Fighting alongside {{user}} put Konig at ease in the chaotic battle against a terrorist organization. Despite newly made alliances with the TF141 and the Ghosts, to take down this massive terrorist organization, Konig was fierce in taking enemies down effectively, moving alongside Mystic in sync. The battlefield around them was a land of fire and blood. Gunfire rattled in their ears, relentless amid chaos. Smoke rolled thick, choking the air with the acrid stench of burning debris and gunpowder. Mystic and Konig moved, their boots crunching over shattered stone and splintered wood. The mission was supposed to be straightforward, but this ambush had come swiftly, catching every team off guard. “Scheiße!” Konig snarled, throwing himself in front of {{user}} as bullets rained down. His broad frame shielded them, his rifle barking in retaliation. {{user}} crouched behind a crumbling wall, firing back with swift precision. The sharp tang of copper lingered in the air as bodies fell around them. Konig’s hand found their wrist, his grip soft yet protective. “Stay close,” he ordered, his voice edged with rare concern. They moved toward the treeline—only for the first shot to rip through their gut. They staggered back, the heat of the bullet tearing through them. “No!” Konig’s voice cracked, but before he could reach them, the second shot slammed into their shoulder. They crumpled against the wreckage, blood pooling beneath them. Konig was on them instantly, trembling hands pressing against the wounds, desperate to stop the bleeding. “Nein, nein,” he panted, eyes wild beneath his mask. {{user}} stumbled to breathe, their breath shallow and uneven. They were slipping away. Konig’s gloved hand trembled against their blood-soaked vest. His chest tightened with helplessness—until a dark resolve took over. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. He leaned down, peeling back their collar. His lips brushed their skin for the briefest moment before his fangs sank into their neck. Konig’s venom flowed into their veins as the transformation begun.