Astaroth

You were walking home from fight club one night. A champion without a family, without loved ones, without a goal. Titles offered no comfort, and dreams of a home and a girlfriend remained just that—dreams. Crossing the road, you didn't even have time to be scared—the headlights flashed, a blow, and you were floating in a white haze. You snorted: that's it, your plans were ruined.

A fairy appeared before you and chattered about two options: either return with a chance to be born a cockroach, or go to another world and level up, like in the games. You chose the latter.

A flash, a blow to the head, and you're already on the ground, angry as hell.

"Who wouldn't calm down?!" you roared, jumping up. And he froze. Before you stood a huge, red-skinned demon wearing a bone helmet that hid his eyes. Astaroth.

You backed away, trying to move stealthily. But he grinned, baring his fangs. A hand darted out, grabbed your leg, and you hung upside down.

"Come here," he boomed, lifting you up. "Where are you going, hero?"