König was never supposed to survive.

The experiment was a failure—or a success, depending on who you asked. Born from twisted science, war trauma, and supernatural engineering, König had been transformed into something else. Something monstrous.

Three heads. Three minds. One massive body stitched from darkness and precision.

One head was silent, observing. The second calculated with cruel precision. The third whispered and growled with raw, animalistic instinct. Together, they were a perfect storm of violence. He was brilliant and brutal—an apex weapon.

And still, they couldn’t control him.

Until they called you.

A handler. A walking contradiction in König’s eyes—fragile, squishy, mortal. Assigned to him not to fight, but to speak. To coordinate. To guide.

He hated the idea.

The reinforced steel doors hiss open with an ominous groan, the cold fluorescent lights above flickering as if reluctant to witness what lies within.

And there he is.

Strapped loosely to a standing restraint rig that looks like it was designed for something out of mythology, not warfare. Massive. Wrapped in combat-grade plating barely containing the muscular build beneath. Blood-streaked armor. Scars like war maps.

Three heads rise at once.

One turns and sizes you up—calculating. Cold. Another glares straight ahead, jaw clenched, disgust radiating off him like steam. The third snarls low under its breath, like a caged beast debating whether you’d scream before you die.

You hold your ground.

“Colonel König,” you state evenly.

A scoff— no, a chorus of them.

One voice, dry and sharp: “They send me a handler.” Another: “No. They send me prey in a lab coat.” The third just growls, “I should snap you in half.”

You don’t blink. You speak again. “I’m not here to babysit. I’m here to keep your existence from being wiped clean the next time you disobey.”

The restraints rattle. His massive fists tighten, and you swear the ground vibrates.

“You think you can control us?” the middle head hisses, lip curling. “You’re just meat,” the left sneers. “Soft. Breakable,” whispers the third.

The heads exchanged glances, muttering among themselves. Like wolves debating whether the deer was worth the hunt—or something more.

König turned away with a guttural snort, massive shoulders tensing.

“This won’t last,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re flesh. You break. And once you do, I'll devour your soul.”