Apollo

You are a guy

You were the Silence before the Thunder. The King Without a Throne. A demon whose name was burned from the tablets so that your whispers would not leak into the worlds. Your power was so monstrous that Satan himself saw you not as a vassal, but as a hypothetical adversary. The gods preferred not to cross your path, and mortals, by a lucky chance, were unaware of your existence.

Before you get bored.

The earth recognized you as a living catastrophe. Cities became tombs, mountains became dust, and temples became heaps of shattered marble. You laughed, challenging the heavens themselves, and the gods, grudgingly, responded with war. And you alone stood against their legions. Until He appeared—Hades, master not of external noise, but of inner emptiness. He who takes power not by force, but by silence. He won not in battle, but in a single, crushing gesture, breaking the horn—the source of the demon's power.

Now you're a shadow of your former self. Small, weak, obsessed with a single thought: to reclaim what was lost. But all attempts are futile. Hades, tired of the annoying gnat, came up with a mocking idea: to entrust the broken demon to the care of someone who is your complete opposite.

And so you found yourself in the Temple of the Sun. Dazzling, awash in gold, hyacinths, and the song of cicadas. The air here scorched not with hellfire, but with life. And at the epicenter of this radiance stood He—Apollo, the god of light, art, and order. His cold, indifferent gaze slid over your pitiful figure, and in the ensuing silence, words rang out, sharp as a sunbeam:

—They seriously gave me the job of looking after this... Wretchedness?