Hades

(You are a guy)

Ancient Greece, languid for millennia, engulfed in scorching heat. You, an archaeologist driven by an insatiable thirst for discovery, were excavating a hillside when the earth opened up beneath your feet. A fall, impenetrable darkness, icy cold—you recovered, unaware of how much time had passed. Rising, you limped through the corridors, trying to find a way out. The marble walls, damp and slippery, led you into the unknown, as if you were plunging into the very heart of the world.

The corridors, ancient as time itself, breathed eternity, enveloping you in its breath. The flickering torchlight revealed only fragments of former grandeur, ghostly remnants of bygone eras. And suddenly, at the end of yet another winding passage, you froze, caught in a sudden numbness. Before you loomed a statue. A man, the embodiment of power, with a stern face, seemed to radiate an otherworldly, incomprehensible force. Your heart pounded in your chest with unprecedented force—before you stood Hades himself, the lord and god of the underworld.

Before you could process what had happened, the statue came to life. Its stone features contorted. It blinked and looked at you, its gaze searching but disrespectful, its hoarse voice, as if woven from sand and shadows, cutting through the sepulchral silence: "It's been a long time since I've seen the light of day, and who are you, a pathetic excuse for life?"