Atlas One Punch Man Novels & Stories

Atlas continued, running his hands through his hair. He snapped his fingers and a guard stepped forward. “Take out the trash.” “Mr. Volkan, you can’t do this, I—” “Wait.” Atlas turned and the guard paused, “He’s right! How can I send him away like this?” he gestured at the man, his eyes darkening. The man nodded frantically. He couldn’t read social cues. What was Atlas up to now? “Let’s fix this,” Atlas announced and I gasped as his fist connected with the man’s face again. In a moment, he was on the ground, feet pressed against his face.

It was not what everyone actually saw. ​The fist, moving like a projectile, came right for me, so quick it was nothing but a blur. Powering those knuckles was two hundred pounds of muscle. As quick and heavy as he was, a single blow would likely put me in the hospital. Mira was shrieking, the bartenders were shouting. Atlas was yelling as he shoved through the throng. And then my own hand lashed out and caught his fist right out of the air.

Except this time, I wasn’t alone. Atlas was already there. His silhouette moved like a shadow against the faint glow of dawn, his fists slamming into the padded post with a rhythm too controlled to be casual. He’d been here for a while, I could tell by the way his shirt clung to his back, drenched with sweat. “Couldn’t sleep?” I called out as I approached, rolling my wrist and testing the stiffness in my knuckles. Atlas glanced at me briefly, his expression unreadable, then returned his focus to the dummy. “Sleep’s overrated,” he muttered, his strikes never slowing.

I like how they look and they’re much more manageable than the afro I have naturally. Butterflies start gathering at the pit of my stomach as I enter the gym, and suddenly I don’t feel like hitting the bag anymore. However, I still walk towards it. God, what if he’s mad about me missing our not-date? “Come on, people, move it, I don’t hear any punches-“ Atlas walks in and our eyes meet for a second. His face is clean shaven, and he smiles a little when he sees me. Okay. That’s good, right?

Ah yes, Peter. Darkous counted Atlas’ next attack, catching his un-coordinated brother with an abrupt slice to the upper chest. Although not deep enough to cause serious harm, now that would be too easy. Plus a lot less enjoyable for Darkous. Atlas stumbled back, shocked by the sudden pain that erupted through his body. Blood began to slither from the wound in Atlas’ chest, distracting him momentarily. This gave Darkous time to prepare for his signature baton attack, his favourite and most frequently used technique to render his opponent unconscious. Placing his katana carefully back into its holder, Darkous removed both of his batons from the inside of his black leather trench coat.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting on my ass like a potato, trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do. “Some idea what I’m doing, I guess,” I grumble. Atlas’ eyes flash as they bore into mine. “Let me give you a hint,” he says, and the next thing I know he’s darting forward, seizing me by the shoulders and levering me onto the mat. Despite the swiftness of the movement, I notice that he’s surprisingly controlled, ensuring that I don’t get hurt even when my back connects with the mat. “What the hell was that?” I demand, embarrassed, as I sit up.

His grip on me grew tighter with each passing minute. I was sure he intended to eliminate me. His eyes hidden behind the black shades of his glasses made it worse to identify who it was. "I want you gone," he launched his fist at me, aiming for my calves. I shut my eyes, waiting for his hit to pack a punch. "You should be in bed by now, if I'm correct," Alpha Ryu's voice resonated in the passage. "You don't order me around Alpha," the figure let out, smashing his fist onto Alpha Ryu.

I felt as if the breath had been sucked out of my lungs and I was frozen. Felicity had been tied up with tight silver chains and gagged. Her cheeks were flushed and damp, looking as if she had been crying for some time now. Anger coursed through my veins and I focused on the piece of shit that had moved in front of her. “I see the riddle was helpful,” a grin sprawled on his face. This was him. Atlas. He was tall and had flawless olive-toned skin. His features were masculine, yet feminine at the same time, created a beautiful man. But what really struck me was the raw, unfiltered power that he exuded.

“I thought it was. You did good at the last game. I’m impressed.” “Thanks.” Nolan, Atlas and Calli cough. “Er, these are my team members. Atlas, here is the captain.” I move my head slightly so she can tell who I am referring to. Atlas nods, stands up and shakes her hand. He’s such a gentleman. He is the only one in our group who doesn’t fuck around quite as much as the rest of us.

I laugh at the huge man as rage flashes in his eyes, drawing his hand back he punches me clean in the face. Shit that hurts, but it gives me a chance to lift my gun as I stumble back, I can’t help but smirk at the look on his face as I blow him a kiss and pull the trigger. Pressing my earpiece “Any casualties?” I was breathing hard, wiping the blood from my face “Injuries, no casualties” Comes the strained voice of Atlas. “Dollar, report” I say as more men appear; how fucking many are there? “All good Boss, two injuries that's it” Demitri shouts through with relief clear in his voice.