply take.
"I require… meat," I said.
"Uh...okay, which combo?" He asked.
"My patience is wearing thin, mortal. I will not tolerate your ignorance."
The man swallowed hard. "Uh… right, right. Meat. Got it. No combo. Just… meat." He scurried to the fire like an obedient hound, fumbling with his tools.
When he returned, he placed a pitiful bundle of flesh and bread before me, wrapped in paper. Paper! As if the feast of kings should be swaddled like an infant.
I stared at it. My lip curled. "This… is your offering?"
"Uh… yeah. Shawarma. You… you've never had one before?"
I said nothing. I unwrapped the paper, tearing it apart.
I took a bite.
...
...
...
Goodness me...This is absolutely fabulous!
I took another bite. And another.
"Is… is this what mortals call food?" I murmured, almost reverently.
The counter man blinked at me. "Uh… yeah? It's… just lunch?"
"Lunch," I repeated. "A mortal ritual… consumed with such… simplicity. Yet… it overwhelms."
Another bite. Another revelation.
The mortal behind the counter shuffled nervously. "Uh… sir… do you… want, like… sauce? Garlic? Hot sauce?"
I looked at him. I, Zerathis, conqueror of realms, slayer of gods… was about to ask… for garlic sauce.
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[A/N: Yeah, this is first person, so the thoughts would be a bit... exquisite? IDK, you know what I mean, right? He's from one of those isekai worlds, those fantasy worlds. So, naturally, his speech is a bit off. He also doesn't know anything about this world, so it's all new to him. Anyway, how's this for a first chapter?]