1 – Home Alone
Tank stepped into his apartment, locking the door behind him with a deep, settling breath.
The night at The Den had been… good.
Better than he expected.
For the first time since Bear Bash, he had tested his control in a real setting—and it had worked. He had let a little out, just enough to hype the room, to elevate the energy without turning it into another altar of worship.
He had won.
That should have made him feel better.
So why did he still feel so damn wired?
His body was too hot, his skin too tight, like something was still lurking beneath the surface.
Waiting.
Watching.
Tank exhaled and peeled off his shirt, tossing it aside before collapsing onto his bed.
The pendant Atlas had given him was warm against his chest.
He closed his eyes.
And the second he did—
He fell.
---
2 – The Dream of Atlas
Tank was standing in darkness.
Not an empty void—there was a weight to it, a feeling of presence pressing in from all sides.
Then—
Footsteps.
Slow, deliberate.
And then he was there.
Atlas.
Smirking. Watching.
His presence was larger than life, muscles coiled with an almost inhuman power, his eyes glowing softly in the shadows.
Tank inhaled sharply. He hadn’t seen Atlas since that night.
“Impressive,” Atlas murmured, crossing his massive arms. “You’re learning control without even receiving instruction.”
Tank swallowed. His mouth was dry.
“You watching me now?” he asked, keeping his voice steady.
Atlas chuckled. “I don’t need to.” He tilted his head. “You feel it, don’t you? The way your instincts are… refining themselves.”
Tank shifted his weight. “Yeah.”
Atlas grinned. “Good.”
A pulse shivered through the air.
And suddenly—
Tank wasn’t standing anymore.
He was kneeling.
It happened so fast he didn’t even realize it until his palms pressed against the cold ground, his head tilted up to meet Atlas’s unwavering gaze.
Something in his chest tightened, but not with fear.
With understanding.
Atlas circled him slowly. “Do you know why?”
Tank swallowed hard. “Why what?”
“Why you?”
Tank’s fingers curled into fists. “Because I’m strong.”
Atlas chuckled. “Yes.” He leaned down, brushing a hand against Tank’s jaw—just barely, just enough to make his skin burn. “But that’s only part of it.”
Tank clenched his teeth. “Then tell me.”
Atlas’s eyes gleamed. “You’re handling this well. Better than most.”
Tank forced a breath. “Most?”
Atlas smiled. “Others before you failed. They burned up too quickly, overwhelmed by the gift before they could master it.”
Tank’s stomach tightened.
Atlas straightened, stretching, casual, at ease. “You don’t even know what you’re becoming yet.”
Tank stood, leveling his gaze. “Then tell me.”
Atlas’s smirk widened.
“You’d call me a demon,” he said smoothly. “Or, if you were the academic type, you’d say I’m a mid-level spirit in service to something much older.”
Tank’s breath hitched.
Atlas leaned in, voice lower now. Intimate.
“I serve Asmodeus.”
The name rippled through the air, heavy, ancient, curling around Tank’s ribs like a brand.
Atlas grinned at his reaction.
“You’ve felt him already,” he murmured.
Tank’s skin prickled.
He didn’t want to ask.
Didn’t want to admit that he knew it was true.
But he did.
“…Who is he?”
Atlas chuckled. “Ah. And here I thought you’d done your research.”
Tank’s pulse thumped.
Atlas’s eyes flashed.
“You will,” he said simply.
And then—
Tank woke up.
---
3 – Cold Sweat and Frustration
Tank gasped, sitting up hard, his sheets tangled around his legs.
His body was damp with sweat, his heart pounding like a war drum.
Atlas’s voice still echoed in his skull.
I serve Asmodeus.
Tank exhaled shakily, running a hand over his face.
It had felt too real.
Just like before.
He reached for his phone, squinting at the time. 3:17 AM.
Fuck it.
He needed answers.
Now.
---
4 – The Search for Truth
Tank sat at his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard.
“Asmodeus.”
The search results flooded in.
And immediately, he felt frustrated as hell.
Half the links were about Dungeons & Dragons.
The other half?
Solomonic demonology.
Ancient texts about King Solomon binding demons, old Christian mythos, lists of the seven princes of Hell.
None of it felt right.
None of it fit with what he was experiencing.
Tank clenched his jaw, clicking through link after link, scanning for anything that resonated.
“Asmodeus – demon of lust and wrath.”
“A ruler of Hell, often associated with the sin of Lust.”
“Some legends say he was once an angel before his fall.”
Tank frowned.
Atlas hadn’t talked about a “fall.”
And nothing in these ancient texts matched the real presence he had felt.
The power. The pull.
None of this felt tangible.
Tank exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples.
“Come on,” he muttered. “What the fuck am I missing?”
He clicked another link.
More of the same. Solomonic sigils, Christian warnings, occult prayers to banish demons.
None of them felt real.
None of them felt like Atlas.
None of them felt like what was happening to him.
Tank leaned back, frustrated.
Because if this wasn’t the Asmodeus from the old books…
Then what the fuck was it?
And how deep did this really go?
---
5 – The Long Night Ahead
Tank didn’t sleep the rest of the night.
He sat there, searching, reading, filtering through bullshit, trying to find something—anything—that made sense.
But by the time the sky started lightening outside, he was no closer to the truth.
All he knew was this:
Atlas had chosen him.
Atlas served something older.
And Tank?
Tank was changing, whether he was ready for it or not.
His fingers curled around the pendant at his chest, his breath slow, steady.
“…What the hell are you turning me into?”
There was no answer.
Just the slow, steady thrum of power beneath his skin.
And the sense that, whether he understood it or not—
This was just the beginning.
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