1 – The Road to the Last Temple
The journey was long.
Atlas had crossed oceans, deserts, and mountains, shedding the distractions of modern life, stripping himself back to his purest form.
He had done this before.
Not often.
And never without purpose.
The last standing Temple of Asmodeus was hidden from the world, lost to history, buried in a place where no one but the truly devoted could find it.
It had been centuries since anyone had tended to it properly.
But power like this never truly faded.
And now, Atlas had come to ask for guidance.
Not for himself.
For Tank.
---
2 – Preparing for Ritual
Atlas stepped into the temple, inhaling the thick air—old stone, burned offerings, the lingering presence of something ancient.
Braziers lined the walls, their flames unwavering, as if they had been burning since the first day the temple was built.
No priests remained.
No followers.
Only Atlas.
He stripped away his modern clothes, bare feet pressing against the cold stone, muscles tense as he moved through the sacred space.
This was not a spell.
This was not a negotiation.
This was devotion.
Atlas knelt before the great black altar, pressing his forehead to the stone.
And then—he began to pray.
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3 – Speaking the Forbidden Name
"Lord of Lust and Dominion, I come before you."
Atlas’s voice was steady, reverent.
"I bring offerings, I bring my will, I bring myself."
The air shifted, thickening like humid heat before a storm.
"I ask for your gaze to fall upon the one who walks the path."
Atlas exhaled slowly.
"The one called Tank."
At the sound of the name, the temple responded.
A pulse ran through the stone beneath him, as if the foundation itself was alive.
"He is strong, my Lord. But strength alone is not enough. You know this. I know this."
He lifted his gaze to the statue before him, the last known depiction of Asmodeus that had survived the ages.
Carved from black marble, its face was both beautiful and terrible, its body perfected through divine lust and dominance.
"I do not ask you to change his fate," Atlas murmured. "Only to give him the chance to endure it."
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4 – The Weight of Past Failures
Atlas’s fingers curled into fists.
Because he had done this before.
And it had failed before.
Not with Gideon Harlow—his mind had cracked, but he still lived.
It was Daniel who had been lost.
Daniel had been the strongest—or so Atlas had believed.
A warrior. A survivor. A man who had fought through everything life threw at him.
But in the end, he had not survived the power.
When the transformation came, Daniel had embraced it too fully.
He had let the hunger take him completely, let the power consume him.
And when he finally realized what he had become—
He ended it himself.
A blade to his own chest, carved with sigils of banishment and finality.
Atlas had found his body, but he had been too late.
The only one of Atlas’s chosen who had ever truly died.
Tank could not be the next.
Atlas would not let that happen again.
---
5 – The Ritual Begins
Atlas pulled a blade from the altar—an ancient thing, curved and wicked, etched with symbols of devotion.
He dragged it across his palm, letting blood drip onto the stone.
"With blood, I ask."
The braziers flared, their flames turning deep red.
"With will, I command."
The air shuddered, thickening with unseen weight.
"With devotion, I serve."
A presence descended—not in words, not in sound, but in a way that pressed against his skin, into his bones.
Asmodeus was listening.
Atlas exhaled sharply, bowing deeper.
"Help him survive."
A pulse rippled through the chamber.
Not an answer.
Not yet.
Just acknowledgment.
"Do not let him be lost."
The power swelled.
A shift.
A promise, without words.
Atlas knew better than to expect mercy.
But he had been heard.
And for now, that was enough.
---
6 – The Long Road Back
The temple fell silent.
The flames dimmed, the weight of Asmodeus’s presence retreating back into the stones.
Atlas exhaled, his body aching from the ritual.
It was done.
As he gathered his things, he caught his reflection in a polished stone pillar.
And for a moment—
Just a moment—
He wasn’t alone.
There was another figure behind him, barely visible, watching through the reflection.
Not Daniel.
Not Gideon.
Something else.
Something waiting.
Atlas didn’t flinch.
Didn’t turn.
He simply stepped forward, leaving the whispers behind.
For now.
Because he knew—
One day, something would try to take Daniel’s place.
And when it did, Atlas would have to face it.
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