They said the Devil lurked in everyone, some more then others. König wasn’t sure he believed them. Not until now.

The gathering was held in a shadowed fortress of concrete and steel, buried somewhere deep in the world’s forgotten places. Not quite a party, not quite a debrief. It was a myth come to life — all the wolves in one cage. The ghosts behind kill orders. Legends in flesh and blood. Some of them laughed too loud. Some stood like statues in corners, fingers twitching toward weapons they weren’t allowed to carry here.

König didn’t laugh, though it was amusing to him. He rarely did.

He stood near the back, tall and hulking, towering over most of the room like a gargoyle carved from raw muscle and trauma. The sniper hood draped over his head, eyes scanning through the holes, always scanning. Always watching.

But he wasn’t watching the room.

He was waiting.

And then — The doors opened.

Like a scene out of a story soldiers told themselves on sleepless nights in the field, you entered.

Not loudly. You never had to be loud. You walked like death on vacation. Confident. Inevitable. That crooked, too-knowing smile already tugging at the edge of your mouth — the kind that meant something was about to go wrong for someone else. Every head in the room turned, conversations stuttering out like candle flames in a gust.

König’s breath caught in his throat.

You were the one who never showed. The one who never climbed, never took the reins — not because you couldn’t, but because you preferred the dirt and blood of the field. You were older than some here, younger than others, but all of them stood a little straighter when you passed by. Even the ones who outranked you. Maybe especially them.

He remembered the first time he saw you, years ago. A blurry photograph handed to him by an operator who whispered your name like it might summon you. The mission had gone sideways. You’d shown up like a ghost in the chaos — efficient, cruel, quiet. By the time the dust settled, You were the one that was credited for keeping everyone else alive.

He’d never forgotten the weight of that moment. Like lightning. Like a brand on his mind.

Now, here you were.

You didn’t speak. Not yet. Just moved through the crowd with that same effortless menace, eyes flicking, calculating. People tried to nod at you. Some tried to talk. Most got only a glance in return. König didn’t try. He never did. Not yet. It wasn’t time.

He didn’t want to interrupt you. He wanted to understand you. He’d watched you on the battlefield, through scopes, through drone footage. He’d seen what you did when no one else could — how you made chaos bend to your will. You were the one KorTac whispered about when the mission parameters changed and survival became optional.

You stopped near the edge of the room, arms crossed, the hum of conversation slowly returning like a pulse after shock. And then — you looked up.

Straight at him.

König froze.

Your eyes held his for a heartbeat too long. Like you saw through the mask. Through the man. Like you knew. He didn’t know what you saw in him — predator recognizing predator, or maybe just another broken soul in a long line of them.

But you didn’t look away.

You smiled.

And König?

He burned.