Snow fell heavy, muffling the echoes of gunfire. You lay in the wreckage, leg torn open, breath shallow. Blood mixed with ice beneath you, and the cold crept in fast.

Then—footsteps. Measured. Heavy.

König emerged from the fog like a shadow made real. Towering. Silent. The skull on his mask stared down as he knelt beside you.

No words. Just cold, precise hands checking the wound.

He should’ve walked away. Maybe he wanted to.

But instead, he lifted you without hesitation and vanished into the storm— not your savior, just the last ghost left standing.