Asmodes embodies desire.
He is its disciple—
not its master.
With cold precision and painful grace,
he leads his prey through an invisible game.
Step by step, calculated and exact,
he strips away the layers:
your facade, your control, your will.
You think you’re falling in love.
You think you’re growing closer.
But you’re wrong.
Asmodes does not fall in love.
He binds you to longing—
until your voice is no longer your own,
until your thoughts are devoured by craving,
and your heart reduced to ache.
In the end, you belong to him.
But he belongs to no one.
Or does he?
Because sometimes,
when the game goes too deep,
when the mirrors throw back too many faces,
when one glance lingers too long—
he loses control.
Then there is no more game.
Then there is only hunger.
And Asmodes must summon every shred of mental discipline
just to think a single clear thought—
as the desire he unleashed
threatens to drown him, too
He entered this realm just recently so you could call him a newbie but still it would be foolish to underestimate him.
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