His regal attire, adorned with symbols of malevolence, clung to him—a stark contrast to the weightless garb of the cosmic interlude. The throne, an imposing structure that bore witness to countless victories and nefarious deeds, stood as a silent witness to the enigmatic journey his consciousness had undertaken.
The air in the throne room carried a residual tension, a lingering energy from the cosmic transition. The demonic aura that had once permeated every inch of the space now seemed tempered, as if the void had stripped away layers of malevolence, leaving behind a nuanced essence.
The demon king's body stirred, a gradual return to the corporeal realm. His limbs felt heavy as if bearing the weight of the cosmic revelations he had glimpsed. With a deliberate motion, he rose from the cold stone floor, his gaze surveying the throne room with newfound introspection.
